{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_49948/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_49948","id":"gutenberg_49948","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49948","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: History - Modern (1750+)","Category: Journals","Category: Politics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Catholic Church -- Periodicals"],"text":"The Catholic World\n\n           A Monthly Magazine of General Literature and Science\n\n                                Vol. XVI.\n\n                        October 1872 to March 1873\n\n                     The Catholic Publication House.\n\n                                 New York\n\n                                   1873\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nContents.\nThe Catholic World. Vol. XVI., No. 91.\u2014October, 1872.\n   Bismarck And The Jesuits.\n   Choice In No Choice.\n   Fleurange.\n   Review of Vaughan\u2019s Life Of S. Thomas.\n   The Progressionists.\n   Gavazzi Versus The See Of S. Peter.\n   Number Thirteen. An Episode Of The Commune.\n   On A Picture Of S. Mary Bearing Doves To Sacrifice.\n   Centres Of Thought In The Past. First Article. The Monasteries.\n   Versailles.\n   Father Isaac Jogues, S.J.\n   Do\u00f1a Ramona.\n   The Distaff.\n   A Martyr\u2019s Journey.\n   Odd Stories: III. Peter The Powerful.\n   New Publications.\nThe Catholic World. Vol. XVI., No. 92.\u2014November, 1872.\n   Centres Of Thought In The Past. Second Article. The Universities.\n   Fleurange.\n   The Poor Ploughman.\n   A Dark Chapter In English History.\n   The Progressionists.\n   The Virgin.\n   The Homeless Poor Of New York City.\n   The House That Jack Built.\n   Where Are You Going?\n   Number Thirteen. An Episode Of The Commune. Concluded.\n   Use And Abuse Of The Novel.\n   Review Of Vaughan\u2019s Life Of S. Thomas: Concluded.\n   To S. Mary Magdalen.\n   God\u2019s Acre.\n   Personal Recollections Of The Late President Juarez Of Mexico.\n   New Publications.\nThe Catholic World. Vol. XVI., No. 93.\u2014December, 1872.\n   The Spirit Of Protestantism.\n   Fleurange.\n   Sayings Of John Climacus.\n   Dante\u2019s Purgatorio. Canto Fifth.\n   Sanskrit And The Vedas.\n   The House That Jack Built.\n   S. Peter\u2019s Roman Pontificate.\n   Sayings.\n   The Progressionists.\n   Christian Art Of The Catacombs.\n   Beating The Air.\n   A Retrospect.\n   The Russian Clergy.\n   The Cross Through Love, And Love Through The Cross.\n   Odd Stories. IV. The White Shah.\n   Signs Of The Times.\n   New Publications.\nThe Catholic World. Vol. XVI., No. 94.\u2014January, 1873.\n   A Son Of The Crusaders.\n   At The Shrine.\n   A Christmas Recognition.\n   Fleurange.\n   Sayings.\n   Prince Von Bismarck And The Interview Of The Three Emperors.\n   A Christmas Memory.\n   The House That Jack Built.\n   A Retrospect.\n   The Cross Through Love, And Love Through The Cross.\n   Europe\u2019s Angels.\n   The Nativity Of Christe.\n   The Progressionists.\n   \u1f59\u03a0\u039d\u039f\u03a3\n   A Legend Of Saint Ottilia.\n   The Year Of Our Lord 1872.\n   New Publications.\nThe Catholic World. Vol. XVI., No. 95.\u2014February, 1873.\n   Who Made Our Laws?\n   Dante\u2019s Purgatorio. Canto Sixth.\n   The Church The Champion Of Marriage.\n   Fleurange.\n   Cologne.\n   John.\n   The International Congress Of Prehistoric Anthropology And Archaeology.\n   The See Of Peter.\n   Atlantic Drift\u2014Gathered In The Steerage.\n   A Daughter Of S. Dominic.\n   The Progressionists.\n   F. James Marquette, S.J.\n   Prayer Of Custance, The Persecuted Queen Of Alla Of Northumberland.\n   Acoma.\n   New Publications.\nThe Catholic World. Vol. XVI., No. 96.\u2014March, 1873.\n   The Relation Of The Rights Of Conscience To The Authority Of The State\n   Under The Laws Of Our Republic.\n   The Widow Of Nain.\n   Fleurange.\n   American Catholics And Partisan Newspapers.\n   Brussels.\n   Sayings Of S. John Climacus.\n   Marriage In The Nineteenth Century.\n   A Pearl Ashore.\n   The Benefits Of Italian Unity.\n   Sonnet.\n   Recollections Of P\u00e8re Hermann.\n   A Daughter Of S. Dominic.\n   The International Congress Of Prehistoric Anthropology And Arch\u00e6ology.\n   Atlantic Drift\u2014Gathered In The Steerage.\n   Martyrs And Confessors In Christ.\n   The Roman Empire And The Mission Of The Barbarians.\n   New Publications.\nFootnotes\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                               [Cover Page]\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nAcoma, 703\n\nAtlantic Drift\u2014Gathered in the Steerage, 648, 837\n\nAmerican Catholics and Partisan Newspapers, 756\n\nBeating the Air, 783\n\nBenefits of Italian Unity, The, 792\n\nBismarck and the Jesuits, 1\n\nBismarck and the Three Emperors, 474\n\nBolanden\u2019s The Progressionists, 40, 192, 358, 541, 674\n\nBrussels, 766\n\nCentres of Thought in the Past: The Monasteries, 79;\n  The Same: The Universities, 145\n\nChristian Art of the Catacombs, 372\n\nChristmas Memory, A, 502\n\nChristmas Recognition, A, 448\n\nChurch the Champion of Marriage, The, 585\n\nClimacus, S. John, Sayings of, 318, 775\n\nCologne, 615\n\nCraven\u2019s Fleurange, 18, 158, 303, 459, 600, 737\n\nCross through Love, and Love through the Cross, 412, 523\n\nCrusaders, A Son of the, 433\n\nCyprian, S., Martyrs and Confessors in Christ, 844\n\nDark Chapter in English History, A, 176\n\nDaughter of S. Dominic, A, 658, 813\n\nDeschamp\u2019s Bismarck and the Emperors, 474\n\nDistaff, The, 133\n\nDo\u00f1a Ramona, 122\n\nEnglish History, A Dark Chapter in, 176\n\nEpisode of the Commune, An, 61, 227\n\nEurope\u2019s Angels, 533\n\nFather Isaac Jogues, S.J., 105\n\nFather James Marquette, S.J., 688\n\nFleurange, 18, 158, 303, 459, 600, 737\n\nGavazzi _versus_ the See of S. Peter, 55\n\nGod\u2019s Acre, 264\n\nHermann, P\u00e8re, 808\n\nHomeless Poor of New York City, The, 206\n\nHouse that Jack Built, The, 212, 336, 507\n\nInternational Congress of Prehistoric Anthropology and Arch\u00e6ology, 639,\n            829\n\nItalian Unity, The Benefits of, 792\n\nJogues, Father Isaac, S.J., 105\n\nJohn, 622\n\nJuarez, Personal Recollections of, 280\n\nLegends of Saint Ottilia, 557\n\nMarquette, Father James, S.J., 688\n\nMarriage in the XIXth Century, 776\n\nMarriage, the Church the Champion of, 585\n\nMartyr\u2019s Journey, A, 137\n\nMartyrs and Confessors in Christ, 844\n\nMonasteries, The, 79\n\nMission of the Barbarians, The, 845\n\nNativity of Christe, The, 540\n\nNew York City, The Homeless Poor of, 206\n\nNovel, Use and Abuse of the, 240\n\nNumber Thirteen, 61, 227\n\nOdd Stories, 138, 420\n\nOttilia, Saint, A Legend of, 557\n\nPartisan Newspapers, American Catholics and, 756\n\nPearl Ashore, 788\n\nP\u00e8re Hermann, 808\n\nPersonal Recollections of Pres. Juarez, 280\n\nPeter the Powerful, 138\n\nPrince von Bismarck and the Three Emperors, 474\n\nProgressionists, The, 40, 192, 358, 541, 674\n\nProtestantism, The Spirit of, 289\n\nRelation of the Rights of Conscience to the Authority of the State under\n            the Laws of our Republic, 721\n\nRetrospect, A, 395, 516\n\nReview of Vaughan\u2019s Life of S. Thomas, 31, 254\n\nRoman Empire and the Mission of the Barbarians, 845\n\nRussian Clergy, The, 403\n\nS. Peter\u2019s Roman Pontificate, 345\n\nSanskrit and the Vedas, 322\n\nSayings, 357, 473\n\nSayings of S. John Climacus, 318, 775\n\nSee of S. Peter, Gavazzi _versus_ the, 55\n\nSigns of the Times, 422\n\nSon of the Crusaders, A, 433\n\nSpirit of Protestantism, The, 289\n\nUniversities, The, 145\n\nUse and Abuse of the Novel, The, 240\n\nVaughan\u2019s Life of S. Thomas, Review of, 31, 254\n\nVersailles, 92\n\nWhere are You Going? 221\n\nWhite Shah, The, 420\n\nWho Made our Laws? 578\n\nYear of Our Lord 1872, The, 558\n\n\n\n\nPoetry.\n\n\nAnselm\u2019s The Poor Ploughman, 175\n\nAt the Shrine, 447\n\nChaucer\u2019s Prayer of Custance, 702\n\nChoice in no Choice, 17\n\nDante\u2019s Purgatorio, 319, 581\n\nOn a Picture of S. Mary bearing Doves to Sacrifice, 77\n\nPoor Ploughman, The, 175\n\nPurgatorio, Dante\u2019s, 319, 581\n\nPrayer of Custance, 702\n\nS. Mary Bearing Doves to Sacrifice, 77\n\nSee of Peter, The, 647\n\nSonnet from Zappi, 807\n\nTo S. Mary Magdalen, 265\n\n\u1f5d\u03c0\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2, 556\n\nVirgin, The, 205\n\nWidow of Nain, The, 735\n\nZappi, Sonnet from, 807\n\n\n\n\nNew Publications.\n\n\nAdams\u2019 Young America Abroad, 859\n\nAgnew\u2019s Geraldine, 573\n\nAll Hallow Eve, etc., 428\n\nAmbition\u2019s Contest, 144\n\nArundell\u2019s Tradition, 430\n\nAthen\u00e6um, The, 859\n\nBeloved Disciple, The, 143\n\nBibliographia Catholica Americana, 713\n\nBolanden\u2019s New God, 573\n\nBook of the Holy Rosary, The, 140\n\nBrownson\u2019s Life of Gallitzin, 712\n\nBurke\u2019s Ireland\u2019s Case Stated, 857\n\nCaswall\u2019s Hymns and Poems, 858\n\nCatholic Class Book, 288\n\nCatholic Family Almanac, 429\n\nCatholic Worship, 571\n\nCollege Journal, 576\n\nCommentary of the Fathers on S. Peter, 286\n\nConversion of the Teutonic Race, 567\n  The Same, Sequel, 567\n\nCopp\u00e9e\u2019s Elements of Logic, 285\n\nCraven\u2019s Fleurange, 570\n\nCusack\u2019s Life of F. Mathew, 572\n\nDaily Steps to Heaven, 572\n\nDe Mille\u2019s Treasury of the Seas, 859\n\nDe Vere\u2019s Legends of S. Patrick, 570\n\nEllis\u2019 Two Ysondes, 719\n\nEngland and Rome, 286\n\nEnglish in Ireland, The, 716\n\nFinotti\u2019s Bibliographia Catholica Americana, 713\n\nFleurange, 570\n\nFormby\u2019s The Book of the Holy Rosary, 140\n\nFroude\u2019s English in Ireland, 716\n\nGardening by Myself, 144\n\nGod and Man, 430\n\nGratry\u2019s Henry Perreyve, 141\n\nGreat Problem, The, 575\n\nGuillemin\u2019s Wonders of the Moon, 574\n\nHart\u2019s Manual of American Literature, 431, 860\n\nHeart of Myrrha Lake, The, 569\n\nHenry Perreyve, 141\n\nHistory of the Sacred Passion, 427\n\nHistory of the Blessed Virgin Mary, The, 573\n\nHolland\u2019s Marble Prophecy, 431\n\nHolley\u2019s Niagara, 432\n\nHolmes\u2019 The Poet at the Breakfast\u2010Table, 858\n\nHope\u2019s Teutonic Race, 567\n  The Same, Sequel, 567\n\nH\u00fcbner\u2019s Life of Sixtus V., 567\n\nHymnary, with Tunes, 431\n\nHymns and Poems, 858\n\nIllustrated Catholic Family Almanac, 429\n\nIndex Circular, 860\n\nIreland\u2019s Case Stated, 857\n\nIssues of American Politics, The, 431\n\nJenna\u2019s Elevations Poetiques et Religieuses, 717\n\nKeel and Saddle, 857\n\nKroeger\u2019s The Minnesinger of Germany, 575\n\nLacordaire\u2019s God and Man, 430\n\nLasar\u2019s Hymnary, 431\n\nLectures on the Connection of Science and Religion, 573\n\nLegends of S. Patrick, 570\n\nLeifchild\u2019s The Great Problem, 575\n\nLiberalisme, Le, 714\n\nLife and Times of Sixtus V., 567\n\nLife of Demetrius Augustin Gallitzin, 712\n\nLife of S. Augustine, 714\n\nLiza, 573\n\nMacdonald\u2019s Hidden Life, 432\n\nMacdonald\u2019s The Vicar\u2019s Daughter, 143\n\nManual of American Literature, 431, 860\n\nMemoirs of Mme. Desbordes\u2010Valmore, 715\n\nMinnesinger of Germany, The, 575\n\nMoriarty\u2019s Life of S. Augustine, 714\n\nMorris\u2019 Troubles of Our Catholic Forefathers, 287\n\nMy Clerical Friends, 567\n\nNew God, The, 573\n\nOakeley\u2019s Catholic Worship, 571\n\nOrsini\u2019s History of the B. Virgin Mary, 573\n\nPaquet\u2019s Le Liberalisme, 714\n\nPalma\u2019s History of the Passion, 427\n\nParsons\u2019 Biographical Dictionary, 572\n\nParsons\u2019 Shadow of the Obelisk, 572\n\nPeters\u2019 Catholic Class Book, 288\n\nPolytechnic, The, 859\n\nPhotographic Views, 714\n\nPoet at the Breakfast\u2010Table, The, 858\n\nPocket Prayer Book, 286\n\nPotter\u2019s The Spoken Word, 142\n\nRawes\u2019 The Beloved Disciple, 143\n\nRevere\u2019s Keel and Saddle, 857\n\nRoundabout Rambles, 432\n\nSainte\u2010Beuve\u2019s Memoirs of Mme. Desbordes\u2010Valmore, 715\n\nShadow of the Obelisk, The, 572\n\nSkinner\u2019s Issues of American Politics, 431\n\nSpoken Word, The, 142\n\nStockton\u2019s Roundabout Rambles, 432\n\nTradition, 430\n\nTreasure of the Seas, The, 859\n\nTroubles of Our Catholic Forefathers, 287\n\nTruth, The, 571\n\nTurgeneiff\u2019s Liza, 573\n\nTwo Ysondes, and other Verses, 719\n\nUnawares, 143\n\nVicar\u2019s Daughter, The, 143\n\nWarner\u2019s Gardening by Myself, 144\n\nWaterworth\u2019s Commentary of the Fathers on S. Peter, 286\n\nWaterworth\u2019s England and Rome, 286\n\nWeninger\u2019s Photographic Views, 714\n\nWiseman\u2019s Lectures on Science and Religion, 573\n\nWiseman\u2019s Works, 714\n\nYoung America Abroad, 859\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD. VOL. XVI., NO. 91.\u2014OCTOBER, 1872.\n\n\n\n\nBismarck And The Jesuits.\n\n\n    \u201c1. The Order of the Company of Jesus, orders akin to it, and\n    congregations of a similar character, are excluded from the German\n    territory. The establishment of residences for these orders is\n    prohibited. The establishments actually in existence must be\n    suppressed within a period to be determined by the Federal\n    Council, but which shall not exceed six months.\n\n    \u201c2. The members of the Company of Jesus, of orders akin to it, and\n    of congregations of a similar character, may be expelled from the\n    Federal territory if they are foreigners. If natives, residence\n    within fixed limits may be forbidden them, or imposed upon them.\n\n    \u201cThe measures necessary for the execution of this law, and for the\n    certainty of this execution, shall be adopted by the Federal\n    Council.\u201d\n\n\nSuch is the amendment on the original motion for the recent legislation\nwith regard to the Jesuits which was proposed to the Reichstag by Dr.\nFriedberg. The original motion was identical in aim and almost in\nsubstance. The amendment is more exact and well\u2010defined, leaving not the\nslightest loophole for possible evasion or escape. It was framed and\npressed on by the kindly spirit and generous hand of Prince Clovis of\nHohenlohe, the brother of the cardinal whose rejection by the Pope as\nambassador from Germany to his court gave such high umbrage to the\nexquisitely sensitive Prince Bismarck.\n\nSuch is the law: plain, clear, and well\u2010defined. There is no mistaking it:\nit is \u201cgoodly writ.\u201d Paraphrased, it runs thus:\n\nThere is a body of men\u2014and women even; for though we attach ourselves to\nthe chief point at issue, the phrase, \u201cThose congregations of a similar\ncharacter,\u201d may cover a very extensive ground, and seems ingeniously\nframed for abuse\u2014in Germany, possessed of certain property, colleges,\nchurches, seminaries, schools; possessed of certain rights as free\ncitizens of a free land: liberty of action and of thought. Most of them\nare natives of the soil; many of them members of the highest families in\nthe empire. They have been doing their work all these years without let or\nhindrance, or rumor of such. The state found no fault with them, or at\nleast never expressed it. Consequently, they went on without changing one\niota of their principles or mode of action, teaching in the universities,\ncolleges, and schools: preaching in the churches; gathering together\ncommunities; giving themselves free voice in a free press, that all might\nhear and tell openly what they were doing, and what they purposed doing.\nWithout a moment\u2019s warning, without a trial or even a mockery of a trial,\nthe state swoops down on them, seizes their property, breaks up their\ncommunities, turns them out of their homes adrift upon the world,\nproclaims them outlaws, banishes them the empire, save such as were born\nin it\u2014one of whom happens to be a cousin to the emperor himself; and these\nlatter they proscribe to fixed limits under the surveillance of the\npolice.\n\nAnd such is law! The law of the new German Empire: the first great step in\nits reconstruction!\n\nShort of death, the state could not do more utterly to destroy a body of\nmen. Condensed into a word, these measures are\u2014demolition. As death alone\ncan make their penalty supreme, the crimes of these outlaws ought to be\nproportionately great. What, then, are these crimes that in a moment\nproduced such a sentence?\n\nHere we must confess to as great an inability to answer the question as\nPrince Bismarck or his followers found themselves; for the very simple\nfact that there are no crimes to answer for. This may account in part for\nthe extra severity of the sentence. Only make the penalty big enough, and\nthe popular mind needs to hear nothing of the crime. Prince Bismarck knows\nthe value of the old adage, \u201cGive a dog a bad name, and hang him.\u201d\n\nWhen the Communists seized upon Paris, we all knew what to expect: scant\njustice and speedy sentence; none of your careful balancing of right and\nwrong. They took what they could and gave no reason. This model German\ngovernment, this new power which we all tremble at, though it promises to\nregenerate us, follows _la Commune_ pretty closely in this its first essay\nof power.\n\nIn the even balance of the law, it is useless to _talk_ of conspiracies,\nparties, plots, and this, that, and the other. Show us those conspiracies;\npoint them out in black and white; let the law lay its inexorable finger\nupon them, and say, such and such actions have been committed by such and\nsuch persons; here are the proofs of guilt\u2014and we are satisfied. Though\nthe condemned may have been our dearest friends, we have only to\nacknowledge the justice of the sentence, to deplore that we have been\ndeceived in them, and to range ourselves as honest men and true citizens\non the side of the law. But in the present case, we have not had one\nsingle fact produced nor attempted to be produced; not a crime in the\nvaried category of crimes has been laid at the door of the accused. We\nhave had instead from such men as Bismarck and his tools vague\ngeneralities of \u201cconspiracy,\u201d \u201cenemies at home as well as abroad,\u201d\nintermingled with fears for the safety of the new empire\u2014\u201cthe new\ncreation\u201d\u2014padded in with bluster and empty bombast, \u201cfull of sound and\nfury, signifying nothing.\u201d\n\nAnd in the face of this advanced nineteenth century, this era of facts,\nfigures, and freedom, on the strength of evidence that would not suffice\nto condemn the veriest scoundrel that ever stood face to face with justice\nin the dock, a body of intellectual gentlemen, beloved in the country from\nwhich they are banished, are proclaimed outlaws, enemies of their own\nnation, faithless to their country and their emperor, unfit to live in the\nland that is proud of them, and driven without scrip or staff into the\nworld.\n\nLet us bear it in mind, before quitting this point, that the feeling of\ntheir countrymen as well as of the whole Catholic world is with them. We\nall know how a government, and particularly a strong government, can\ninfluence the public voice and manipulate votes. Well, petitions rolled in\nfor the suppression of the Jesuits; but, strange to say, roll in as they\nmight, a still vaster number came to retain them; and on the strength of\nthe former, the measure was put before parliament and passed. This fact of\nthe popular voice proclaiming itself boldly in favor of the Order is very\nsignificant when we take into account the forces arrayed against each\nother, though, in truth, the battle was all on the side of the government.\nOn the one hand we have the Prince\u2010Chancellor working the engine of the\nstate\u2014his own creation\u2014with every nerve that is in him, joining himself in\nthe debates with speeches of the bitterest and most inflammatory\ncharacter; on the other, we have a body of 708 men! Such was their number\nin Germany according to the statistics of last year; the total number\nthroughout the world being 8,809.\n\nTo this, then, the contest reduces itself apparently. These are the\nostensible foes. The new and powerful German government, in the first\nflush of an unprecedented success, headed by the \u201cterrible Chancellor,\u201d\npitted might and main against 708 individuals, staking its very life on\nthe contest. What evenly matched foes! For the Jesuits are the sole object\nof this attack, mind. Listen to Minister Delbr\u00fcck in his speech on the\nthird reading of the bill: \u201cIt is my duty, in the name of the confederate\ngovernment, to repudiate anew that view of the question which identifies\nthe Society of Jesus with the Catholic Church.... In such an allegation\nthey can discover nothing more than an arbitrary perversion of notorious\nfacts: a falsification which is the more to be deplored, as it might serve\nto deprive the measure in circles outside of this assembly of its true\ncharacter, and impress on it another which it does not possess.\u201d\n\nThis minister was the mouthpiece of Bismarck\u2014\u201cthe hands indeed are Esau\u2019s,\nbut the voice is that of Jacob.\u201d Was there ever such a picture of injured\ninnocence and righteous indignation?\n\nSeven hundred and eight men who spend their lives, as all the world may\nsee, in teaching, preaching, studying, visiting the sick, performing their\ndaily household duties, are such terrible plotters, dangerous political\nleaders, that they cause the great Chancellor actually to tremble in his\nshoes. It is a strange fact that he did not find this conspiracy out\nsooner. Bismarck and the Jesuits are old neighbors, not to say friends.\nThey have lived very happily together up to yesterday. They accompanied\nhim to his wars, and took the place that is always theirs in the battle\nfront, among the wounded and the dying, when no succor was nigh, in the\nendeavor to give rest and peace to the last moments of those whom Bismarck\nsummoned from their quiet homesteads to die for him under the empty name\nof glory and patriotism. Some of them were rewarded by the Emperor with\nthe Iron Cross\u2014the proudest decoration which he can bestow on a man; as\nsome others of them on the other side brought their science to bear on the\ndismal walls of the beleaguered city, spreading out light far and near to\ndiscover the crouching foe, and they were rewarded with death. Why, then,\nafter living in harmony so long together, does the Chancellor turn round\nin a moment and make such a sweeping attack upon them, only _them_? The\nbody, numerically, is absolutely too insignificant for all this uproar.\nWhy, we could pack them all into some of our hotels, and they would\nscarcely make an appreciable difference in the number of visitors. Had\nthere existed a conspiracy on their part against the empire, as is\nalleged, is it possible that with Bismarck\u2019s unlimited power and\nresources, aided by those wonderful spies of his, who so infested France\nthat his generals knew the country better than the French themselves\ndid\u2014is it possible that he who esteems so highly the value of the opinion\nof \u201ccircles outside the empire,\u201d could not produce _one_ sorry fact to\nbring forward against them? Their most determined opponents must confess\nthat he has utterly failed to do so; and failing to do so, he has\nexercised, and the majority of the German Parliament has sanctioned, a\nbarefaced abuse of power, such as we thought had died out with the good\nold days of Henry VIII. and Queen Bess, or lived only with the Sultan of\nTurkey or the barbarous monarchs of the East. May it not recoil on their\nown heads!\n\nThe quarrel is scarcely confined to these limits, then, terrible as the\npower of the Jesuits may be. We do not intend to insult the intelligence\nof our readers by going into a needless defence, for the millionth time,\nof the Jesuit Order. Their defence is written on the world with the blood\nof their martyred children. Their defence rests on the fact of their very\nexistence under such persistent and terrible persecutions as their mother,\nthe church, only has surpassed. It rests in the record of every land upon\nwhich the sun has shone. And as for the time\u2010worn themes, ever welcome and\never new, of secresy, unscrupulous agents, blood, poison, daggers, and all\nthe mysterious paraphernalia which the Jesuit of the popular imagination\nstill bears about with him under that famous black gown, which the\nintellect of the age, in the persons of the London _Times\u2019_ correspondents\nand those of the _Saturday Review_, are never weary of harping on, we\nleave them to the enlightened vision of these gentlemen, and their rivals\nin this respect\u2014the concocters of the villains of fifth\u2010rate novels. But\nthey object: Well, we are ready to admire your Jesuits. They live among us\nand we know them, and really, on the whole, they are not half such bad\nfellows; in fact, we may go so far as to say they are very peaceable,\nintelligent, respectable gentlemen. When we wish to hear a good sermon we\nalways go to listen to them. They are very fine writers, and very clever\nmen. They have done much, or tried to do much, for America, Africa, Japan,\nand every out\u2010of\u2010the\u2010way place; they have done something in Europe, even.\nBut after all you must acknowledge that they are very dangerous fellows.\nWhy, your own Pope, Sixtus V., could scarcely be prevailed upon to permit\nthe foundation of the Order at the beginning; and another of your Popes,\nClement XIV., actually condemned them. Come, now; what do you say to that?\n\nMust we soberly sit down to answer this absurdity once more? Our readers\nwill pardon us for merely glancing at it, and passing on to the more\nimmediate subject of our article.\n\nFirst of all, granting, which we by no means intend to do, that all that\nthey allege is true, that it was with the greatest difficulty they even\ncrept into existence, and that a Pope found it necessary to suppress them;\nthere stands out in the face of such opposition the telling fact of their\nexistence in the broad light of these open days, when no sham can pass\nmuster, when the keen, eminently honest eye of these folk pick out the\nfalse in a twinkling, expose it, hoot it down, away with it, and there is\nan end. Such a fact opposed to such never\u2010failing opposition is a very\nstubborn thing, and bears with it something very like reality and truth.\nAs for the difficulty of their beginning, that is the history of all\norders in the church, so careful is she of new\u2010fangled notions. In fact,\nif our recollection serves us, that, we believe, is the history of the\nchurch herself. So much for the alleged opposition of Sixtus V. And now\nfor the quelcher: the suppression by Clement XIV.\n\nHere we give in: our opponents are right. Clement XIV. actually did issue\na _brief_ suppressing the Jesuits. Of course it is perfectly unnecessary\nto inform these theological and medi\u00e6val scholars that a brief is a very\ndifferent thing from a bull; that a brief is in no wise binding on the\nsuccessor of the Pontiff who issues it; that a brief has no more to do\nwith infallibility than these gentlemen themselves have. And now we would\nbeg them to listen a moment to the very few Jesuitical words in which we\nexplain this whole thing away.\n\nClement XIV. issued this brief in exactly the same way that King John\nsigned the Magna Charta; Charles I. the death\u2010warrant of Strafford; or\nGeorge IV. the act for Catholic emancipation. We believe none of our\nreaders would blame King Charles for the death of Strafford, or thank King\nJohn for Magna Charta, or George IV. for Catholic emancipation; as little\ndo we, can we, or any one who has read the history of the time, blame\nClement XIV. for the brief which suppressed the Jesuits. The timid old\nmonk\u2014he was consecrated Pope at what the Bourbons considered the very safe\nage of sixty\u2010four\u2014was strong enough to resist this wicked demand of their\nsuppression to the utmost. We must bear in mind that the demand was made\nby no body in the church; but only by the ambassadors of France, Spain,\nand Naples. \u201cI know what you want,\u201d he said, \u201cyou want to create a heresy\nand destroy the church.\u201d Another time he writes, \u201cI can neither censure\nnor abolish an institute which has been commended by nineteen of my\npredecessors.\u201d In the meantime, we have a disinterested witness, happily\nenough from Prussia, a man whom we have no doubt even Prince Bismarck has\nsome respect for. It is no less a person than Frederick the Great, who\nwrites to _Voltaire_:\n\n\n    \u201cThat good Franciscan of the Vatican leaves me my dear Jesuits,\n    who are persecuted everywhere else. _I will preserve the precious\n    seed, so as to be able one day to apply it to such as may desire\n    again to cultivate this rare plant._\u201d\n\n\nAt last, notwithstanding his entreaties and prayers, they wrung the brief\nfrom the heart of the tottering old man. They gained their point while he\nlost his peace of mind, and was ever after murmuring, _Compulsus feci,\ncompulsus feci_. We should be more correct in saying that they only half\u2010\ngained it; for they were wild with rage at its being only a brief. What\nthey wanted was a bull: destruction, not suspension. And such is the\nhistory of the famous suppression of the Jesuits.\n\nTo make the story complete, we may as well add that, as soon as the brief\nbecame known, Switzerland, knowing that it was the production of the\nBourbon faction and not of the Pope, refused to submit to it and deprive\nthe Jesuits of their colleges. Catherine of Russia interceded in their\nfavor, and gave the poor Pope a crumb of comfort in the few days that were\nleft him. Well did he say, \u201cThis suppression will be the death of me.\u201d\nWhile Frederick the Great\u2014but he shall speak for himself, and we commend\nhis utterance to Prince Bismarck. He writes to his agent at Rome:\n\n\n    \u201cAbb\u00e9 Columbini, you will inform all who desire to know the fact,\n    but without ostentation and affectation, and you will moreover\n    seek an opportunity of signifying soon to the Pope and his chief\n    minister, that, with regard to the Jesuits, _I am determined to\n    retain them in my states_. In the treaty of Breslau, I guaranteed\n    the _status quo_ of the Catholic religion, and I have never found\n    better priests in every respect. You will further add that, as I\n    belong to the class of heretics, the Pope cannot relieve me from\n    the obligation of keeping my word, nor from the duty of a king and\n    an honest man.\u201d\n\n\nThese words would be weakened by comment. We pass with relief from this\nworn\u2010out subject, and wish our adversaries joy of their mare\u2019s nest. Men\nwho have won the praise of their bitterest foes need small defence from\ntheir friends. We leave them in the hands of such men as Voltaire, Lord\nMacaulay, Sir James Stephens, Bancroft, Prescott, Parkman, and a host of\nother eminent men of all nations and all creeds save our own. When those\nwho carp at the Jesuits have studied and refuted these writers to their\nown satisfaction, they may be in a fair way to meet us.\n\nNow we are met with the further objection: if the Jesuits are such an\nexcellent body as we make them; as Protestant historians and infidel\nwriters make them; as Catherine of Russia, as Frederick the Great, the\nfounder of the Prussian empire, and in this respect the proto\u2010Bismarck,\nmake them\u2014why should Prince Bismarck pick such a deadly quarrel with them?\n\nHave we possibly been mistaken in him all this time? Have we had another\nLuther lurking beneath the person of the burly Chancellor? Has his aim\nbeen all along not merely to create a German empire, but a German religion\nand a German popedom? Has his zeal been inspired by religion? In his\nspeech the other day he protested against the pretensions of the Pope \u201cas\na Protestant and an evangelical Christian.\u201d We congratulate the\nevangelical Christians, whoever they may be, on their new apostle. For\nourselves, we could not help laughing, and thinking that the height of\nsolemn farce had at length been reached. The words reminded us of one\nOliver Cromwell, who, in common with a well\u2010known kinsman of his, had a\nknack of \u201cciting Scripture for his purpose.\u201d\n\nNo; we confess it, notwithstanding this solemn affirmation from his own\nmouth, and before the German parliament too\u2014(we think the printer must\nhave omitted the \u201claughter\u201d at the end)\u2014we cannot bring ourselves to look\nupon the Chancellor as a \u201cvessel of election,\u201d though he may be a \u201cvessel\nof wrath.\u201d We consider that his worst enemy could scarcely say a harder\nthing of him than that he was a religious man. His is \u201cErcles\u2019 vein: a\ntyrant\u2019s vein.\u201d The Emperor \u201cis more condoling.\u201d Now he presents the\npicture of a religious man _par excellence_. Why, his nostrils discerned a\nsanctified odor rising up from those reeking fields of France; and he\ncould pray\u2014how well!\u2014after he had won the victory. But his Chancellor is a\nman of another complexion. He found a rich humor in it all. We have not\nforgotten that grim joke of his yet about the starving and doomed city. Is\nhe not the prince of jesters? No, however bad may be our opinion of him,\nwe will not accuse him of religiousness.\n\nWhere, then, lies the difficulty between them? The answer to this\nnecessitates a review of the whole present question of Bismarck with the\nPapacy; and we must beg our readers\u2019 indulgence in carrying them over such\nbeaten ground in order to get at the root of it all, fix it in our minds,\nand keep it there, so that no specious reasoning may blind us to the\nreality of it, to the true point at issue.\n\nWe recollect the position of the Papacy prior to the Franco\u2010German war.\nThe Pope was supported in his dominions by the arm of France\u2014we say France\nadvisedly; not by Napoleon. The war came and smote this right arm. Victor\nEmanuel stepped in; took possession: coolly told the Pope he would _allow_\nhim to live in the Vatican. The world shrieked with delight at seeing a\npowerless old man reft of the little that was left him. The world was\nastonished at the generosity of Victor Emanuel in _allowing_ the Pope a\nfraction of what happened to be his own property. The world looked for the\nregeneration of Italy, and it has had it. The _New York Herald_ furnished\nus with the increase of crime since Victor Emanuel\u2019s possession: if we\nrecollect rightly, it is about fourfold. So the Pope rested, as he still\nrests, a virtual, in plain truth an actual, prisoner in the Vatican,\nwithout a helping hand stretched forth to him. Came his jubilee, and with\nit kindly and solemn gratulations from a quarter least expected\u2014the new\nemperor. Our eyes began to turn wistfully to the new power, and people\nwhispered, Who knows? perhaps our Holy Father has at last found a\ndefender. Here was Bismarck\u2019s opportunity of winning the hearts of the\nCatholic world, of binding us to him with the strongest chain that can\nlink man to man. Time wore on, and the gloss wore off. Home questions\narose, the Chancellor began to feel his way, to insinuate little measures\nsuch as the secularization of schools, which the Catholics, strange to\nsay, found reason to object to. Prince Bismarck grew a little impatient;\nhe was anxious to conciliate the Catholics as far as he possibly could;\nbut really \u201chis patience was nearly exhausted.\u201d Our golden hopes began to\ngrow dim. We have heard this sort of thing before; we hear it every day,\nfrom some whose opinions we respect; and we know what it means. It is the\nold cry, \u201cWe have piped to you and you will not dance; we have played to\nyou, and you do not sing.\u201d You are irreconcilable; there is no meeting you\non debatable ground. And that is just the point. Our religion has no\ndebatable ground, for it is founded on faith, and not on what goes by the\nname of free investigation. So that whether it be Bismarck or nearer\nfriends of ours who would force or woo us in turn from our position, we\nmust meet them in matters that touch our faith with the inevitable \u201cNon\npossumus.\u201d\n\nPrince Bismarck began to grow weary of us; and he soon showed signs of his\npeculiar form of weariness. He scarcely agrees with \u201cwhat can\u2019t be cured\nmust be endured\u201d; his motto is rather, \u201cWhat can\u2019t be cured must be\nkilled.\u201d The secularization of schools was carried in the face of the\nprotest of the Prussian Catholic bishops, assembled at Fulda. The\nsolemnization of the sacrament of marriage is handed over to the civil\njurisdiction, the same as any other contract. Still not a whisper against\nthe Jesuits, though, as we have already quoted, his quarrel is purely and\nentirely with them. We pass on to the crowning act in his list of\ngrievances: the embassy to the Court of the Vatican.\n\nWhat a noble thing it looked in the all powerful Chancellor to despatch an\nambassador from the high and mighty German empire, the mightiest in the\nworld, to the old man pent up in the Vatican! What a condescension to\nacknowledge that such a person existed!\n\nOf course the Pope would receive such marks of favor with tears of\ngratitude and open arms. What! is it possible? He actually rejects the\nambassador, and sends him back on Bismarck\u2019s hands. Well, well! wonders\nwill never cease.\n\nNow there never was such a tempest in a tea\u2010pot as the explosion this\ncarefully laid train created. The very fact of sending an ambassador at\nall to a monarch acknowledges the perfect right of that monarch to receive\nor reject him as he pleases; and to common sense there is an end of the\nquestion. The Pope did not choose to receive this ambassador; he had every\nright to exercise his freedom of action; he exercised his right, but\nPrince Bismarck\u2019s sensibilities were hurt. It was not so much the fact of\nrejection as the Pope\u2019s want of politeness that afflicted him. In his\nspeech before the Reichstag he declared that such a thing was without a\nparallel in the history of diplomacy. What martinets these Germans are for\npunctilio! We remember Mr. Disraeli actually refusing to accept as\nsufficient reason for the late war the \u201cbreach of etiquette at a German\nwatering\u2010place.\u201d Now, with all due respect, Prince Bismarck knew, as those\nhe addressed knew, as all the world knows, that this statement was\nanything but correct. Ambassadors have been rejected before now, and\nprobably will be again. In fact, had certain individuals of this class to\nand from ourselves been rejected at the outset, it would have saved\nnational difficulties, or at least wounded feelings and displays of\nschool\u2010boy recriminations scarcely creditable to such high and mighty folk\nas gentlemen of the diplomatic body. But there is more in the question\nthan this. The Cardinal\u2010Prince Hohenlohe is a prince of the church. He is\nin addition attached to the Pope\u2019s household. He gave himself freely and\nvoluntarily to the service of the church. He is not a mere ordinary member\nof the Catholic body. He stands in relation to the Pope as Von Moltke, the\nDane, stands in relation to the Emperor William; as those who were once\nfellow\u2010citizens of ours stand in relation to the Khedive, whose service\nthey have entered; as Carl Schurz and millions of our fellow\u2010citizens\nstand in relation to the government of the United States. When the\nItalians entered Rome, Cardinal Hohenlohe left it; and the next the Pope\nheard of him was that his own servant had been appointed ambassador to his\ncourt from Berlin! Just as though tomorrow we received intimation that a\nnew ambassador had been appointed to us from England, and that ambassador\nwas no less a person than\u2014Minister Schenck. We can imagine the _New York\nHerald\u2019s_ comments on such a proceeding. And yet Prince Bismarck is sore\naggrieved at a breach of political etiquette.\n\nWe think we need trouble our readers with no further reasons for Cardinal\nHohenlohe\u2019s rejection. What share the cardinal had in the whole proceeding\nwe do not know. Probably Prince Bismarck would eventually have found\nhimself sadly disappointed in his ambassador had he been accepted. S.\nThomas of Canterbury made an excellent chancellor till the king, against\nhis wishes, compelled him to enter new service. But it is very clear that\nif Bismarck, as we do not believe, ever contemplated the possibility of\nthe cardinal\u2019s acceptance at Rome, what he wanted was a tool, one who, to\nuse his own very remarkable words, \u201cwould have had rare opportunities of\nconveying _our own version of events and things_ to his [the Pope\u2019s] ear.\nThis was our sole object in the nomination rejected, I am sorry to say, by\nPio Nono.\u201d\n\nWe have no doubt of it: it was his sole object; and the acceptance or\nrejection of his ambassador was one to him; for Prince Bismarck is\ngenerally provided with two strings to his bow. Had the cardinal been\naccepted, he believed he had a churchman devoted to his interests, another\nRichelieu; his rejection suited him still better; for he could now declare\nopen war, and throw the onus of it on his adversaries. Through the whole\nproceeding we detect the fine hand of the man who forced on the Danish,\nAustrian, and French wars. Prince Bismarck must not be surprised if, in\nthe face of such speaking examples, we come at last to have a faint\nconception of his strategy. His policy always is, and always has been, to\negg his adversary on; to goad him into striking first, taking care all the\nwhile that he himself is well prepared. They strike, and he crushes\nthem\u2014all in self\u2010defence. He is exonerated in the eyes of the world. He\ncan tell the others they provoked him to the contest; he can say to them,\n\u201cYour blood be on your own heads.\u201d\n\nAnd so this carefully prepared train exploded. It looked such a noble,\ngenerous, friendly action to send an ambassador to the Pontiff\u2019s court in\nthe present position of the Pontiff, that, when the ambassador was calmly\nrejected, the world could not believe its ears; and Prince Bismarck\nentertains a very high respect for those ears notwithstanding their\nlength. What could we say but that it was too much? There was no\nconciliating these Romanists and Ultramontanes, do what you would. It was\nclear that the Pope was altogether out of place in these days; and his\nobstinacy only served to keep very respectable bodies of men from agreeing\nand living neighborly together, and so on _ad nauseam_. Thus Bismarck\ncould afford to froth and fume about insult, unprecedented actions,\netiquette, and so on; urge upon the German nation that they had been\ninsulted in the person of their august emperor, who seems as touchy on\npoints of etiquette as a French dancing\u2010master; and ring the changes up\nand down till he closed with the loud\u2010sounding twang, \u201cNeither the emperor\nnor myself are going to Canossa!\u201d\n\nCould anything be more theatrically effective? Could anything be more\ntransparently shallow?\n\nWell, in the face of this awful outrage and unprecedented provocation,\nwhat does the wrathful Chancellor do? March on Rome; declare war against\nthe Catholics; utterly exterminate them; smite them hip and thigh? Nothing\nof the kind. He not only lets the Pope alone from whom he received the\noutrage, _but he actually looks about for another ambassador, __\u201c__in the\nevent of unlooked\u2010for eventualities.__\u201d_ He entertains the greatest\npossible respect for Catholics. Indeed, he seems to be aware that the\nsmall fraction of 14,000,000 of them go to swell his empire; the most\nCatholic of whom, by the way, bore the brunt of the battle in France. He\naccepts his rebuff more in sorrow than in wrath. He lets the whole\nquestion slip; he has no quarrel with the 14,000,000; but there are 708 of\nthem whom he pounces upon as the policeman on the small boy; and nobody\ncan quarrel with him for letting the steam of his wrath off on this small\nbody, which is at the bottom of every mischief that turns up.\n\nIs not this excellent fooling? He says to the Catholics: I will not touch\nyou; you and I are very excellent friends; I will not touch your\nmother\u2014the church; I will content myself with murdering her eldest son,\nwho is the cause of all the trouble between us.\n\nNow, we may fairly ask the question: Is the quarrel confined to these\nlimits? Why does Bismarck turn aside from the church, from the Pope who so\nangered him, from the bishops who protested against his laws and refused\nto submit to them, from the Centre in the Reichstag who so boldly, calmly,\nand logically oppose him?\u2014why does he turn from all these legitimate foes,\nand fall on the small body of 708 men who compose the Jesuit Order in\nPrussia?\n\nThe answer is not difficult. The Jesuits as a body represent the intellect\nof the church. They represent indeed more, much more, than this; for\nintellect, great as it is, is not the highest thing in the eye of God or\nof his church; but our present point deals with their intellectual power.\nThe _Pall Mall Gazette_ said the other day, writing on this question:\n\n\n    \u201cOne of the most remarkable traits of the Society of Jesus has\n    always been its literary productiveness. Wherever its members\n    went, no sooner had they founded a home, a college, a mission,\n    than they began to write books. [We beg to call the attention of\n    those who would fain make the church the mother of ignorance, to\n    testimony of this kind from such a source.] The result has been a\n    vast literature, not theological alone, though chiefly that, but\n    embracing almost every branch of knowledge.\u201d\n\n\nThe Jesuits in Germany, as in all countries where they have freedom,\npossessed the best schools and colleges. They made themselves heard and\nfelt in the press. \u201cIn Italy, Germany, Holland, and Belgium,\u201d says the\njournal above quoted, \u201cthe most trustworthy critics are of opinion that\nthere are no better written newspapers than those under Jesuit control.\u201d\nIt says further, and nobody will accuse the _Pall Mall Gazette_ of being a\nJesuit organ:\n\n\n    \u201cWhy indeed is their Order so dangerous, if it be not on account\n    of the ardent, disinterested conviction of its members, their\n    indomitable courage and energy, their spirit of self sacrifice, to\n    say nothing of their intelligence and their learning? The effect\n    of all this can but be heightened by persecution. On the other\n    side [Austria, if we recollect rightly], the danger which the\n    existence of the Order in the country really offers is much less\n    than it is supposed to be. In Germany, it does not really exist.\u201d\n\n\nThese extracts from various numbers of one of the leading rationalistic\norgans in England, which it were easy to supplement by many others of the\nsame import, notably from the _Saturday Review_ and the _Spectator_, we\nmerely present here to such of our non\u2010Catholic readers as might receive\nour own testimony of whatever value with a certain suspicion. They embody\nvery sound reasons for Bismarck\u2019s unprovoked and unlawful attack. We\npurpose going a little deeper into the question.\n\nThe Jesuits now, as always, small as their number is, were the leading\nCatholic teachers in Germany among high and low. Their access to the\nchairs of the universities made them to a great extent the moulders of\nthought, the teachers of the teachers, the great intellectual bulwark\nagainst the spread of rationalism and every form of false doctrine which\nstrives to creep in to the hearth of the commonwealth and endanger its\nexistence. As they were the strenuous upholders of Bismarck in all that\nwas right; as their influence against the maxims of the International,\nthough not so immediate and showy as his, was infinitely deeper and more\nlasting, so when he would intrench upon rights that are inalienable to\nevery man of whatever complexion and creed, they turned and boldly faced\nthe Chancellor himself. Were the character which their opponents would fix\nupon them true, they had their opportunity of showing it\u2014of going with him\nat least at the outset. He would not have disdained the assistance of such\nable lieutenants. But instead, the wily Jesuits, the men of the world, the\nplotters, the schemers, the Order that is untrue to everything and\neverybody save itself, throws itself with undiminished ardor, with a\ndevotion worthy of the fatalist, with all their heart and soul, into a\nlosing cause; into a cause which they have ever supported; which has been\nlosing these eighteen hundred and seventy\u2010two years, but which has never\nlost.\n\nThese considerations bring us to the root of the question.\n\nThis marvellous German empire, this more than a nine days\u2019 wonder, has\nbeen convulsed into life; and sudden convulsions are liable to as sudden\nrelapses. Bismarck\u2019s heart is in it; he is the corner\u2010stone; it is built\nupon him; and he of all men knows on what a rocking foundation it is\nbuilt. Listen to his mouthpiece once more, Minister Delbr\u00fcck, in his\nspeech on the third reading of the bill against the Jesuits:\n\n\n    \u201cWe live under a very new system of government, called into\n    existence by mighty political convulsions: and I hold that we\n    should commit a great error in abandoning ourselves to the\n    delusion that everything is accomplished and perfected because the\n    Imperial German constitution has been published in the official\n    organ of the empire. For a long time to come we shall have to keep\n    carefully in mind that the constitution\u2014the new creation\u2014has\n    enemies not only abroad but at home; and if the representatives of\n    the empire arrive at the conviction that among these internal\n    enemies an organ is to be reckoned which, while furnished with\n    great intellectual and material means, and endowed with a rare\n    organization, steadily pursues a fixed inimical aim, it has a\n    perfect right to meet and frustrate the anticipated attack.\u201d\n\n\nWe have shown how nobly they met and frustrated the anticipated attack\u2014a\nrather summary mode, we submit, of dealing with those who _may_ be\nenemies, for it has grown into only an \u201canticipated attack\u201d now. Worse and\nworse for the wielders of law. It may be as well to note also that the\nChancellor lets nothing slip. He allows the \u201cgreat intellectual means\u201d to\ngo; but the \u201cgreat material means\u201d is a far more important thing. He\nsticks to that. There must be something of the Israelite nature in him. He\nout\u2010Shylocks Shylock. As in France, so here; he is not content with the\n\u201cpound of flesh,\u201d he will have in addition the \u201cmonies.\u201d After all, what\nis there to surprise us in this? The great Chancellor, who coldly wrung\nsuch griping terms from bleeding France, could scarcely be expected to\nleave to the church the great material possessions, that is to say, the\nschools, seminaries, and churches, which belonged to her children.\n\nBut to resume: The first sentence of this quotation strikes the key\u2010note\nof the whole movement. And, we avow it, Prince Bismarck is right. This\nempire has enemies at home as well as abroad, and the Jesuits are in the\nvan. All Catholics are its enemies; and we make bold to say that all free\nmen, and particularly all Americans, are its enemies. For it is not a\nGerman but a Bismarck empire; a Bismarck creation, that started into life\nmen scarce knew how; a momentary thing for mutual defence, but never to be\nmade, as he has made it, as powerful an instrument of tyranny as ever was\nforged to bind and grind a free\u2010born people in fetters of iron for ever\ndown. Never, in the vexed history of nations, has power, and such awful\npower, fallen into the hands of any one man at such an opportune moment\nfor good; and never, at the very outset, has it been so basely and so\nopenly abused. The state of Europe, at this moment, is deplorable;\nrevolution in Spain, revolution in Italy, revolution in France. The\ngovernment, the supreme control of the whole continent, shifting from hand\nto hand; yesterday it was Napoleon, to\u2010day \u2019tis Bismarck: Europe cannot\nstand these successive shocks, from empire to anarchy, from anarchy to\nempire, without warning and without ceasing. Under all smoulders the\nburning lava, breaking out from time to time in fitful eruptions\u2014here the\nCarbonari, there _la Commune_, in other places as trades\u2010unions\u2014which\nthreatens to overwhelm and engulf the whole in one red ruin. It is simply\nthe evil effect of evil spirits working upon dissatisfied and ill\u2010governed\nbodies of men. While over all, in the dim treacherous background, looms\nthe vast giant power of Russia, that seems to slumber, but is only biding\nthe event, and shows itself in dangerous signs from time to time. Europe\nyearns for something fixed, permanent, and strong. Napoleon held\nit\u2014failed; and the reins fell into the hands of Bismarck. He commences his\nreign by declaring war against the only element that can humanize these\nconflicting masses, and cause this wild chaos of passion to adhere,\ncoalesce, and become one again as its Creator made it: religion. Religion\nalone can make them bow to law; for religion alone can teach them that\nthere is a law that is above, and gives a reason for that law which _they_\nthemselves make for themselves. And what has Bismarck done with this power\nthat was given him?\n\nTo begin with, he has banished religion from the schools, where it has\nflourished to the mutual satisfaction of Catholics and Protestants ever\nsince its establishment. He has profaned the sacrament of marriage and\nhanded it over to the civil courts. We will omit the expulsion of the\nJesuits now. His empire is the most autocratic and aristocratic in Europe.\nAlmost as a consequence, it is the most military. To make assurance doubly\nsure, he is making it more military still; not a nation of peaceful men,\nbut a nation of warriors. Instead of allowing the weary nation a rest\nafter a strife where centuries were condensed into a few months, and\nfabulous armies shattered in days, the military laws are made more\nstringent than ever. The Prussian system of service is to prevail\nthroughout the empire, notwithstanding Bavaria\u2019s remonstrance. Von\nMoltke\u2019s declarations in his late speech are very clear and concise.\nSummed up, they mean discipline, discipline, discipline; and this is\nBismarck\u2019s word also. To produce this perfection of discipline, the power\nof the state must be supreme in every point. Nothing must escape it;\nnothing must evade it. The state must be religion, the state must be God,\nand Herr von Bismarck is the state. This sounds like exaggerated language;\nbut Bismarck shall speak for himself:\n\n\n    \u201cI may tell the preceding speaker [Herr Windhorst] that, as far as\n    Prussia is concerned, the Prussian cabinet are determined to take\n    measures which shall henceforth render it impossible for Prussians\n    who are priests of the Roman Catholic Church to assert with\n    impunity that they will be guided by canon law rather than\n    Prussian law.\u201d\n\n\nThis referred immediately to the case of the Bishop of Ermeland and\nothers, for excommunicating disobedient priests.\n\nThe Bishop of Ermeland was ordered to withdraw his excommunication,\nbecause it might affect those who came under it in their civil capacity,\nunder pain of suspension by the government. The answer of the Bishop,\nMonsignor Krementz, was admirable in every way, and we regret that our\nlimited space compels us to exclude it. It is enough to say that the\nbishop shows, beyond the possibility of doubt, that he is actually within\nthe law, by a special provision of the Prussian Constitution, which\ndeclares in Article XII. \u201cthat the enjoyment of civil and political rights\nis independent of religious professions,\u201d while he declares at the same\ntime that in such matters he is not bound by the civil law. Those opposed\nto him in faith must support him in this. Recent decisions in the English\ncourts on behalf of the Established Church support him. And we need hardly\nwaste the time of our readers by entering into such a question. If a\ngovernment acknowledges a church at all, it must allow that church to work\nin its own way so long as it does not intrench upon the civic rights of\nthe subject. The men in question, who were condemned, received their\norders and powers of teaching, preaching, and saying Mass from the church,\nto which they made the most solemn oaths of entire obedience in matters of\ndoctrine. If afterwards they grew discontented, they possessed the civil\nright to leave it. But as honest men, how could they remain in it,\nreceiving emolument from it, using its property, and all the while\npersisting in preaching doctrines contrary to it, and endeavoring to\ndestroy it? Those who defend the decision of the German government must\nallow that when, as not unfrequently happens, a Protestant clergyman\nbecomes a convert to our faith, he may still abide in the Protestant\nchurch, preaching the Catholic faith to his congregation.\n\nOur battle, then, and in this we are all Jesuits, is with the Bismarck\nempire, with the supreme power of the state. These ideas of Prince\nBismarck are not new; they are as old as old Rome. The Roman was taught\nfrom his infancy that he belonged body and soul to the state; and no doubt\nRome owed much of her vast power and boundless acquisitions to the steady\ninculcation of this materialistic doctrine from childhood upwards. \u201cThe\ndivinity of the emperor\u201d is not far removed from the divinity of the\nChancellor. It is a very simple doctrine, and no doubt very convenient for\nthose whom it benefits. But unfortunately for it and its defenders, One\ncame into this world to tell us that we were \u201cto render unto C\u00e6sar the\nthings that are C\u00e6sar\u2019s, and to God the things that are God\u2019s.\u201d This is\nthe Catholic golden rule of politics, as we believe it to be of all\northodox Protestants. Prince Bismarck will excuse our obeying Jesus Christ\nin preference to him.\n\nAnd here is the reason for the expulsion of the Jesuits: They are the\nablest exponents of these doctrines, not necessarily the most earnest\u2014all\nCatholics are alike in that; but their education has made them as a body\nthe ablest, and therefore they are driven out from the schools, colleges,\nuniversities, and churches; from the land utterly. And by whom are they\nreplaced?\n\nBy the tools of Bismarck, by men who are ready to preach his doctrines\n\u201cfor a consideration.\u201d We had a sample of them the other day at the\nopening of one of the universities in Alsace. The correspondent of the\nLondon _Daily News_, among others, described them to us: how they fought\nlike wild beasts to get something to eat, and attacked it with their\nfingers; how, at the end of the day, they, the German professors, reclined\nin the gutters, or reeled drunk through the public streets.\n\nAnd now, to complete our glance at this very large subject, a word on the\nambassador to Rome that is to be. While Bismarck is still determined to\nsend one there, he leaves us no room to doubt of his intentions in the\nsignificant words\u2014\u201cunlooked\u2010for eventualities.\u201d That is to say, he looks\nto the speedy prospect of the present Pontiff\u2019s death, and intends to\naffect the election of his successor. While refraining from remarking on\nthe outspoken indelicacy of this, we do not at all doubt his intention, as\nlittle as we doubt concerning the prospect of its success. It is perfectly\ntrue that when the church had some influence over the state\u2014and how that\ninfluence was exercised, let the spread of education, the abolition of\nserfdom, the persistent defense of liberty, and prevention of so many wars\nspeak\u2014the three great Catholic powers, France, Spain, and Germany, had a\nveto on the election of the Sovereign Pontiff, which they duly exercised\nin the persons of their respective representatives. These representatives\nwere heard and felt in the councils of the church, and the measures they\nbrought forward taken into due consideration. But we were under the\nimpression that the relations between church and state had been altered to\nsome purpose in our days. Lot has parted from Abram. The state said to the\nchurch: Our compact is at an end; you have nothing more to do with us; you\nmay fulminate your thunderbolts as you please, and let them flash abroad\nthrough the world. We laugh. Their day is passed. Papistical pyrotechnics\nmay frighten women and children, but we are too old for that. We know the\nsecret of it all; that at bottom the thunderbolt is only a squib, and must\nfall flat. The church accepted the situation. The state had proclaimed the\nseparation final and eternal. It could scarcely be surprised at the church\ntaking it at its word. It could scarcely be surprised to find the doors of\nthe Vatican Council closed against it. It can scarcely be surprised to\nknow that the veto no longer has force\u2014no longer exists in fact; least of\nall could it be expected to have force in the hands of a Protestant and\nheretical power, even when held in the safe keeping of the pious Emperor\nWilliam and the \u201cChristian and Evangelical\u201d Prince Bismarck.\n\nOne effect, and we think a very important one, has grown out of all this\nwhich we surmise Prince Bismarck scarcely counted upon. We believe the\nmass of thinking men, whatever their sympathies might have been prior to\nand during the late war in France, once they beheld the great German\nempire an accomplished fact, wished it a hearty Godspeed; for it held in\nits hands the intellectual, the moral, and that very important thing in\nthese days, the physical force sufficient to regenerate Europe. We looked\nto it with anxiety to see whither it would tend; we looked to it with\nhope. Our anxieties have been realized, our hopes dashed to the ground.\n\nPrince Bismarck has alienated all Catholics and all lovers of freedom. And\nour eyes turn once more, all the chivalry in our natures turns, to the\nrising form of his late prostrate foe. We are amazed at the intense\nvitality of the French nation. Bismarck but \u201cscotched the snake, not\nkilled it; \u2019twill close and be itself.\u201d All our hearts run out to it in\nthe noble, the marvellous efforts it is making for self\u2010regeneration. And\nif France, as we now believe, will, and at no very distant date, regain\nthe throne from which she has been hurled, the hand that hurled her thence\nwill, by a strange fatality, have the greatest share in reinstating her.\n\u201cThe moral columns of the new German empire have begun to tremble as\nthough shaken by an earthquake,\u201d says the _Lutheran Ecclesiastical\nGazette_, after deploring, as we have done, all the recent measures that\nhave passed.\n\nAs for the manner in which the Catholic Church will come out of this\ntrial, we will let the Protestant press itself speak. We have already\nheard it in a half\u2010hearted way in England and among ourselves. The _Kreuz\u2010\nzeitung_, the organ of the orthodox Protestants, speaks more plainly:\n\n\n    \u201cAn eminent Catholic, a member of parliament, said lately that the\n    outlook of the Roman Church in Germany was never more favorable\n    than it is to\u2010day. It seems that this judgment is not without\n    foundation. The defections produced by the old Catholics are\n    without signification: we have to state a fact of altogether\n    another importance. Formerly, the greater part of the German\n    bishops, the greater part of the lower clergy, and almost all the\n    laics, were adversaries of the new dogma [we give those words of\n    the _Kreuz\u2010zeitung_, with our own reservations as to faith in\n    them], but now that the council has spoken, we only find thirty\u2010\n    two apostate priests; that is an immeasurable victory won by the\n    Roman Church.... Though the Roman Church thus appears day by day\n    more and more in the ascendant, the Evangelical Church sees itself\n    with deliberate purpose pushed down the inclined plane, or, what\n    is still worse, the government does not seem to be aware of its\n    existence. We have been able to remark this recently in the\n    discussion on the paragraph relating to the clergy in the\n    Reichstag; and lately again on the occasion of the law on the\n    inspection of schools. In the debates, at least those which\n    concern the manifestations of the government, the question has\n    been altogether with reference to the Roman Church. There has been\n    no mention made, or scarcely any, of the Evangelical Church. The\n    impression produced on every impartial observer must be this: the\n    Roman Church is a power, a factor which must be taken into\n    account; the Evangelical Church is not. This disdain is, for the\n    latter, the most telling blow which can be inflicted upon it, and\n    which must aid in strengthening the cause of Rome in a manner that\n    must become of the deepest significance for the future. After all\n    that, it is not strange to see the adherents of the Roman cause\n    conceive the loftiest hopes.\u201d\n\n\nThe _Volksblatt von Halle_ states that \u201cthe Catholic Church has become\nneither more timid nor weaker, but more prudent, bolder, of greater\nconsideration, and in every respect more powerful than ever.\u201d We might go\non multiplying such extracts, but our space forbids us.\n\nThe result then to us, to Catholics, is not doubtful, as the result of\npersecution never is. It is strange that such a keen\u2010sighted, eminently\npractical man as Prince Bismarck should become so suddenly blind to all\nthe teachings of history. The meanest religion that exists among men\nthrives on persecution even when it has nothing better to support it. As\nfor us, as for the Jesuits particularly, \u201csuff\u2019rance is the badge of all\nour tribe.\u201d Their great Founder left it to them as his last legacy. And\nindeed, the measure he meted out to them has been filled to overflowing.\nWhile we are thus strong in faith, while we know that Prince Bismarck is\nonly beating the air in his vain and impious efforts to extinguish that\nfire which God kindled and bade to burn, while we are calmly confident\nthat he will shatter his mightiest forces against the Rock of Ages, and\ncome back from the conflict battered and bruised\u2014finding out too late that\nhe made the one grand mistake of his life, which greater than he have made\nbefore him\u2014still we cannot shut our eyes to the fact of the great injuries\nhe is inflicting upon us, and the many fresh trials imposed upon the\nchurch and our Holy Father in his declining years.\n\nWhat, then, are we to do?\n\nWe have power, and we must use it. We have voices, and we must make them\nheard. We have the silent, if not the outspoken sympathy of powerful\nbodies opposed to us in creed. We have the heart, when we show ourselves,\nof every free man and hater of oppression in any form. We have the genius\nof our own constitution on our side. We must speak out plainly and boldly\nas Catholic Americans. We must do what has already been done in London at\nthe meeting in S. James\u2019 Hall, presided over by the Duke of Norfolk; where\npeer and ploughman, gentle and simple, priest and layman, were one in\nprotesting against this slavish policy of Prince Bismarck. Let us do the\nlike. Let our eminent men, and they are not few, call us together here in\nNew York, in every city throughout the nation\u2014in behalf not only of our\nsuffering brethren, but of those rights which are inalienable to every man\nthat is born into this world\u2014in protestation against a principle and a\npolicy which, if they found favor here, would sap the life of our nation,\nand throw us back into the old slavery that we drowned in our best blood.\nOur standpoint is this: as there are rights which the state does not and\ncannot give us, those rights are inviolable, and the state cannot touch\nthem. To God alone we owe them; to God alone we give them back, and are\nanswerable for them. The state is not supreme in all things, and never\nshall be. These are the principles we defend, and are happy in being their\npersecuted champions.\n\nIt is not merely a question of creed; Bismarck does not attack a creed. It\nis a broad question of right and wrong, of justice and injustice, of\n_absolutism_ and freedom. Power was never given into the hands of the\nGerman Chancellor to be abused at the very outset, to oppress his\nsubjects, Catholic and Protestant. It is not and it must not be supreme;\nand we very much mistake the genius of the great German people if they\nlong allow it to continue so. It is not for him to deprive 14,000,000 of\nhis people of their natural rights; the right to educate their children as\nthey think proper, _and as the law allowed them_; the right to consider\nmarriage a sacrament sanctified by God, and not a civil contract, to be\nloosed or unloosed at will by a magistrate; the right of listening to\ntheir most eminent teachers; the right of holding the seminaries and\nchurches, built by their own money, for the use of their own priests; the\nright, above all, of believing that there is a God beyond all governments,\nfrom whom all government, which people make for themselves, springs; that\nGod has set a law in the conscience which they must obey, even though\nprinces and kings rage against it, and that it is not in the nature of\nthings for this first and final law of conscience to clash with any other\nunless that other be wrong. When Prince Bismarck succeeds in eradicating\nthese inborn notions from the minds of the German people, he will then\nhave attained his supremacy; but that then is\u2014never.\n\n\n\n\nChoice In No Choice.\n\n\nI know not which to love the more:\n  The morning, with its liquid light;\nOr evening, with its tender lore\n  Of silver lake and purple height.\n\nTo morn I say, \u201cThe fairer thou:\n  For when thy beauties melt away,\n\u2019Tis but to breathe on heart and brow\n  The gladness of the perfect day.\u201d\n\nAnd o\u2019er the water falls a hue\n  That cannot sate a poet\u2019s eye:\nAs though Our Lady\u2019s mantle threw\n  Its shadow there\u2014and not the sky.\n\nBut when has glared the torrid\u2010noon,\n  And afternoon is gasping low,\nThe sunset brings a sweeter boon\n  Than ever graced the orient\u2019s glow.\n\nAnd I: \u201cAs old wine unto new,\n  Art thou to morn, belov\u00e8d eve!\nAnd what if dies thy every hue\n  In blankest night? We may not grieve.\n\n\u201cThy fading lulls us as we dote.\n  Nor always blank the genial night:\nFor when the moon is well afloat,\n  Thou mellowest into amber light.\u201d\n\nIs each, then, fairer in its turn?\n  \u2019Tis hence the music. Not for me\nTo wish a dayless morn, or yearn\n  For nightless eve\u2014if these could be.\n\nBut give me both\u2014the new, the old:\n  And let my spirit sip the wine\nFrom silver now, and now from gold:\n  \u2019Tis wine alike\u2014alike divine!\n\nLAKE GEORGE, July, 1872.\n\n\n\n\nFleurange.\n\n\nBy Mrs. Craven, Author of \u201cA Sister\u2019s Story.\u201d\n\nTranslated From The French, With Permission.\n\n\n\nPart Third. The Banks Of The Neckar.\n\n\n\u201cBrama assai\u2014poco spera\u2014nulla chiede.\u201d\u2014Tasso.\n\n\nXXXIV.\n\n\n\u201cReturn, Gabrielle! if possible, return at once; at all events, come\nsoon.\u201d These simple words from Clement to his cousin give no idea of the\nagitation with which they were written. Fleurange herself would never have\nsuspected it, and less than ever at the arrival of a letter at once so\naffecting and so opportune. She even paid very little attention to her\ncousin\u2019s assurances as to the inutility of any further sacrifices for the\nsake of his family. Clement, however, had written her the exact truth. The\nsituation of Professor Dornthal\u2019s family was of course very different from\nwhat it once was, but the change was far from being as great as they had\nall anticipated and prepared for a year before, when ruin overwhelmed and\nscattered them.\n\nTo leave the house in which they had lived twenty\u2010five years; to see all\nthe objects that adorned it offered for sale; to give up the place where\nthe happiest moments of their lives had been spent; all this at first\nexcluded the possibility of anticipating anything but privation and\nsadness without alleviation. Madame Dornthal herself did not look forward\nto the future in any other light, and the courage with which she left her\nnative city was the same she would have shown had her husband been\ncondemned to suffer exile; she would have shared it with him, endeavoring\nto soften it as much as possible, but without anticipating the least\npossibility of joy in their changed lives.\n\nJoy, however, returned. It not unfrequently happens that reverses endured\nwithout murmuring receive unexpected compensations.\n\nIn the first place, their new home, though simple, and even rustic\ncompared with their old one, was neither gloomy nor inconvenient. Two\nspacious rooms on the ground floor allowed the whole family to assemble\nnot only for their meals, but the evening reunions\u2014their greatest pleasure\nwhen all the absent ones returned. A small garden surrounded the house,\nand a grass\u2010plot extended down to the river with a covered alley on each\nside. This place, called Rosenheim, merited its name by the abundance of\nflowers, and especially of roses, which on every side cheered the eye and\nembalmed the air. Their very first impressions, therefore, were quite\ndifferent from what they had apprehended. Besides, Clement had reserved\ntwo or three of his father\u2019s favorite paintings, several engravings, as\nwell as a number of other familiar and precious objects, which preceded\nthem, and were there, like old friends, to welcome them.\n\nIn the next place, the professor\u2019s rare collections, and the works of art\nhe had selected with so correct a taste and such profound knowledge,\nproved far more valuable than they had anticipated, so that, if no longer\nrich, an independence more than sufficient was assured them. Moreover,\nClement\u2019s prospects were exceedingly promising. His extraordinary ability\nwas soon recognized to a degree that justified Wilhelm M\u00fcller\u2019s foresight.\nTo tell the truth, fortune is not so blind and capricious as she is often\nrepresented, and if she sometimes bestows her favors on those who are\nunworthy of them, there are some she reserves exclusively for persevering\nindustry, perfect integrity, shrewd calculation, strict economy, and\nundeviating exactness. These virtues\u2014and not chance\u2014lay the foundations of\ndurable and honorably acquired fortunes, and where they are lacking the\ngreatest skill does not prevent them from being frequently lost in a day.\n\nIt was one of these legitimate fortunes Clement was worthy of and capable\nof acquiring. His success was already sufficient to dispense his father\nfrom the share of labor he had taken upon himself, but he could not turn\nhim from his purpose, and soon perceived he ought not to attempt it. He\nderived the poetry of his nature from his father, and was indebted to his\nmother for his force and energy. Of these the professor, with all the rare\nand exquisite gifts of his mind and heart, was entirely destitute. A\nprofound dejection mingled with his apparent resignation to misfortune,\nwhich sprang from the humiliating conviction\u2014felt too late\u2014of having\nbrought it on himself by a want of foresight, and thus being responsible\nfor the ruin of his family.\n\nHe needed something to divert him from this rooted idea, and therefore the\nnecessity of exerting himself to fulfil the duties of the position he had\naccepted, and of pursuing his favorite studies, was too beneficial to make\nit desirable he should renounce it. His new life, no longer burdened by\nany material anxiety, gradually became both active and serene, and when\nthe family assembled together, everything would have had nearly the same\naspect as before, had it not been for the vacancies around the hearth. But\nafter the arrival of Hilda and her husband, and subsequently of Dr.\nLeblanc, the evenings at Rosenheim became once more cheerful and almost\nlively. Ludwig and Hansfelt resumed their favorite topics of conversation;\nHilda\u2019s beauty and happiness delighted her father; the merry voices of the\nchildren resounded anew; and Clement often favored them as of yore with a\nlively air on his violin, but more frequently, at his father\u2019s request,\nwith some graver melody, which he would play with such skill and so\npathetic an expression as to surprise Hilda, who asked him one day how he\nhad found time in his busy life to develop his talent to such a degree.\nClement did not at first hear, he was so absorbed in some strain of\nBeethoven\u2019s, which gave forth a heart\u2010rending accent under his bow. She\nrepeated her question.\n\n\u201cI often play in the evening at Frankfort,\u201d he then replied. \u201cM\u00fcller and\nhis wife accompany me. Music refreshes me after the tedious labors of the\nday, and this prevents me from losing what you are so kind as to call my\ntalent.\u201d\n\nSuch was the state of things Fleurange would have found at her new home\nhad she arrived a month sooner. In that case, her involuntary sadness\nmight have excited more attention. But the serenity of the household, so\nrecently regained, had been violently disturbed again. It was not\nsurprising therefore that tears should mingle with her joy at seeing once\nmore those she loved, especially as among them she found Dr. Leblanc\u2019s\nsister in mourning for him, and she had to be informed of another\nmisfortune, scarcely hinted at in Clement\u2019s letter.\n\nProfessor Dornthal\u2019s life was indeed no longer in danger, but his memory\nwas greatly impaired, and his noble mind, if not extinct, only gave out a\nfeeble and vacillating light. This was hoped to be merely a transient\nstate, which time and absolute cessation from labor would soon remedy. But\nit was a severe affliction to them all, and Clement for the first time saw\nhis mother\u2019s courage waver. It was with truly a sad smile Madame Dornthal\nsaw her husband recognize and embrace Fleurange without manifesting the\nslightest surprise at her presence, or realizing the time and distance\nthat had separated them. It was the same with Clara; but when she placed\nher infant in his arms, there was a momentary reawakening of the invalid\u2019s\ntorpid memory. Tears came into his eyes; he embraced the child, murmured\n\u201cGod bless him!\u201d and then gave him back to his mother, looking at him with\nan expression that filled them for a moment with hope. Then the gleam\nvanished, and he fell back into his former state.\n\nIn consequence of all these circumstances, when the family assembled in\nthe evening in the large salon on the ground floor, every brow was\nclouded, all the young smiling faces were grave and anxious, and the same\ncause for sadness weighed on every heart. Perhaps this was best for\nFleurange, who, ever ready to forget herself, seemed to feel, and indeed\nonly felt the sorrows of the rest.\n\nAh! how her sadness, which seemed only sympathy, touched one person that\nnight as he gazed at her in silent admiration. She was sitting between his\nsisters, the lamp suspended from the ceiling threw a halo around her\ncharming face, and the voice, so dear and so long unheard, resounded for\nthe first time in this place where everything seemed transformed by her\npresence!\n\nThe evening, so sad for all the rest, was not so for Clement. Even his\nanxiety for his father was suspended: he felt a renewed hope for him as\nwell as for everything else\u2014yes, _every_ thing. He no longer took a dark\nview of things: he was, as it were, intoxicated with hope. With what a\nsweet confiding look she had pressed his hand! In what a tone she cried:\n\u201cDear Clement, how happy I am to see you again\u201d! Could the future, then,\nbe as doubtful as he had so recently feared? As to the smiles of fortune,\nhe no longer doubted: he was sure of winning them henceforth. He once\nthought himself inefficient, but he was mistaken. Might he not also be\nmistaken in thinking himself incapable of ever pleasing?\u2014To this question\nhe heard no other reply but the quickened pulsations of his heart, and the\nrippling of the water flowing past the seat to which he had betaken\nhimself on the banks of the river.\n\nMeanwhile, Fleurange and her cousins went up\u2010stairs. Clement soon saw them\nall talking together in low tones on the large wooden gallery that\nextended around the house, and on which all the windows opened. Then they\nretired; but the light that shone for the first time that night was a long\ntime visible, and Clement did not quit his post till he saw it was\nextinguished.\n\n\nXXXV.\n\n\nFleurange gradually resumed the habits of domestic life\u2014once the\nrealization of all her dreams\u2014and then, only then, she realized the extent\nand depth of the change she had undergone while separated from her\nfriends.\n\nShe was no longer the same. No effort of her will could conceal this fact.\nHer heart, her thoughts, her regrets, her desires, and her hopes, were all\nelsewhere. Italy in all its brilliancy did not differ more from the\npeaceful landscape before her, charming as it was, with the little garden\nof roses and the river winding around it, the ruins beyond, and the dark\nforest in the background, than the vanished scenes\u2014still so vividly\nremembered\u2014of which that land was the enchanting theatre, differed from\nthose now occurring beneath the more misty sky of Germany. At Florence,\nher struggles and efforts, and the necessity of action, stimulated her\ncourage. The peace she found at Santa Maria revived her strength. But\nthere, as we have said, the past and the future seemed suspended, as it\nwere. Now the struggle was over as well as the pause that succeeded it,\nand she must again set forth on the way\u2014act, live in the present, and\ncourageously take up life again as she found it, with its actual duties\nand new combats. Fleurange had never felt more difficulty and repugnance\nin overcoming herself.\n\nAfter the long restraint she had been obliged to make, it would have been\nsome relief to be dispensed from all effort, especially at concealment,\nand freely give herself up to a profound melancholy, to pass away the\nhours in dreamy inaction, to weep when her heart was swelling with tears,\nand, if not to speak to every one of her sadness, at least take no trouble\nto conceal it.\n\nThis would have been her natural inclination, and it was only by an effort\nshe refrained from yielding to it. But this would have shown the strength\ngained in her retreat to have been only factitious, and her intercourse\nwith Madre Maddalena to have left, this time, no permanent influence. We\nhave, however, no such act of cowardice to record respecting our heroine.\n\nOn the contrary, whoever saw her up at the first gleam of light in the\neast to relieve her aunt from all the cares of the _m\u00e9nage_; whoever\nfollowed her first to the store\u2010rooms to dispense the provisions for the\nday, accompanied by little Frida, whom she initiated into the mysteries of\nhousekeeping, and then to the kitchen to give directions and sometimes\neven lend assistance to the old and not over\u2010skilful cook; whoever saw her\neven going sometimes to market with a firm step, basket in hand, and\nreturning with her cloak covered with dew, would not have imagined from\nthe freshness she brought back from these matutinal walks, and the\nbrilliancy which youth and health imparted to her complexion, that, more\nthan once, the night had passed without sleep, and while hearing her early\nMass, never neglected, she had shed so many scalding tears.\n\nOther cares, more congenial and better calculated to absorb her mind,\noccupied the remainder of the day. Her special talent for waiting on the\nsick, and the beneficent influence she exercised over them, were again\nbrought into requisition around her uncle, and Madame Dornthal blessed the\nday of her return as she witnessed the evident progress of so prolonged\nand painful a convalescence\u2014a progress that gave them reason to hope in\nthe complete restoration of the professor\u2019s faculties, if not in the\npossibility of his ever resuming constant or arduous labor. The young girl\nfound these cares delightful, and her new duties towards her dear old\nfriend Mademoiselle Josephine no less so.\n\nJosephine Leblanc\u2019s affections had all been centred in her brother. She\nlived exclusively for him, and had never once thought of the possibility\nof surviving him. A person left alone in a house standing in a district\ndevastated by war or fire, would not have felt more suddenly and strangely\nleft alone than our poor old mademoiselle after the fatal blow that\ndeprived her of her brother, so dear, so admired, and so venerated\u2014the\nbrother younger than herself, and in whose arms she had felt so sure of\ndying!\n\nShe remained calm, however, and self\u2010possessed. But the mute despair\nimprinted on her face as she went to and fro in the house, troubling no\none with her grief, affected every beholder. She only begged to remain\nthere that she might not have to return alone to the place where she had\nlived with him. From the first, Madame Dornthal had invited her to take up\nher residence near them, and Fleurange\u2019s return brought her old friend to\na final decision, which proved so consoling that she firmly believed it to\nhave been in the designs of Providence. The doctor left considerable\nproperty, which now belonged entirely to his sister. All their relatives\nwere wealthier than they, and lived in the provinces. There was nothing\ntherefore to induce Mademoiselle Josephine to return to Paris, and she\nresolved to settle near her new friends, that she might be near her whom\nlong before she had adopted in her heart. It was a formidable undertaking\nfor a person who for forty years had led a uniform life, always in the\nsame place, and who was no less ignorant of the world at sixty than she\nwas at twenty years of age. But it seemed no longer difficult as soon as\nshe again had some one to live for. As to Fleurange, she found it pleasant\nand beneficial to devote herself to her old friend in return, and, in\nacquitting herself of this new debt of gratitude, her heart gained\nstrength for the interior struggle which had become the constant effort of\nher life.\n\nNotwithstanding the marriage of her two cousins, everything now resumed\nthe aspect of the past. Clara and Julian, established in the neighborhood\nwhere the pursuits of the latter would retain him a year, did not suffer a\nday to pass without visiting Rosenheim. Hansfelt no longer thought of\nleaving his old friend, and Hilda\u2019s calm and radiant happiness seemed to\nlack nothing between her husband and her father, whose case now appeared\nso hopeful.\n\nClement alone was not, as formerly, a part of the regular family circle.\nHe only came once a week\u2014on Saturday evening\u2014and returned to Frankfort on\nMonday morning as soon as it was light.\n\nBusiness for which one feels a special aptitude is not generally\nrepugnant. But Clement had such a variety of talents, and among all the\nthings he was capable of, the duties of the office where he passed his\ndays were certainly not what he had the greatest taste or inclination for.\nNothing would have retained him there but the conviction of thereby\nserving the best interests of those dear to him. He must accept the most\nremunerative employment, and, this once resolved upon, nothing could\nexhaust the courageous endurance so peculiar to him. His courage was not\nin the least increased by the desire of surprising others or exciting\ntheir admiration, and nothing under any circumstances could daunt or turn\nhim from his purpose. And he knew how to brave _ennui_ as well as\ndisaster. But this _ennui_, which he generally overcame by severe\napplication, became from time to time overwhelming, and he would have had\nviolent fits of discouragement had it not been for the cheering evenings\nhe passed in the modest household of which he was a member.\n\nWilhelm M\u00fcller perceived that Clement\u2019s varied acquirements were useful to\nhim, and his devotedness to him was mingled with an admiration bordering\non enthusiasm. On his side, he procured Clement the opportunity and\npleasure of talking of something besides their commercial affairs, and\nwith the aid of music their evenings passed agreeably away.\n\nBut the kind and simple Bertha, with the instinct that often enables a\nwoman to put her finger on the wound the most penetrating of men would\nnever have discovered, had found a sure means of diverting him. The\nchildren had never forgotten the great event of their lives\u2014the journey\nand the beautiful young lady they met on the way. Clement never seemed\nweary of listening to this account, to which Bertha would add many a\ncomment; and this had been the commencement of a kind of confidential\nintimacy, which she discreetly took advantage of, and which was of more\ncomfort to him than he realized. In short, this was the bright spot in his\nweary life. He would need it more than ever when, after a leave of absence\non account of his father\u2019s terrible accident, which had been prolonged\nfrom day to day, he would have to return to his bondage, and this time\nwith an effort that added another degree of heroism to the task he had\nimposed on himself.\n\nIt was now the eve of his departure. Fleurange and Hilda were sitting at\ntwilight on a little bench by the river\u2010side conversing together, and\nClement, leaning against a tree opposite, was looking at the current of\nthe water, listening silently, but attentively, to the conversation that\nwas going on before him. They were discussing all that had occurred during\ntheir separation, and Hilda began to question Fleurange about her\njourney\u2014about Italy, and the life she led at Florence away from them all.\nFleurange replied, but briefly and with the kind of apprehension we feel\nwhen a conversation is leading to a point we would like to avoid. She\nforesaw the impossibility of succeeding in this, and was endeavoring, but\nwithout success, to overcome her embarrassment, when Count George\u2019s name\nat last was introduced. After some questions, to which Fleurange only\nreplied by monosyllables, Hilda continued:\n\n\u201cCount George!\u2014A friend of Karl\u2019s, who met him, was pretending the other\nday in my hearing that no one could see him without loving him. As you\nknow him, Fleurange, what is your opinion?\u201d\n\nThe question was a decided one, and Fleurange, as we are aware, had no\nturn for evasion. She blushed and remained silent\u2014so long silent that\nClement abruptly turned around and looked at her. Did she turn pale at\nthis? or was it the light of the moon through the foliage that blanched\nher face, and its silver rays that gave her an expression he had never\nseen till now? He remained looking at her with attention mingled with\nanguish, when at length, in a troubled tone and with a fruitless effort at\na smile, she replied:\n\n\u201cI think, Hilda, Karl\u2019s friend was right.\u201d\n\nThese words were very simple after all, but the darkest hour of Clement\u2019s\nlife never effaced from his memory the spot or the moment in which they\nwere uttered, the silence that preceded, or the tone and look that\naccompanied them.\n\n\nXXXVI.\n\n\nThe blindness of love is proverbial. His clairvoyance would be equally so,\nwere it not for the illusion that unceasingly aids the heart in avoiding\nthe discoveries it dreads. The very instinct that gives keenness to the\neye is as prompt to close it, and when the truth threatens one\u2019s happiness\nor pride, there are but few who are bold enough to face it regardless of\nconsequences.\n\nTo this number, however, Clement belonged. There was in his nature no\nliability to illusions which had the power of obscuring his penetration.\nTherefore the truth was suddenly revealed to him without mercy, and his\nnewly budding hopes were at once blasted for ever.\u2014That moment of silence\nwas as tragical as if all his heart\u2019s blood had been shed on the spot, and\nleft him lifeless at the feet of her who had unwittingly given him so\ndeadly a blow!\n\nWithin a year\u2014since the day he thought himself separated from her for\never, not only by his own inferiority, but by the sad necessity of his new\nposition\u2014two unexpected changes had occurred: First, in his exterior\nlife\u2014then he was apparently ruined: now, he felt capable of repairing his\nfortunes. Secondly, in the opinion he had of himself.\n\nNot that a sudden fatuity had seized the modest and unpretending Clement.\nBy no means; but the great reverses of his family had certainly effaced in\na day every trace of his youthful timidity, and a kind of barrier had all\nat once melted away before him. Hitherto his worth had not been recognized\nbeyond the narrow circle of his family, and even there he was loved\nwithout being fully appreciated. Necessity threw him in contact with the\nworld; all his faculties were brought into action and developed by\nexercise. His features, his attitude, his manners, and his general\nappearance all participated in this transformation. The silent awkwardness\nthat once left him unnoticed was overcome by the necessity of asserting\nhimself, and also by that increased confidence in himself produced by a\nwidening influence over others. This influence, at which he himself was\nastonished, was not solely the consequence of the superior ability he\nmanifested in the dull and prosaic life he had embraced. But in this\ncareer, as everywhere else, he brought his highest faculties into\nexercise; and while observing and seizing all these details of his\nmaterial life, he understood how to impart a soul to them by his dignity,\ntrustworthiness, unselfishness, and generous ardor\u2014which are the sweet\nflowers of labor and the noble result of a well\u2010regulated nature.\n\nHe also reserved a prominent part of his evenings for the favorite studies\nin which he had not ceased to interest himself, as well as a thousand\nsubjects foreign to his daily occupation, but exceedingly useful in the\ndevelopment of his mind. Thence sprang a simple and persuasive eloquence,\nwhich gave him an ascendency over every one, and caused him to be\nespecially sought after on a thousand occasions that had no immediate\nconnection with his actual position. Once or twice he had even been\ninvited to speak at some public assembly which had for its object either a\nquestion of public interest, or one relating to literature and the arts,\nand he acquitted himself so well as to attract the notice not only of\nthose to whom the name of Dornthal was already familiar, but of a great\nnumber of strangers. Numerous advances to acquaintance were made him on\nall sides, and Clement might easily have passed his evenings elsewhere\nthan in the unpretending home of the M\u00fcllers. But he had no such\ninclination. Their company satisfied his present tastes. Music, which he\nwould not willingly have been deprived of, was the delight of his hosts;\nand as is frequently the case in Germany, they were able to join him in\nduets or trios which many a professional singer would not have disdained\nto listen to.\n\nOver his whole life, with its varied and absorbing interests, reigned one\ndear and ever\u2010present form. It seemed at first like some celestial vision,\nfar\u2010off and inaccessible, but for some time, under the influence of all we\nhave referred to, it appeared to have drawn nearer to him.\n\nOn this account, he began to appreciate the increased consideration with\nwhich he was regarded, but which he valued so little on his own. He\nventured at last to ask himself if the good\u2010will that seemed to beam on\nhim on all sides did not authorize him to hope sooner or later for\nsomething more, and if his favorite poet was wholly wrong in promising\nthat he who loved should win something in return.\n\nSuch thoughts and dreams, if allowed entrance in the heart, are apt to end\nby taking entire possession of it; and, as we have said, Clement was\nintoxicated with hope when Fleurange reappeared in their midst. But his\ndreams, fancies, and hopes were now all crushed by one word from her\u2014one\nword, the fatal meaning of which was clearly revealed by the expression of\nher eyes, which Clement caught a glimpse of by the pale light of the moon!\n\nThe grief that pierced his soul enabled him to realize the full extent of\nhis illusions, and he was astonished he had ever before considered himself\nunhappy. For some time after his return to Frankfort, he was overpowered\nby a dejection such as he had never experienced. He felt as incapable of\nany further effort as he was indifferent to all success. His daily task\nbecame insupportable, and study in the evening impossible. Instead of\nreturning to the M\u00fcller\u2019s at the usual hour, he would leave the city afoot\nor on horseback, and roam around the country for hours, as if to wear out\nhis grief by exhausting his strength.\n\nNow he clearly saw he had only lived, planned, and exerted himself for her\nthe two years past; he had given her not only his heart, but his entire\nlife, and that life had had but one aim\u2014the hope of some day winning in\nreturn the heart which would never belong to him now\u2014because it was given\nto another! And while repeating Count George\u2019s name with rage, he\nsharpened his anguish by recalling him, as he had once seen him, clothed\nwith irresistible attractions. His noble features, his look of\nintelligence, his taste for the arts, the charm of his manners, his voice,\nand his language, all came back unpityingly to the memory of his humble\nrival. He remembered him in the gallery of the Old Mansion, through which\nhe accompanied him at a time when he was a mere student, and absolutely\nwanting in everything that was, not only attractive, but capable of\nexciting the least attention. His imagination mercilessly dwelt on the\ncontrast between them. Was it surprising (and he blushed at so ridiculous\na comparison) such a man should be more successful than he? And should he,\ninferior as he was, be astonished that this man, living so near Fleurange,\nunder the same roof\u2014At this thought a bitter anguish, a furious jealousy,\ntook possession of him, and excited a tempest in his heart which neither\nduty, nor his sense of honor, nor the energy of his will, could succeed in\ncalming. There are times when passion rises superior to every other\nimpulse, and they who have not learned to seek their strength from a\ndivine source are always vanquished. But Clement had been accustomed to\nthe powerful restraints of religion; his strength consisted in never\nthrowing them off. Therefore, he was not to fail in this severe struggle:\nhe would soon turn his eyes heavenward for the aid he needed in again\nbecoming master of himself.\n\n\nXXXVII.\n\n\nDisinterestedness, energy, and the power of self\u2010control were, as may have\nbeen perceived, qualities common both to Clement and Fleurange. There was,\nin fact, a great resemblance in their natures, which, on his part, was the\nsecret of the attraction so suddenly ripened into a more lively sentiment;\nand, on hers, of an unchanging confidence, in spite of the transformation\nof another kind she likewise experienced. And now they were both engaged\nin a like struggle: they were united by similarity of suffering, which\nseparated them, nevertheless, as by an abyss.\n\nAh! if Clement could have hoped, as he once did, that a more tender\nsentiment would spring out of this sympathy and confidence, with what joy,\nwhat sweet pride, he would have regarded this conformity so constantly\nmanifest between them! But the aspect of everything was now changed: there\nwas no longer any possibility of happiness for him, he could now only\nsuffer; and by the light of what was passing in his own heart he was\nenabled to read hers\u2014at once open to him and yet closed against him for\never!\n\nWith all Clement\u2019s self\u2010control, he would have been utterly unable to\nconceal the state of his mind from his cousin had he remained at\nFrankfort. But, after the days of overpowering anguish we have already\nreferred to, after yielding without restraint to a despair bordering on\nmadness, Clement at length succeeded in regaining his clearness of\njudgment.\n\nOne morning he rose before day, and left the city on foot. His walk was\nprolonged to such an extent that it might be called a pilgrimage, and the\nmore correctly as its goal was a church, but so unpretending a church that\nit only differed from the neighboring houses by a stone cross to be seen\nwhen passing the door which it surmounted. The door was opened by the very\nperson Clement came to see\u2014a pious and simple young priest who was\nformerly his schoolmate. He was inferior to Clement intellectually, but\nhis guide and master in those regions the soul alone attains. What Clement\nnow sought was\u2014not merely to pour out his heart by way of confidence\u2014not\neven the consolation of discreet and Christian sympathy\u2014but to recover his\nfirmness by a courageous avowal of all his weakness, and afterwards make\nan unchangeable resolution in the presence of God and his representative\nat the holy tribunal. He had made a similar one while yet a youth, but now\nin his manhood he wished to renew it in a more solemn manner. It would of\ncourse require greater effort after the gleam of hope he had just lost,\nand the devotedness he pledged himself to would be more difficult after\nthe revelation that she whom he loved, and must ever love, had given her\naffections to another. His voice faltered as he declared that no word,\nlook, or act of his should ever trouble her, or reveal the sentiments she\nhad inspired in the heart of one who would live near her, without her, and\nyet for her!\n\nIt was, in fact, his old _devise_: \u201cGarder l\u2019amour et briser l\u2019espoir!\u201d\nwhich he now solemnly assumed with the grave and pious feeling that\naccompanies all self\u2010sacrifice.\n\nSuch piety may be regarded by some as rather _exalt\u00e9e_. They are right,\nbut it is the kind of exaltation which accords with the real signification\nof the word, which elevates the soul it inflames, and which, though\npowerless in itself, can effect much when the divine assistance is invoked\nto co\u2010operate in aiding, increasing, in a word, exalting human strength!\n\nThat evening Clement quietly resumed his old seat at the M\u00fcllers\u2019\nfireside. In reply to Wilhelm\u2019s questions, he said that during his long\nvisit at Rosenheim he had neglected affairs that required his attention.\n\u201cAnd then I confess,\u201d continued he, \u201cthat I have been in a bad humor, and\nthought it wiser to relieve you from my society.\u201d But to Bertha, who also\nquestioned him, in a less vague way, however, he acknowledged more\nfrankly, but no less briefly, that he had met with a great affliction, but\nrequested her never to mention the subject to him. Then he took his violin\nand began to play a strain from Bach.\n\nBertha seated herself at the piano, and played an accompaniment to this\nand several other pieces. Her husband, who was beating time beside her,\nremarked that their young friend\u2019s bad humor had a singularly favorable\neffect on his talent.\n\n\u201cI assure you, Dornthal, you never played so well as you have this\nevening.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps so,\u201d replied Clement with a thoughtful air. \u201cYes, I think you are\nright.\u201d\n\nIt was really the truth. Music was the veiled, but eloquent, language of\nhis soul. The very feelings he so successfully repressed, the words that\nno temptation or impulse could induce his lips to betray, made the chords\nvibrate beneath his bow, and gave their tones an inexpressible accent it\nwas impossible to hear without emotion and surprise.\n\nWhen, at the end of a fortnight, Clement reappeared at Rosenheim, all\nexterior traces of the excessive agitation he had given himself up to had\ndisappeared. He resumed his usual manner towards Fleurange. No one would\nhave dreamed\u2014and she less than any one else\u2014that between the past and\npresent he found the difference of life and death. She little imagined\nthat the new and strange sympathy that existed between them revealed to\nhim the secret of all her thoughts and struggles. She also, apparently,\nhad become the same as before. Her time was actively employed, the care\nshe had of little Frida and that she lavished on her uncle, the _m\u00e9nage_,\nsewing, exercise, and study filled up the days so completely that it was\nvery seldom she could have been found inactive or pensive.\n\nHilda, her favorite cousin, though likewise struck for a moment by the\nhesitation with which she replied to her questions about Count George,\nalmost ceased attaching any importance to this slight incident when she\nobserved the apparent calmness with which Fleurange fulfilled the duties\nof her active life. Only one clearly read her heart and understood the\npassing expression of weariness and sorrow that now and then overshadowed\nher brow for an instant, and saddened her eye. Only one noticed her\nabsence when the family assembled in the evening, and followed her in\nthought to the little bench on the bank of the river, where he imagined\nshe had gone to weep awhile, alone and unrestrained. All she suffered he\nhad to endure himself, and he lived thus united to her, and yet every day\nstill more widely separated from her.\n\nThe weeks flew rapidly away, however, and the tranquility and happiness of\nthe family were continually increasing. The professor\u2019s mental and\nphysical strength gradually returned. Work alone was forbidden him, but\nreading and conversation were allowable and salutary diversions. His\nconversations with Hansfelt were sometimes as interesting as of old, and\nhe might have been supposed to have regained the complete use of his\nfaculties had not a partial decay of memory sometimes warned his friends\nhe had not entirely recovered from his illness. For example, he often\nimagined himself in the Old Mansion, and this illusion became stronger\nafter all his children, including Gabrielle, gathered around him. But in\nother respects his memory was good. Hansfelt found him as correct and\nclear as ever on all points of history or literary and religious subjects.\nIt seemed as if the higher faculties of his nature recovered their tone\nfirst, and were invigorated by contact with the noble mind of his friend.\nThus the evenings passed away without _ennui_, even for the youngest,\nwhile listening to their conversation.\n\nThese evenings frequently ended with music, which the professor craved and\nindeed required as a part of his treatment. Clement would take his violin,\nand not at all unwillingly, for he saw his cousin always listened to it\nattentively. In this way he dared address her in a mysterious language,\nwhich he alone understood, but which sometimes gave her a thrill as if she\nwere listening to the echo of her own cry of pain.\n\nOne evening, when he had excelled, she said: \u201cYou call that a song without\nwords, Clement, but the music was certainly composed for a song, which\nperhaps you know, do you not?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied he, \u201cbut like you I imagine I can hear the words, and feel\nthey must exist somewhere.\u201d\n\nHansfelt had also been listening attentively to the music.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said he smiling, \u201cthey exist in the hearts of all who\nlove\u2014especially in the hearts of all who love without hope. Here I will\nexpress in common language, but not in rhyme, the meaning of what Clement\nhas just played.\u201d\n\nHe took a pencil and hastily wrote four lines nearly synonymous with those\nof a French poet:\n\n\n    \u201cDu mal qu\u2019une amour ignor\u00e9e\n      Nous fait souffrir\n    Je porte l\u2019\u00e2me d\u00e9chir\u00e9e\n      Jusqu\u2019\u00e0 mourir!\u201d(1)\n\n    The pang of unrequited love\n                I feel;\n    \u2019Tis death the bleeding heart I bear\n                Must heal!\n\n\nClement made no reply, but abruptly changed the subject. The children rose\nand clapped their hands as he struck up their favorite tarantella, and\nbecame noisy as well as gay.\n\nFleurange left the room, unperceived as she supposed, but Hilda, who had\nbeen carefully observing her all the evening, followed her, determined to\nobtain a complete avowal of all that was passing in her heart. She softly\nentered her cousin\u2019s chamber. Fleurange was not expecting her. She had\nthrown herself on a chair, with her face buried in her hands, in an\nattitude expressive at once of dejection and grief.\n\nHilda approached and threw her arms around her. Fleurange sprang up, her\neyes full of tears.\n\n\u201cDo you remember,\u201d said Hilda in a soft, caressing tone\u2014\u201cdo you remember,\nGabrielle, the day when I also wept in the library at our dear Old\nMansion? You asked me the reason of my tears, and I answered by opening my\nheart to you. You have not forgotten it, have you? Will you not answer me\nin a like way now?\u201d\n\nFleurange shook her head without uttering a word.\n\n\u201cIt has always seemed to me,\u201d continued Hilda, \u201cthat the happiness which\nhas crowned my life dates from my confidence in you that day. Why will you\nnot trust me in a like manner, and hope as I did?\u201d\n\n\u201cHappiness was within your reach,\u201d replied Fleurange; \u201can imaginary\nobstacle alone prevented you from grasping it.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how many obstacles that seem insurmountable vanish with time or even\nbeneath a firm will!\u201d She continued slowly and in a lower tone: \u201cWhy\nshould not the Count George, then\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cStop, Hilda, I conjure you,\u201d cried Fleurange in an agitated manner.\n\nHer cousin stopped confounded.\n\n\u201cListen to me,\u201d resumed Fleurange, at length, in a calmer tone. \u201cAs it is\nyour wish, let us speak of him. I consent. Let us speak of him this time,\nbut never again. Tell me,\u201d she continued with a sad smile, \u201ccan you make\nme his equal in wealth and rank? Or deprive him of his nobility and make\nhim as poor as I? In either case, especially in the latter,\u201d she cried,\nwith a tenderness in her tone, and a look she could not repress\u2014\u201cah!\nnothing, certainly nothing but his will, could separate me from him! But\nit is reasonable to suppose the sun will rise upon us to\u2010morrow and find\nus the same as to\u2010day: we no longer live in the time of fairies, when\nextraordinary metamorphoses took place to smooth away difficulties and\nsecond the wishes of poor mortals. Help me then, Hilda, I beseech you, to\nforget him, to live, and even recover from the wound, by never speaking to\nme either of him, or myself!\u2014\u201d\n\nHilda silently pressed her in her arms for a long time, and then said: \u201cI\nwill obey you, Gabrielle, and never mention his name till you speak of him\nfirst.\u201d\n\n\nXXXVIII.\n\n\nThe summer and autumn both passed away without anything new, except some\nvariations in the professor\u2019s slow recovery, and an occasional gleam of\nhappiness for Clement\u2014the revival of a spark of his buried hopes\u2014but such\nmoments were rare, and succeeded by a sad reaction; nevertheless, they\nwere sweet and lived long in his memory.\n\nOne day in particular was thus graven on his heart\u2014a fine day in October,\nwhen he had the pleasure of rowing Hilda and his cousin to a shady point\nfurther up on the river, which gracefully winds nearly around it. There\nthey spent several hours, conversing together with the delightful\nfamiliarity of intimacy, and now and then reading some favorite passage in\nthe books they brought with them. As he sat listening to the silvery tones\nof Fleurange\u2019s voice, and met her expressive, sympathetic glance when he\ntook the book in his turn and read nearly as well as herself; as he sat\nthus near her in that lovely, solitary spot, with no other witness but her\nwhose affection for both seemed only an additional tie, hope once more\nentered his heart, as one breaks into a dwelling fastened against him,\nbut, alas! to be promptly thrust out, leaving him as desolate as before.\n\nWhile he was rowing them back in the evening, with his eyes fastened on\nFleurange, he saw her delightful but evanescent emotions of the day fading\naway with the light, and another remembrance arise, sadder and more tender\nthan ever, which gave to her eyes, sometimes fastened on the dark and\nrapid current, sometimes fixed on the shore, the expression he had learned\nto read so well\u2014an expression that made his heart ache with pity and\nsympathy, but at the same time quiver and shrink with anguish, as if a\nlancet or caustic had been applied to his wound and caused it to bleed!\n\nTwo months later the festival of Christmas again brought him one of these\nfleeting moments of happiness. On the eve\u2014the never\u2010forgotten anniversary\nof Fleurange\u2019s arrival in their midst\u2014the whole family were reunited, and\nfelt as if they were living over again the delightful past. The Christmas\ntree was as brilliant as of yore; Mademoiselle Josephine, as ready to\nparticipate in the joy of her friends as she was to avoid saddening them\nwith her sorrows, aided in adorning it, and every one found on its\nbranches some offering from her generous hand. Then, as in bygone days,\nthey wove garlands of holly, which Fleurange, as well as her cousins, wore\nat dinner, and this time without any entreaty. At a later hour they had\nmusic and dancing, which, ever ready as she was to catch the joy of\nothers, gave her a feeling of unusual gaiety, to which she unresistingly\nabandoned herself\u2014the gaiety of youth, which at times triumphs over\neverything, and sometimes breaks out with an excess in proportion to its\nprevious restraint. Fleurange\u2019s laughter rang like music, and her joyous\nvoice mingled with the children\u2019s, to the great joy of him who was looking\non with ecstasy and surprise. Her radiant eyes, her glowing complexion,\nthe brilliancy happiness adds to beauty, and had so long been wanting to\nhers, gave him, who could not behold it revive without transport, a\nfeeling of intoxication which once more made him forget all and hope\neverything! But he was speedily and sadly recalled to himself.\n\nMadame Dornthal was seated beside her husband\u2019s arm\u2010chair, which she\nseldom left. A pleasant smile reappeared on her lips as she looked at her\nchildren moving around her. From time to time she leaned towards the\nprofessor, and was glad to see him entering into all that was going on\nwith his usual pleasure and with perfect comprehension of mind. All at\nonce she thought he turned pale. She looked at Clement, and made a gesture\nwhich he understood. The noise disturbed his father. In an instant\nprofound silence was restored, and they all gathered around the\nprofessor\u2019s chair. He appeared suddenly fatigued: his eyes closed, and he\nleaned his head on his wife\u2019s shoulder. They all anxiously awaited his\nfirst words after this sudden fit of somnolency. Presently he opened his\neyes and gave a vague, uneasy glance around. Then, turning to Madame\nDornthal, he said in a sad tone, passing his hand over his forehead:\n\n\u201cTell me why Felix is not here: I knew, but cannot remember.\u201d\n\nThis new failure of his memory, the name associated with so many painful\nrecollections and uttered in so distressing a manner, put an end to all\nthe gaiety of the evening. The effect of so much agitation and fatigue on\nthe professor was not regarded as very serious, but it left a painful\nimpression, especially on Fleurange, who had fresh reasons for feeling his\nwords.\n\nClement, who had been informed by Steinberg of what had occurred at\nFlorence, silently entered into her feelings, and once more the flash of\njoy that lit up his heart vanished in a night darker than ever.\n\nBut he could not foresee that a public event of serious import was at that\nvery hour transpiring far away, in a different sphere from his, which\nwould have an important and painful influence on his humble destiny.\n\nTo be continued.\n\n\n\n\nReview of Vaughan\u2019s Life Of S. Thomas.(2)\n\n\nIt is but too seldom that the reviewer has to welcome a work like that\nwhich we have already had the pleasure of introducing to our readers, and\nto which we now desire to render more fitting honors. An original life of\na saint, and of an epoch\u2010making saint like Thomas of Aquin, treated on a\nscale adequate to its importance, in the English tongue, by an English\nBenedictine monk, is a refreshing novelty to those who, like ourselves,\nhave so much to say to what is slight, or frivolous, or common, or\nhostile. The contemplative reviewer, looking at the two thick volumes of\nthe English edition, feels inclined, like a man who guesses before he\nopens a letter, to conjure up fancies as to what he will find in this new\nlife of S. Thomas of Aquin. Two volumes, each consisting of more than 800\npages, are a great deal, in these days, for one saint. They are a great\ndeal to write, and what is perhaps of more importance, they are a great\ndeal to read. But no one can suppose that they are too much for such a\nsaint as Thomas of Aquin. Considering that his own works, as printed in\nthe splendid Parma edition lately completed, would make up some forty\nvolumes of the size of these two goodly ones, it is not much. Considering\nthat Thomas of Aquin has been more written about by commentators for four\nor five centuries than any other man, except perhaps Aristotle, who ever\nlived\u2014considering that every student of theology is always coming across\nhis authority, and that he has been the great builder\u2010up of the vast\nbuilding of Catholic philosophical and theological terminology, it is not\nmuch that he should have two volumes. Indeed, when we look into the book,\nwe expect to find Prior Vaughan not seldom complaining of being obliged,\nthrough want of space, to leave out a great deal that he would have wished\nto say. And this leads us to notice the author\u2019s name. Father Bede\nVaughan, though fairly known by reputation in England, is perhaps a\nstranger to the greater number of American Catholics. It is sufficient to\nsay at present that he is a brother of the Very Rev. Dr. Herbert Vaughan,\nwhose presence in this country lately, in connection with the mission to\nthe negroes, will have made his name familiar to many even of those who\nhad not the pleasure of personally meeting him. Father Bede Vaughan is\nPrior of the Benedictine Cathedral Chapter of Newport and Menevia. A\ncathedral\u2010prior is a novelty, not only in literature, but absolutely.\nThere were a great many cathedral\u2010priors in England once upon a time\u2014men\nof power and substance\u2014wearing their mitres (some of them) and sitting in\nthe House of Lords. Whatever be the lands and the revenues of the only\ncathedral\u2010priory in English\u2010speaking hierarchies of the present day, it is\npleasant to meet with the old name, and to meet it on the cover of a book.\nThat a Benedictine should have written a sterling book will not surprise\nthe world of letters. It is perhaps a little new to find the great\nDominican, the Angel of the Schools, taken up by a member of an order\nwhich S. Thomas is popularly supposed to have in set purpose turned his\nback upon. But this is a point on which the work itself will enlighten us.\nMeanwhile, on opening the first volume we catch sight of a portrait of the\nSaint. It is a reproduction, by photography, of a painting by the Roman\nartist Szoldatics, which was painted expressly for the present work. It\nrepresents the well\u2010known scene in which the crucified Master, for whom\nthe great doctor has written and taught his life long, asks him what\nreward he would desire. Portraits of S. Thomas of Aquin are not uncommon.\nWe are all familiar with the large and portly figure and the full and mild\ncountenance, the sun upon his breast, the black and the white, and the\nshaven crown of the Order of St. Dominic, the open book and the immortal\npen. Some of the representations of the saint exaggerate his traditional\nportliness into a corpulence that almost obliterates the light of genius\nin his face. On the other hand, there exist many which give at once the\nlarge open features and the look of inspiration and of refinement. Those\nwho have turned to the title\u2010pages of the best Roman or Flemish editions\nof his life or works will remember these. The new portrait, photographed\nin the first volume, is very successful. Thomas of Aquin had Norman blood\nin his veins, and the fairness of his skin and the contour of his head are\nnot those of the typical Italian. The artist has managed to convey very\nwell that massive head, in which every lobe of the brain seems to have\nbeen perfectly developed and roomily lodged, thus furnishing the\nintelligence with an imaginative instrument whose power was only equalled\nby its delicacy. In the corresponding place in the second volume there is\na photograph of a meritorious engraving, from a picture or engraving\nunknown to us, in which, however, the head of the Saint is not so noble or\nrefined.\n\nPassing, however, to consider the substance of the work itself, it is not\ntoo much to say that, as a life of S. Thomas of Aquin, it is perfectly\noriginal. We do not mean, of course, that the writer has found out new\nfacts, or made any considerable alteration in the aspect of old ones. But\nhis plan of working is new. He has had the idea of giving, not merely S.\nThomas, but his surroundings. Some saints, even of those who have spent\nthemselves in external labors for their fellow\u2010men, require but little in\nthe way of background to make their portraits significant. Ven. Bede\u2019s\nbiography would not gain much light from discussions upon Mohammedanism,\nor upon the state of England or of Europe during his life. To understand\nand love S. Francis of Sales, it is not necessary to study the growth of\nCalvinism, to follow the steps of the _De Auxiliis_ controversy, or to\nbecome minutely acquainted with the character of Henri IV. But it is very\ndifferent with S. Thomas of Aquin. Opening his mouth, like a true doctor\nof the church, \u201cin medio ecclesi\u00e6,\u201d he had words to speak which all\nChristendom listened to, and acted upon, too, in one way or another. He\nwas a power at Paris, at Cologne, at Naples. Every great influence of the\nthirteenth century felt the impulse of his thought: S. Louis the Crusader,\nUrban IV., Gregory X., the Greek schismatics, the Arabian philosophers,\nthe opponents of monasticism, the mighty power of the universities. Prior\nVaughan thus speaks in the preface to the first volume:\n\n\n    \u201cThe author has found it difficult to comprehend how the life of\n    S. Thomas of Aquin could be written so as to content the mind of\n    an educated man\u2014of one who seeks to measure the reach of principle\n    and the influence of saintly genius\u2014without embracing a\n    considerably wider field of thought than has been deemed necessary\n    by those who have aimed more at composing a book of edifying\n    reading, than at displaying the genesis and development of truth\n    and the impress of a master\u2010mind upon the age in which he lived.\n    It has always appeared to him that one of the most telling\n    influences exerted by the doctor\u2010saints of God, has been that of\n    rare intellectual power in confronting and controlling the\n    passions and mental aberrations of epochs, as well as of blinded\n    and swerving men....\n\n    \u201cThe object which the author of these pages has proposed to\n    himself is this: to unfold before the reader\u2019s mind the far\u2010\n    reaching and many\u2010sided influence of heroic sanctity, when\n    manifested by a man of massive mind, of sovereign genius, and of\n    sagacious judgment, and then to remind him that, as the fruit\n    hangs from the branches, so genius of command and steadiness of\n    view and unswervingness of purpose, are naturally conditioned by a\n    certain moral habit of heart and head; that purity, reverence,\n    adoration, love, are the four solid corner\u2010stones on which that\n    Pharos reposes which, when all about it, and far beyond it, is\n    darkness and confusion, stands up in the midst as the\n    representative of order, and as the minister of light, and as the\n    token of salvation.\n\n    \u201cNow, the Angel of the Schools was emphatically a great and\n    shining light. To write his life is not so much to deal with the\n    subject of his personal history, as to display the stretch of his\n    power and the character of his influence. Indeed, few of the great\n    cardinal thinkers of the world have left much private history to\n    record. Self was hidden in the splendor of the light which bursts\n    out from it\u2014just as the more brilliant the flame, so much the more\n    unseen is the lamp in which it burns. It stands to reason that the\n    more widespread the influence which such men as these exert, so\n    much the wider must be the range taken by the writer over the\n    field of history and theology and philosophy if he wishes\n    adequately to delineate the action of their lives. The private\n    history of S. Thomas of Aquin could be conveniently written in\n    fifty pages, whilst his full biography would certainly occupy many\n    thousand pages.\u201d (Pp. iii., iv.)\n\n\nThe view which is thus sketched out is a large one. We have said that the\nauthor presents not merely his hero, but his hero\u2019s surroundings. But, in\nstudying his mind and his work, he does not content himself with making a\nvivid background of the thirteenth century. One century is the child of\nanother, and mind is educated by mind. The past is the seed of the future,\nand no time can be understood without understanding the times that gave it\nbirth. This is especially true of the times when history accumulates most\nrapidly, and of minds to whom it is given to fashion history as it is\nmade. Prior Vaughan finds the story of S. Thomas\u2019 intellectual work\ncommencing far back in the work of those men whom he calls the \u201ccolumnal\nfathers\u201d of the church. He therefore takes his reader back to primitive\nages\u2014to the desert, the laura, the early conflicts of God\u2019s servants with\npaganism, with heresy, and with worldliness. He sets before him S.\nAnthony, in the majesty of his single\u2010hearted union with Christ; S.\nAthanasius, worthy disciple of such a master, unsurpassed in the great\nopportunities of his life and the strength with which he rose to meet\nthem; S. Basil, the monk that fought the world, and overcame it; S.\nGregory Theologus, the _vates sacer_ of the fourth century, who sang in\nverse and in rhythmical prose the song of the consubstantial Son of God.\nHe introduces us to S. Augustine, to S. Ambrose, to S. Gregory the Great,\nand points out how essential a feature, in the greatness of S. Thomas, is\nthe way in which he has reproduced all that was eternal and \u201ccatholic\u201d in\nthe thoughts of the men whom God has set up to be the pillars of the\ndoctrine of his church. With other saints, it would, perhaps, be\nsuperfluous to trace their connection with the fathers; with the author of\nthe _Summa_, it is indispensable.\n\n\n    \u201cThe Columnal Fathers and the Angelical were in completest\n    harmony; they were knit together by the monastic principle. The\n    intellectual hinges of the Universal Church (speaking humanly)\n    have been monastic\u2010men\u2014that is to say, men who, through an intense\n    cross\u2010worship and a keen perception of the beautiful, threw up all\n    for Christ; and through\n\n    \u2018The ingrained instinct of old reverence,\n    The holy habit of obedience,\u2019\n\n    loved, labored, suffered for him, and died into his arms.\n\n    \u201cFor the one thread which pierces through all, and maintains a\n    real communication between the Angelical and the heroes of the\n    classic age\u2014which creates a brotherhood between S. Thomas of the\n    thirteenth century and the great athletes in the second and the\n    third\u2014which makes the \u2018Sun of the Church\u2019 illuminate the \u2018Pillar\n    of the World,\u2019 and so reciprocally\u2014that is to say, which renders\n    S. Thomas and S. Anthony one in spirit and in principle\u2014was this,\n    that their beings were transformed into a supernatural activity,\n    through an intense and personal love of their Redeemer.\n\n    \u201cThis was the one special lesson which the Angelical drew from the\n    wilderness and the fathers, which came to him through S. Benedict,\n    indeed, but rather as a principle of _quies_ than of exertion. In\n    the desert athletes, and those who followed them, he found that\n    principle operative, and almost military in its chivalrous\n    readiness to combat and spill blood in defence of truth. It lent\n    to him what it exhibits in them also\u2014breadth of view, largeness,\n    moral freedom, stubborn courage, generosity of heart, expansion of\n    mind, and an electric light of intellect, which bear about them a\n    touch of the Eastern world. How could the Angelical read Anthony\u2019s\n    life, or follow Athanasius in his exiles, or see Basil so\n    heroically rigid in his defence of right, or hear, in imagination,\n    Gregory Theologus pouring out a stream of polished eloquence,\n    without being impressed by truth\u2019s grace and music; how could he\n    watch S. Chrysostom, all on fire with his love of God and with his\n    discriminating sympathy for men, or think of the ascetic Jerome,\n    battling single\u2010handed in the wilderness, or perusing his\n    Scripture in the cave; how could he dwell in spirit with S.\n    Ambrose or S. Gregory the Great, or follow the career of the\n    passionate, emotional, splendid S. Augustine, without expanding in\n    heart and mind towards all that is best and greatest\u2014all that is\n    most noble and most fair in the majestic character of God\u2019s\n    tenderly\u2010cherished saints?\n\n    \u201cHad he not known them so intimately, great as he was, his mind\n    would have been comparatively cramped, his character most probably\n    would have been less imperial in its mould, and there would have\n    been less of that oriental mightiness about his intellectual\n    creations, which now reminds one of those vast monuments of other\n    days, which still are the marvel of travellers in the East, and\n    the despair of modern engineers.\u201d (II., pp. 523\u20105.)\n\n\nA great portion of the second volume is taken up with the exposition in\ndetail of these thoughts and ideas. We do not think that any one who has\nthoroughly seized the author\u2019s point of view will be sorry that so much\nspace is given to the lives and characters of men who are not the\nimmediate subject of the book. The truth is, that the full _significance_\nof S. Thomas of Aquin has been very much overlooked in modern times. The\nnon\u2010Catholic theory has always been that he was a voluminous \u201cscholastic,\u201d\nmore acute than most of his sort, perhaps, but medi\u00e6val, hair\u2010splitting,\nand unprofitable. The Catholic theory has done him greater justice; but\neven the Catholic schools have too much forgotten S. Thomas. There is an\ninteresting passage in one of Lacordaire\u2019s letters, in which he tells the\nAbb\u00e9 Drioux, who has done so much for S. Thomas in France, how he read the\nAngelical every day, and yet how long it had been before he had come to\nknow him! And then he speaks with some depreciation of that \u201cPositive\u201d\ntheology which has pretended to take the place of the scholastic form and\ndiscipline. The great preacher was familiar with the spiritual wants of\nthe world in their widest aspect, and he no sooner came to know S. Thomas\nof Aquin than he saw that he was face to face with the mind that has said\nmore truth about God and man, and said it better, than any one man who has\never lived; and he has said it so well, because he has not said it out of\nhis own consciousness, but first saturated himself with the living truth\nof the immortal fathers, and then reproduced in his own way what God had\nthus himself imparted to the world.\n\nThe influence which S. Thomas owed to the study and meditation of the\ngreat fathers was surpassed\u2014or rather, we ought to say, most powerfully\nshown\u2014by the impressions made upon his heart, even more than his mind, by\nhis early bringing up. Every one knows that the Angel of the Schools, who\nwas of the noblest blood of Italy, spent his early years in the great\narch\u2010monastery of Monte Casino. Prior Vaughan has no hesitation in making\nthe assertion that Thomas of Aquin never lost what he acquired from the\nmonks of S. Benedict during those seven childish years that he spent with\nthem in the cloisters of the great abbey. He was never a professed\nBenedictine, although he would, in the natural course, have become one\nwithout making any explicit profession, had not the troubles of the times\nforced the monks to flee from the abbey. But the Benedictine or monastic\nspirit, the principle of _quies_, as our author calls it, with the vivid\nappreciation of the kingship of Christ, Thomas took away with him when he\nwent forth and carried with him to the work he had to do. The new\nmendicant orders that had recently been founded were schools of activity,\naggressive, moving hither and thither, pitching their tents in great\ntowns, and lifting their voices in universities. Their saints were to be\nfitted for the regeneration of a new phase of the world. But in the saints\nthemselves it was only an outward change. The essential spirit remained\nthe same. That spirit had been the heirloom of the old monastic orders,\nand it could never be out of date. In the men who were to do the greatest\nthings in the new life of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the old\nspirit of the cloister must be found strong and deep. In the man who above\nall was to stand forth as the sum and crown of the middle age, that\ncontemplative, immovable, far\u2010seeing realization of \u201cthe person of Christ\u201d\nmust exist as heroically as in Anthony of the Desert or Benedict of the\nMountain. And it was S. Thomas\u2019 Benedictine training that contributed much\nto make him such a man.\n\n\n    \u201cThe monks thought much, but talked little; thus the monastic\n    system encouraged meditation, rather than intellectual\n    tournaments; reserve rather than display, deep humility rather\n    than dialectical skill. The Benedictines did not aim so much at\n    unrestrained companionship of free discussion as at self control;\n    not so much at secular\u2010minded fantasy as at much prayer and sharp\n    penance, till self was conquered, and the grace of God reigned,\n    and giants walked the earth. Self\u2010mastery, springing from the\n    basis of a supernatural life, moulded the heart to sanctity, and\n    imparted to the intellect an accuracy of vision which is an act of\n    nature directed and purified by grace. Theodore, Aldhelm, Bede,\n    Boniface, Alcuin, Dunstan, Wilfrid, Stephen, Bernard, Anselm,\n    these names are suggestive of this influence of the monastic\n    system.\u201d (I., p. 26.)\n\n\nIt is one of the aims of the book to bring out the view that the prince of\nscholastics and the king of dialecticians was a man of the purest and\ndeepest \u201cmonasticism.\u201d But he was not destined to be as an Anselm, a\nBernard, or a Hugh of S. Victor.\n\nThe Saint was sent to Naples for the prosecution of his studies, and\nwhilst there he asked for and received the habit of S. Dominic. The author\ngives a brilliant sketch of Naples as it was under the sway of Frederick\nII. He then devotes a whole chapter to a \u201cstudy\u201d of the new orders of S.\nFrancis and S. Dominic, for the purpose of bringing out vividly before the\nreader the new world that was springing up and the new race of men that\nthe church was calling forth to deal with it. We have no space to quote\nfrom this chapter, but, even taken apart from its connection with S.\nThomas, it is full of interest and life.\n\nThus was Thomas of Aquin prepared and equipped; prepared by the great\nfathers and by S. Benedict, equipped in the armor of the Order of\nintellectual chivalry. And what was the work before him? Who were his\nenemies, his friends, his neighbors, his assistants? In answer to these\nquestions we have the chapters on \u201cAbelard, or Rationalism and\nIrreverence\u201d; on \u201cS. Bernard, or Authority and Reverence\u201d; on the \u201cSchools\nof S. Victor\u201d; on the \u201cArabian and the Jewish Influence in Europe\u201d; on\n\u201cWilliam of S. Amour\u201d; on \u201cParis and its University\u201d; and on \u201cAlbert the\nGreat.\u201d Some of these chapters relate, as will be seen, to men who were\nnot contemporaries of S. Thomas. But if Abelard, and S. Bernard, and\nWilliam of Champeaux had passed away in the flesh, their influence or\ntheir views still lived on when Thomas wrote. And we see the full\nsignificance of these chapters on the great schools of thought, orthodox\nand heterodox, when we arrive at the second volume, and find the author\nshowing in detail how the Angel of the Schools, in some part or other of\nhis voluminous writings, met and refuted every form of prevalent error,\nand, whilst majestically laying down principles for all ages, never forgot\nto clear up the difficulties of his own time. The rationalism of Abelard,\nthe emanation doctrines that Arabian subtlety had elaborated out of the\nreminiscences of the old Gnosticism, the errors of the Greek schismatics,\nthe perversity of the Jews, are all encountered by his never\u2010resting pen,\neither in some one of his numerous _Opuscula_, varying in length from an\nessay to an octavo volume, or else in one or other of his two great\n_Sums_, or perhaps in more places than one, the refutation being the more\ncomplete as the writing becomes more mature. As for the two greatest and\nmost prominent of his enterprises\u2014the Christianizing of Aristotle and the\nformation of a complete _Sum_ of theology\u2014it was to be expected that Prior\nVaughan should fully enlarge upon them. The chapters on \u201cS. Thomas and\nAristotle,\u201d and \u201cS. Thomas and Reason,\u201d in the second volume, form a good\nintroduction to the study of the Angelic Doctor, and at the same time give\nthe enquiring mind some notion of how S. Thomas has performed one of the\ngreatest feats that genius ever accomplished\u2014the successful and consistent\n\u201cconversion\u201d of the greatest, the most original, and the most precise of\nheathen philosophers into a hewer of wood and carrier of water for the\nfaith.\n\nWe would gladly dwell on the three chapters at the end of Vol. I., in\nwhich the writer, in reviewing the writings of the Saint in defence and\nexaltation of monasticism, gives a useful and spirited history of the\nwhole of that exciting contest which took its beginning in William of S.\nAmour\u2019s book called _Perils of the Last Times_. It seems really impossible\nto say how much the religious state, humanly speaking, owes to the man who\nwrote the book _Against Those who attack the Service of God and Religion_,\nand that _On the Perfection of the Spiritual Life_.\n\nPassing now from the more remote surroundings of the hero of the story to\nthe immediate scene of the greatest portion of his labors, we venture to\nbelieve that one of the most popular parts of this work of Prior Vaughan\u2019s\nwill be his animated description of the university system of the\nthirteenth century, and of the University of Paris in particular. He has\nspared no pains in getting at correct details and putting them\nartistically together. M. Franklin\u2019s splendid and comparatively unknown\nlabors on medi\u00e6val Paris have supplied him with matter that will be found\nnowhere else. Paris is the natural type of the great medi\u00e6val university.\nMore central and accessible than Oxford, safer than Bologna, freer than\nNaples, and founded on a wide and grand basis, the University of Paris\nsoon grew into a formidable assemblage of men who, whilst ostensibly\nvotaries of science, were not unprovided with excitable spirits and rough\nhands. Students gathered, rich and poor, great doctors taught, munificent\nfounders, like Robert of Sorbon, bestowed their money or their influence,\nthe monks of all orders gathered round silently, and to some extent\ndistrustfully, from Citeaux, from Cluny, even from the Grande Chartreuse,\nwith the Benedictines of S. Germain, the Premonstratensians\u2014their church\nwas where now stands the _Caf\u00e9 de la Rotonde_\u2014and the Augustinians. As for\nthe Dominicans and Franciscans, they, as may be supposed, were early on\nthe spot, to teach quite as much as to learn. The following is a sketch of\nthe men who flocked to the great university\u2014at least of one considerable\nclass:\n\n\n    \u201cThere were starving, friendless lads, with their unkempt heads\n    and their tattered suits, who walked the streets, hungering for\n    bread, and famishing for knowledge, and hankering after a sight of\n    some of those great doctors, of whom they had heard so much when\n    far away in the woods of Germany or the fields of France. Some\n    were so poor that they could not afford to follow a course of\n    theology. We read of one poor fellow on his death\u2010bed, having\n    nothing else, giving his shoes and stockings to a companion to\n    procure a Mass for his soul. Some were only too glad to carry holy\n    water to private houses, _selon la coutume Gallicane_, with the\n    hope of receiving some small remuneration. Some were destitute of\n    necessary clothing. One tunic sometimes served for three, who took\n    it in turns\u2014two went to bed, whilst the third dressed himself and\n    hurried off to school. Some spent all their scanty means in buying\n    parchments, and wasted their strength, through half the night,\n    poring over crabbed manuscript, or in puzzling out that jargon\n    which contained the wisdom of the wisest of the Greeks. Whole\n    nights some would remain awake on their hard pallets, in those\n    unhealthy cells, trying to work out some problem proposed by the\n    professor in the schools. But there were rich as well as poor at\n    Paris. There was Langton, like others, famous for his opulence,\n    who taught, and then became Canon of Notre Dame; and Thomas \u00e0\n    Becket, who, as a youth, came here to seek the charm of gay\n    society.\u201d (I., p. 354.)\n\n\nAmid all the noise, turmoil, and disputes of the huge colony of students,\nnumbering more thousands than Oxford or Cambridge at this day can show\nhundreds, the great Dominican convent of S. James was a grand and famous\ncentre of light and work. S. Dominic was not long before he settled in\nParis. At first the friars lived in a mean hired lodging, apparently on\nthe Island of Notre Dame. But soon their reputation for poverty and\nlearning attracted the notice of influential benefactors, and they had a\nhouse of their own. It was dedicated to S. James the Apostle, and quickly\nbecame not only a great monastery but a famous school. The Dominican\nOrder, divinely founded for a want of the time, soon began to show in\nfront of the progress of the age, and to lead instead of following. It was\nhere, in S. James, that Alanus de Insulis and Vincent of Beauvois wrote\nhistories and commentaries; it was here that Albert the Great and Thomas\nAquinas lectured and wrote; and the crowd of lesser names that are\nmentioned on its rolls about this time, less distinguished but still\ndistinguished, would take long to enumerate. It was for S. James that S.\nDominic himself had framed a body of rules. These rules are most striking,\nas given in the pages of Prior Vaughan. They show how a saint and monastic\nlegislator feels the \u201cform and pressure\u201d of the times, and how he provides\nfor a new feature in monasticism. To read these rules, one feels tempted\nto say that the Dominicans sacrificed everything to give their men a\nfirst\u2010rate course of studies. But we must remember the midnight vigil and\nthe perpetual absence and the long silence. Still, the cloisters of S.\nJames were different enough from those of Monte Casino. There was a great\nhall at S. James\u2019, where professors taught and whither students thronged\nto hear\u2014how different from the remote cloister of Jarrow, where Venerable\nBede taught his younger brethren for so many years on the quiet flats\nbetween the Wear and the Tyne! The cells knew the light of the midnight\nlamp, the cloisters resounded with disputation, the young students of the\nOrder were men of few books\u2014a Bible, a copy of the _Historia_ of Petrus\nComestor and of the _Sentences_ of Peter Lombard, was all their private\nlibrary. But half the day was spent face to face with a professor and with\neach other, and the want of books was not much felt. And what an education\nit must have been to listen to and take down the _Summa contra Gentiles_\nof the Angel of the Schools! As we have said, the whole of these two\nchapters is instinct with the liveliest description, and we cannot do\nbetter than recommend readers to go to it and judge for themselves.\n\nWe must reserve what we have not yet touched upon, viz., the personal life\nof the Saint himself, for another notice. It must not be supposed that\nPrior Vaughan passes over the person of S. Thomas in his anxiety to show\nus what sort of a world he lived in. It will soon be seen, on making some\nslight acquaintance with the book, that the strictly biographical portion\nis in reality most successful; the story is well told, and, like all\nstories of sanctity and supernatural heroism, goes straight to the heart.\n\nWithout saying that Prior Vaughan\u2019s two volumes partake of the nature of\nthe perfect, we frankly say we do not intend to find faults in it. We\nwelcome it, and it deserves to be welcomed by every Catholic that can read\nit. There are, of course, defects and a few errors here and there; but the\nbook lays down no false principles, takes no dangerous views, and\npatronizes no pernicious mistakes. On the other hand, it deals with a wide\ntheme in a large way. In language which, if at times too copious, is\nnevertheless frequently eloquent and always easy and fluent, the writer\nraises the life of a saint into a picture of a world\u2010epoch. He has labored\nvery hard at his authorities and sources, and when the book gets into use\nmany students, we are sure, will thank him for his copious references and\nnotes. His imagination is of a high order, and his picture\u2010loving power is\nseen in the way in which he sketches with an epithet, puts together the\nelements that he finds up and down the old authors, and shakes the dust\nand the mildew from valuable bits of ancient chronicle, so that they look\nbright again. The Hon. John L. Motley is in the front rank of modern\nhistorians, and to compare any writer with him is to give praise that one\nmust think much before giving; but if we wished to indicate the _genre_ of\nPrior Vaughan\u2019s style\u2014its pictorial power, its realism, and its tone of\nearnest conviction\u2014we should mention the name of the historian of the\nNetherlands. The two writers are very unlike in their convictions; and Mr.\nMotley has, no doubt, a perfection and finish of art which few writers can\napproach. But still Prior Vaughan is quite fit to be named in the same\nsentence. And a book which has cost so many hours of thought and labor,\nwhich aims so high, which is so really the work of a man with views and\nwith a power to express himself, and which deals with a subject that can\nnever lose its interest, but one which, if we do not mistake, is as yet\nonly at the beginning of a grand revival, is a book to be welcomed, to be\nread, and to be thankful for.\n\n\n\n\nThe Progressionists.\n\n\nFrom The German Of Conrad Von Bolanden.\n\n\n\nChapter V.\n\n\nGerlach whispered something to the banker. Holt pressed his pocket\u2010\nhandkerchief to the wound.\n\n\u201cPlease yourself!\u201d said the banker loudly in a business tone. Seraphin\nagain approached the beaten man.\n\n\u201cWill you please, my good man, to accompany us?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat for, sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause I would like to do something towards healing up your wound; I\nmean the wound in there.\u201d\n\nHolt stood motionless before the stranger and looked at him.\n\n\u201cI thank you, sir; there is no remedy for me; I am doomed!\u201d\n\n\u201cStill, I will assist you. Follow me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho are you, sir, if I may ask the question?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am a man whom Providence seems to have chosen to rescue the prey from\nthe jaws of a usurer. Come along with us, and fear nothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, I will go in the name of God! I do not precisely know your\nobject, and you are a stranger to me. But your countenance looks innocent\nand kind, therefore I will go with you.\u201d\n\nThey passed through alleys and streets.\n\n\u201cDo you often visit that tavern?\u201d inquired Seraphin.\n\n\u201cNot six times in a year,\u201d answered Holt. \u201cSometimes of a Sunday I drink\nhalf a glass of wine, that\u2019s all. I am poor, and have to be saving. I\nwould not have gone to the tavern to\u2010day but that I wanted to get rid of\nmy feelings of misery.\u201d\n\n\u201cI overheard your story,\u201d rejoined Seraphin. \u201cShund\u2019s treatment of you was\ninhuman. He behaved towards you like a trickish devil.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat he did! And I am ruined together with my family,\u201d replied the poor\nman dejectedly.\n\n\u201cTake my advice, and never abuse Shund. You know how respectable he has\nsuddenly got to be, how many influential friends he has. You can easily\nperceive that one cannot say anything unfavorable of such a man without\ngreat risk, no matter were it true ten times over.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not given to disputing,\u201d replied Holt. \u201cBut it stirred the bile\nwithin me to hear him extolled, and it broke out. Oh! I have learned to\nsuffer in silence. I haven\u2019t time to think of other matters. After God, my\nbusiness and my family were my only care. I attended to my occupation\nfaithfully and quietly as long as I had any to attend to, but now I\nhaven\u2019t any to take care of. O God! it is hard. It will bring me to the\ngrave.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are a land cultivator?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cShund intends to have you sold out?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; immediately after the election he intends to complete my ruin.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow much money would you need in order with industry to get along?\u201d\n\n\u201cA great deal of money, a great deal\u2014at least a thousand florins. I have\ngiven him a mortgage for a thousand florins on my house and what was left\nto me. A thousand florins would suffice to help me out of trouble. I might\nsave my little cottage, my two cows, and a field. I might then plough and\nsow for other people. I could get along and subsist honestly. But as I\ntold you, nothing less than a thousand florins would do; and where am I to\nget so much money? You see there is no hope for me, no help for me. I am\ndoomed!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe mortgaged property is considerable,\u201d said Gerlach. \u201cA house, even\nthough a small one, moreover, a field, a barn, a garden, all these\ntogether are surely worth a much higher price. Could you not borrow a\nthousand florins on it and pay off the usurer?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, sir. Nobody would be willing to lend me that amount of money upon\nproperty mortgaged to a man like Shund. Besides, my little property is out\nof town, and who wants to go there? I, for my part, of course, like no\nspot as much, for it is the house my father built, and I was born and\nbrought up there.\u201d\n\nThe man lapsed into silence, and walked at Seraphin\u2019s side like one\nweighed down by a heavy load. The delicate sympathy of the young man\nenabled him to guess what was passing in the breast of the man under the\nload. He knew that Holt was recalling his childhood passed under the\npaternal roof; that little spot of home was hallowed for him by events\nconnected with his mother, his father, his brothers and sisters, or with\nother objects more trifling, which, however, remained fresh and bright in\nmemory, like balmy days of spring.\n\nFrom this consecrated spot he was to be exiled, driven out with wife and\nchildren, through the inhumanity and despicable cunning of an usurer. The\nman heaved a deep sigh, and Gerlach, watching him sidewise, noticed his\nlips were compressed, and that large tears rolled down his weather\u2010browned\ncheeks. The tender heart of the young man was deeply affected at this\nsight, and the millionaire for once rejoiced in the consciousness of\npossessing the might of money.\n\nThey halted before the Palais Greifmann. Holt noticed with surprise how\nthe man in blouse drew from his waistcoat pocket a small instrument\nresembling a toothpick, and with it opened a door near the carriage gate.\nHad not every shadow of suspicion been driven from Holt\u2019s mind by\nSeraphin\u2019s appearance, he would surely have believed that he had fallen\ninto the company of burglars, who entrapped him to aid in breaking into\nthis palace.\n\nReluctantly, after repeated encouragement from Gerlach, he crossed the\nthreshold of the stately mansion. He had not quite passed the door when he\ntook off his cap, stared at the costly furniture of the hall through which\nthey were passing, and was reminded of St. Peter\u2019s thought as the angel\nwas rescuing him from the clutches of Herod. Holt imagined he saw a\nvision. The man who had unlocked the door disappeared. Seraphin entered an\napartment followed by Shund\u2019s victim.\n\n\u201cDo you know where you are?\u201d inquired the millionaire.\n\n\u201cYes, sir, in the house of Mr. Greifmann the banker.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you are somewhat surprised, are you not?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am so much astonished, sir, that I have several times pinched my arms\nand legs, for it all seems to me like a dream.\u201d\n\nSeraphin smiled and laid aside his cap. Holt scanned the noble features of\nthe young man more minutely, his handsome face, his stately bearing, and\nconcluded the man in the blouse must be some distinguished gentleman.\n\n\u201cTake courage,\u201d said the noble\u2010looking young man in a kindly tone. \u201cYou\nshall be assisted. I am convinced that you are an honest, industrious man,\nbrought to the verge of ruin through no fault of your own. Nor do I blame\nyou for inadvertently falling into the nets of the usurer, for I believe\nyour honest nature never suspected that there could exist so fiendish a\nmonster as the one that lives in the soul of an usurer.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou may rely upon it, sir. If I had had the slightest suspicion of such a\nthing, Shund never would have got me into his clutches.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am convinced of it. You are partially the victim of your own good\nnature, and partially the prey of the wild beast Shund. Now listen to me:\nSuppose somebody were to give you a thousand florins, and to say: \u2018Holt,\ntake this money, \u2019tis yours. Be industrious, get along, be a prudent\nhousekeeper, serve God to the end of your days, and in future beware of\nusurers\u2019\u2014suppose somebody were to address you in this way, what would you\ndo?\u201d\n\n\u201cSupposing the case, sir, although it is not possible, but supposing the\ncase, what would I do? I would do precisely what that person would have\ntold me, and a great deal more. I would work day and night. Every day, at\nevening prayer, I would get on my knees with my wife and children, and\ninvoke God\u2019s protection on that person. I would do that, sir; but, as I\nsaid, the case is impossible.\u201d\n\n\u201cNevertheless, suppose it did happen,\u201d explained Seraphin in a preliminary\nway. \u201cGive me your hand that you will fulfil the promise you have just\ngiven.\u201d\n\nFor a moment Seraphin\u2019s hand lay in a callous, iron palm, which pressed\nhis soft fingers in an uncomfortable but well\u2010meant grasp.\n\n\u201cWell, now follow me,\u201d said Gerlach.\n\nHe led the way; Holt followed with an unsteady step like a drunken man.\nThey presented themselves before the banker\u2019s counter. The latter was\nstanding behind the trellis of his desk, and on a table lay ten rolls of\nmoney.\n\n\u201cYou have just now by word and hand confirmed a promise,\u201d said Gerlach,\nturning to the countryman, \u201cwhich cannot be appreciated in money, for that\npromise comprises almost all the duties of the father of a family. But to\nmake the fulfilment of the promise possible, a thousand florins are\nneeded. Here lies the money. Accept it from me as a gift, and be happy.\u201d\n\nHolt did not stir. He looked from the money at Gerlach, was motionless and\nrigid, until, at last, the paralyzing surprise began to resolve itself\ninto a spasmodic quivering of the lips, and then into a mighty flood of\ntears. Seizing Seraphin\u2019s hands, he kissed them with an emotion that\nconvulsed his whole being.\n\n\u201cThat will do now,\u201d said the millionaire, \u201ctake the money, and go home.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy God! I cannot find utterance,\u201d said Holt, stammering forth the words\nwith difficulty. \u201cGood heaven! is it possible? Is it true? I am still\nthinking \u2019tis only a dream.\u201d\n\n\u201cDownright reality, my man!\u201d said the banker. \u201cStop crying; save your\ntears for a more fitting occasion. Put the rolls in your pocket, and go\nhome.\u201d\n\nGreifmann\u2019s coldness was effective in sobering down the man intoxicated\nwith joy.\n\n\u201cMay I ask, sir, what your name is, that I may at least know to whom I owe\nmy rescue?\u201d\n\n\u201cSeraphin is my name.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour name sounds like an angel\u2019s, and you are an angel to me. I am not\nacquainted with you, but God knows you, and he will requite you according\nto your deeds.\u201d\n\nGerlach nodded gravely. The banker was impatient and murmured\ndiscontentedly. Holt carefully pocketed the rolls of money, made an\ninclination of gratitude to Gerlach, and went out. He passed slowly\nthrough the hall. The porter opened the door. Holt stood still before him.\n\n\u201cI ask your pardon, but do you know Mr. Seraphin?\u201d asked he.\n\n\u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t I know a gentleman that has been our guest for the last two\nweeks?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must pardon my presumption, Mr. Porter. Will Mr. Seraphin remain here\nmuch longer?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe will remain another week for certain.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am very much obliged to you,\u201d said Holt, passing into the street and\nhurrying away.\n\n\u201cYour intended has a queer way of applying his money,\u201d said the banker to\nhis sister the next morning. And he reported to her the story of\nSeraphin\u2019s munificence. \u201cI do not exactly like this sort of kindness, for\nit oversteps all bounds, and undoubtedly results from religious\nenthusiasm.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat, too, can be cured,\u201d replied Louise confidently. \u201cI will make him\nunderstand that eternity restores nothing, that consequently it is safer\nand more prudent to exact interest from the present.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis true, the situation of that fellow Holt was a pitiable one, and Hans\nShund\u2019s treatment of him was a masterpiece of speculation. He had stripped\nthe fellow completely. The stupid Holt had for years been laboring for the\ncunning Shund, who continued drawing his meshes more and more tightly\nabout him. Like a huge spider, he leisurely sucked out the life of the fly\nhe had entrapped.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour hostler says there was light in Seraphin\u2019s room long after midnight.\nI wonder what hindered him from sleeping?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is not hard to divine. In all probability he was composing a\nsentimental ditty to his much adored,\u201d answered Carl teasingly. \u201cMidnight\nis said to be a propitious time for occupations of that sort.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo be quiet, you tease! But I too was thinking that he must have been\nengaged in writing. May be he was making a memorandum of yesterday\u2019s\nexperience in his journal.\u201d\n\n\u201cMay be he was. At all events, the impressions made on him were very\nstrong.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I do not like your venture; it may turn out disastrous.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow can it, my most learned sister?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know Seraphin\u2019s position,\u201d explained she. \u201cHe has been reared in the\nrigor of sectarian credulity. The spirit of modern civilization being thus\nabruptly placed before his one\u2010sided judgment without previous preparation\nmay alarm, nay, may even disgust him. And when once he will have perceived\nthat the brother is a partisan of the horrible monster, is it probable\nthat he will feel favorably disposed towards the sister whose views\nharmonize with those of her brother?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have done nothing to justify him in setting me down for a partisan. I\nmaintain strict neutrality. My purpose is to accustom the weakling to the\natmosphere of enlightenment which is fatal to all religious phantasms.\nHave no fear of his growing cold towards you,\u201d proceeded he in his\ncustomary tone of irony. \u201cYour ever victorious power holds him spell\u2010bound\nin the magic circle of your enchantment. Besides, Louise,\u201d continued he,\nfrowning, \u201cI do not think I could tolerate a brother\u2010in\u2010law steeped over\nhead and ears in prejudices. You yourself might find it highly\nuncomfortable to live with a husband of this kind.\u201d\n\n\u201cUncomfortable! No, I would not. I would find it exciting, for it would\nbecome my task to train and cultivate an abnormal specimen of the male\ngender.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery praiseworthy, sister! And if I now endeavor by means of living\nillustrations to familiarize your intended with the nature of modern\nintellectual enlightenment, I am merely preparing the way for your future\nlabors.\u201d\n\n\n\nChapter VI. Masters and Slaves.\n\n\nUnder the much despised discipline of religious requirements, the child\nSeraphin had grown up to boyhood spotless in morals, and then had\ndeveloped himself into a young man of great firmness of character, whose\nfaith was as unshaken as the correctness of his behavior was constant.\n\nThe bloom of his cheeks, the innocent brightness of his eye, the suavity\nof his disposition, were the natural results of the training which his\nheart had received. No foul passion had ever disturbed the serenity of his\nsoul. When under the smiling sky of a spring morning he took his ride over\nthe extensive possessions of his father, his interior accorded perfectly\nwith the peace and loveliness of the sights and sounds of blooming nature\naround him. On earth, however, no spring, be it ever so beautiful, is\nentirely safe from storms. Evil spirits lie in waiting in the air, dark\npowers threaten destruction to all blossoms and all incipient life. And\nthe more inevitable is the dread might of those lurking spirits, that in\nevery blossom of living plant lies concealed a germ of ruin, sleeps a\ntreacherous passion\u2014even in the heart of the innocent Seraphin.\n\nThe strategic arts of the beautiful young lady received no small degree of\nadditional power from the genuine effort made by her to please the stately\ndouble millionaire. In a short time she was to such an extent successful\nthat one day Carl rallied her in the following humorous strain: \u201cYour\nintended is sitting in the arbor singing a most dismal song! You will have\nto allow him a little more line, Louise, else you run the risk of\nunsettling his brain. Moreover, I cannot be expected to instruct a man in\nthe mysteries of progress, if he sees, feels, and thinks nothing but\nLouise.\u201d\n\nThe banker had not uttered an exaggeration. It sometimes happens that a\nfirst love bursts forth with an impetuosity so uncontrollable, that, for a\ntime, every other domain of the intellectual and moral nature of a young\nman is, as it were, submerged under a mighty flood. This temporary\ninundation of passion cannot, of course, maintain its high tide in\npresence of calm experience, and the sunshine of more ripened knowledge\nsoon dries up its waters. But Seraphin possessed only the scanty\nexperience of a young man, and his knowledge of the world was also very\nlimited. Hence, in his case, the stream rose alarmingly high, but it did\nnot reach an overflow, for the hand of a pious mother had thrown up in the\nheart of the child a living dike strong enough to resist the greatest\nviolence of the swell. The height and solidity of the dike increased with\nthe growth of the child; it was a bulwark of defence for the man, who\nstood secure against humiliating defeats behind the adamantine wall of\nreligious principles\u2014yet only so long as he sought protection behind this\nbulwark. Faith uttered a serious warning against an unconditional\nsurrender of himself to the object of his attachment. For he could not put\nto rest some misgivings raised in his mind by the strange and, to him,\ninexplicable attitude which Louise assumed upon the highest questions of\nhuman existence. The uninitiated youth had no suspicion of the existence\nof that most disgusting product of modern enlightenment, the _emancipated_\nfemale. Had he discovered in Louise the emancipated woman in all the\nugliness of her real nature, he would have conceived unutterable loathing\nfor such a monstrosity. And yet he could not but feel that between himself\nand Louise there yawned an abyss, there existed an essential repulsion,\nwhich, at times, gave rise within him to considerable uneasiness.\n\nTo obtain a solution of the enigma of this antipathy, the young gentleman\nconcluded to trust entirely to the results of his observations, which,\nhowever, were far from being definitive; for his reason was imposed upon\nby his feelings, and, from day to day, the charms of the beautiful woman\nwere steadily progressing in throwing a seductive spell over his judgment.\n\nThe banker\u2019s daughter possessed a high degree of culture; she was a\nperfect mistress of the tactics employed on the field of coquetry; her\ntact was exquisite; and she understood thoroughly how to take advantage of\na kindly disposition and of the tenderness inspired by passion. How was\nthe eye of Seraphin, strengthened neither by knowledge nor by experience,\nto detect the true worth of what lay hidden beneath this fascinating\ndelusion?\n\nHere again his religious training came to the rescue of the inexperienced\nyouth, by furnishing him with standards safe and unfalsified, by which to\nweigh and come to a conclusion.\n\nLouise\u2019s indifference to practices of piety annoyed him. She never\nattended divine service, not even on Sundays. He never saw her with a\nprayer\u2010book, nor was a single picture illustrative of a moral subject to\nbe found hung up in her apartment. Her conversation, at all times, ran\nupon commonplaces of everyday concern, such as the toilet, theatre,\nsociety. He noticed that whenever he ventured to launch matter of a more\nserious import upon the current of conversation, it immediately became\nconstrained and soon ceased to flow. Louise appeared to his heart at the\nsame time so fascinating and yet so peculiar, so seductive and yet so\nrepulsive, that the contradictions of her being caused him to feel quite\nunhappy.\n\nHe was again sitting in his room thinking about her. In the interview he\nhad just had with her, the young lady had exerted such admirable powers of\nwomanly charms that the poor young man had had a great deal of trouble to\nmaintain his self\u2010possession. Her ringing, mischievous laugh was still\nsounding in his ears, and the brightness of her sparkling eyes was still\nlighting up his memory. And the unsuspecting youth had no Solomon at his\nside to repeat to him: \u201cMy son, can a man hide fire in his bosom, and his\ngarments not burn? Or can he walk upon hot coals, and his feet not be\nburnt?... She entangleth him with many words, and she draweth him away\nwith the flattery of her lips. Immediately he followeth her as an ox led\nto be a victim, and as a lamb playing the wanton, and not knowing that he\nis drawn like a fool to bonds, till the arrow pierce his liver. As if a\nbird should make haste to the snare, and knoweth not that his life is in\ndanger. Now, therefore, my son, hear me, and attend to the words of my\nmouth. Let not thy mind be drawn away in her ways: neither be thou\ndeceived with her paths. For she hath cast down many wounded, and the\nstrongest have been slain by her. Her house is the way to hell, reaching\neven to the inner chambers of death.\u201d(3)\n\nFor Seraphin, however, no Solomon was at hand who might give him counsel.\nSustained by his virtue and by his faith alone, he struggled against the\ntemptress, not precisely of the kind referred to by Solomon, but still a\ndangerous one from the ranks of progress.\n\nGreifmann had notified him that the general assembly election was to be\nheld that day, that Mayor Hans Shund would certainly be returned as a\ndelegate, and that he intended to call for Gerlach, and go out to watch\nthe progress of the election.\n\nSeraphin felt rather indifferent respecting the election; but he would\nhave considered himself under weighty obligation to the brother for an\nexplanation of the peculiar behavior of the sister at which he was so\ngreatly perplexed.\n\nCarl himself he had for a while regarded as an enigma. Now, however, he\nbelieved that he had reached a correct conclusion concerning the brother.\nIt appeared to him that the principal characteristic of Carl\u2019s disposition\nwas to treat every subject, except what strictly pertained to business, in\na spirit of levity. To the faults of others Carl was always ready to\naccord a praiseworthy degree of indulgence, he never uttered harsh words\nin a tone of bitterness, and when he pronounced censure, his reproof was\ninvariably clothed in some form of pleasantry. In general, he behaved like\na man not having time to occupy himself seriously with any subject that\ndid not lie within the particular sphere of his occupation. Even their\nwager he managed like a matter of business, although the landowner could\nnot but take umbrage at the banker\u2019s ready and natural way of dealing with\nmen whose want of principle he himself abominated. Greifmann seemed good\u2010\nnatured, minute, and cautious in business, and in all other things\nexceedingly liberal and full of levity. Such was the judgment arrived at\nby Seraphin, inexperienced and little inclined to fault\u2010finding as he was,\nrespecting a gentleman who stood at the summit of modern culture, who had\nskill in elegantly cloaking great faults and foibles, and whose sole\nreligion consisted in the accumulation of papers and coins of arbitrary\nvalue.\n\nGerlach\u2019s servant entered, and disturbed his meditation.\n\n\u201cThere is a man here with a family who begs hard to be allowed to speak\nwith you.\u201d\n\n\u201cA man with a family!\u201d repeated the millionaire, astonished. \u201cI know\nnobody round here, and have no desire to form acquaintances.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe man will not be denied. He says his name is Holt, and that he has\nsomething to say to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, yes!\u201d exclaimed Seraphin, with a smile that revealed a pleasant\nsurprise. \u201cSend the man and those who are with him in to me.\u201d\n\nClosing a diary, in which he was recording circumstantially the\nexperiences of his present visit, he awaited the visitors. A loud knock\nfrom a weighty fist reminded him of a pair of callous hands, then Holt,\nfollowed by his wife and children, presented himself before his\nbenefactor. They all made a small courtesy, even the flaxen\u2010headed little\nchildren, and the bright, healthy babe in the arms of the mother met his\ngaze with the smile of an angel. The dark spirits that were hovering\naround him, torturing and tempting, instantly vanished, and he became\nserene and unconstrained whilst conversing with these simple people.\n\n\u201cYou must excuse us, Mr. Seraphin,\u201d began Holt. \u201cThis is my wife, and\nthese are seven of my children. There is one more; her name is Mechtild.\nShe had to stay at home and mind the house. She will pay you an extra\nvisit, and present her thanks. We have called that you might become\nacquainted with the family whom you have rescued, and that we might thank\nyou with all our hearts.\u201d\n\nAfter this speech, the father gave a signal, whereupon the little ones\ngathered around the amiable young man, made their courtesies, and kissed\nhis hands.\n\n\u201cMay God bless you, Mr. Seraphin!\u201d first spoke a half\u2010grown girl.\n\n\u201cWe greet you, dear Seraphin!\u201d said another, five years old.\n\n\u201cWe pray for you every day, Mr. Seraphin,\u201d said the next in succession.\n\n\u201cWe are thankful to you from our hearts, Mr. Seraphin,\u201d spoke a small lad,\nin a tone of deep earnestness.\n\nAnd thus did every child deliver its little address. It was touching to\nwitness the noble dignity of the children, which may, at times, be found\nbeautifully investing their innocence. Gerlach was moved. He looked down\nupon the little ones around him with an expression of affectionate\nthankfulness. Holt\u2019s lips also quivered, and bright tears of happiness\nstreamed from the eyes of the mother.\n\n\u201cI am obliged to you, my little friends, for your greetings and for your\nprayers,\u201d spoke the millionaire. \u201cYou are well brought up. Continue always\nto be good children, such as you now are; have the fear of God, and honor\nyour parents.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Seraphin,\u201d said Holt, drawing a paper from his pocket, \u201chere is the\nnote that I have redeemed with the money you gave me. I wanted to show it\nto you, so that you might know for certain that the money had been applied\nto the proper purpose.\u201d\n\nGerlach affected to take an interest in the paper, and read over the\nreceipt.\n\n\u201cBut there is one thing, Mr. Seraphin,\u201d continued Holt, \u201cthat grieves me.\nAnd that is, that there is not anything better than mere words with which\nI can testify my gratitude to you. I would like ever so much to do\nsomething for you\u2014to do something for you worth speaking of. Do you know,\nMr. Seraphin, I would be willing to shed the last drop of my blood for\nyou?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind that, Holt! It is ample recompense for me to know that I have\nhelped a worthy man out of trouble. You can now, Mrs. Holt, set to work\nwith renewed courage. But,\u201d added he archly, \u201cyou will have to watch your\nhusband that he may not again fall into the clutches of beasts of prey\nlike Shund.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe has had to pay dearly for his experience, Mr. Seraphin. I used often\nto say to him: \u2018Michael, don\u2019t trust Shund. Shund talks too much, he is\ntoo sweet altogether, he has some wicked design upon us\u2014don\u2019t trust him.\u2019\nBut, you see, Mr. Seraphin, my husband thinks that all people are as\nupright as he is himself, and he believed that Shund really meant to deal\nfairly as he pretended. But Michael\u2019s wits are sharpened now, and he will\nnot in future be so ready to believe every man upon his word. Nor will he,\nhereafter, borrow one single penny, and he will never again undertake to\nbuy anything unless he has the money in hand to pay for it.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn what street do you live?\u201d inquired Gerlach.\n\n\u201cNear the turnpike road, Mr. Seraphin. Do you see that knoll?\u201d He pointed\nthrough the window in a direction unobstructed by the trees of the garden.\n\u201cDo you see that dense shade\u2010tree, and yon white\u2010washed wall behind the\ntree? That is our walnut\u2010tree\u2014my grandfather planted it. And the white\nwall is the wall of our house.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have passed there twice\u2014the road leads to the beech grove,\u201d said the\nmillionaire. \u201cI remarked the little cottage, and was much pleased with its\nair of neatness. It struck me, too, that the barn is larger than the\ndwelling, which is a creditable sign for a farmer. Near the front entrance\nthere is a carefully cultivated flower garden, in which I particularly\nadmired the roses, and further off from the road lies an apple orchard.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll that belongs to us. That is what you have rescued and made a present\nof to us,\u201d replied the land cultivator joyfully. \u201cEverybody stops to view\nthe roses; they belong to our daughter Mechtild.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe soil is good and deep, and must bring splendid crops of wheat. I,\ntoo, am a farmer, and understand something about such matters. But it\nappeared to me as though the soil were of a cold nature. You should use\nlime upon it pretty freely.\u201d\n\nIn this manner he spent some time conversing with these good and simple\npeople. Before dismissing them, he made a present to every one of the\nchildren of a shining dollar, having previously overcome Holt\u2019s protest\nagainst this new instance of generosity.\n\nOld and young then courtesied once more, and Gerlach was left to himself\nin a mood differing greatly from that in which the visitors had found him.\n\nHe had been conversing with good and happy people, and his soul revelled\nin the consciousness of having been the originator of their happiness.\n\nSuddenly Greifmann\u2019s appearance in the room put to flight the bright\nspirits that hovered about him, and the sunshine that had been lighting up\nthe apartment was obscured by dark shadows as of a heavy mass of clouds.\n\n\u201cWhat sort of a horde was that?\u201d asked he.\n\n\u201cThey were Holt and his family. The gratitude of these simple people was\ntouching. The innocent little ones gave me an ovation of which a prince\nmight be envious, for the courts of princes are never graced by a\nnaturalness at once so sincere and so beautiful. It is an intense\nhappiness for me to have assured the livelihood of ten human beings with\nso paltry a gift.\u201d\n\n\u201cA mere matter of taste, my most sympathetic friend!\u201d rejoined the banker\nwith indifference. \u201cYou are not made of the proper stuff to be a business\nman. Your feelings would easily tempt you into very unbusinesslike\ntransactions. But you must come with me! The hubbub of the election is\nastir through all the streets and thoroughfares. I am going out to\ndischarge my duties as a citizen, and I want you to accompany me.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no inclination to see any more of this disgusting turmoil,\u201d\nreplied Gerlach.\n\n\u201cInclination or disinclination is out of the question when interest\ndemands it,\u201d insisted the banker. \u201cYou must profit by the opportunity\nwhich you now have of enriching your knowledge of men and things, or\nrather of correcting it; for heretofore your manner of viewing things has\nbeen mere ideal enthusiasm. Come with me, my good fellow!\u201d\n\nSeraphin followed with interior reluctance. Greifmann went on to impart to\nhim the following information:\n\n\u201cDuring the past night, there have sprung up, as if out of the earth, a\nmost formidable host, ready to do battle against the uniformly victorious\narmy of progress\u2014men thoroughly armed and accoutred, real crusaders. A\nbloody struggle is imminent. Try and make of your heart a sort of monitor\ncovered with plates of iron, so that you may not be overpowered by the\nhorrifying spectacle of the election affray. I am not joking at all! True\nas gospel, what I tell you! If you do not want to be stifled by\nindignation at sight of the fiercest kind of terrorism, of the most\nrevolting tyranny, you will have to lay aside, at least for to\u2010day, every\nfeeling of humanity.\u201d\n\nGerlach perceived a degree of seriousness in the bubbling current of\nGreifmann\u2019s levity.\n\n\u201cWho is the enemy that presumes to stand in the way of progress?\u201d enquired\nhe.\n\n\u201cThe ultramontanes! Listen to what I have to tell you. This morning\nSchwefel came in to get a check cashed. With surprise I observed that the\nmanufacturer\u2019s soul was not in business. \u2018How are things going?\u2019 asked I\nwhen we had got through.\n\n\u201c \u2018I feel like a man,\u2019 exclaimed he, \u2018that has just seen a horrible\nmonster! Would you believe it, those accursed ultramontanes have been\nsecretly meddling in the election. They have mustered a number of votes,\nand have even gone so far as to have a yellow ticket printed. Their yellow\nplacards were to be seen this morning stuck up at every street corner\u2014of\ncourse they were immediately torn down.\u2019\n\n\u201c \u2018And are you provoked at that, Mr. Schwefel! You certainly are not going\nto deny the poor ultramontanes the liberty of existing, or, at least, the\nliberty of voting for whom they please?\u2019\n\n\u201c \u2018Yes, I am, I am! That must not be tolerated,\u2019 cried he wildly. \u2018The\nblack brood are hatching dark schemes, they are conspiring against\ncivilization, and would fain wrest from us the trophies won by progress.\nIt is high time to apply the axe to the root of the upas\u2010tree. Our duty is\nto disinfect thoroughly, to banish the absurdities of religious dogma from\nour schools. The black spawn will have to be rendered harmless: we must\nkill them politically.\u2019\n\n\u201c \u2018Very well,\u2019 said I. \u2018Just make negroes of them. Now that in America the\nslaves are emancipated, Europe would perhaps do well to take her turn at\nthe slave\u2010trade.\u2019 But the fellow would not take my joke. He made\nthreatening gesticulations, his eyes gleamed like hot coals, and he\nmuttered words of a belligerent import.\n\n\u201c \u2018The ultramontane rabble are to hold a meeting at the \u201cKey of Heaven,\u201d \u2019\nreported he. \u2018There the stupid victims of credulity are to be harangued by\nseveral of their best talkers. The black tide is afterwards to diffuse\nitself through the various wards where the voting is to take place. But\nlet the priest\u2010ridden slaves come, they will have other memoranda to carry\nhome with them beside their yellow rags of tickets.\u2019\n\n\u201cYou perceive, friend Seraphin, that the progress men mean mischief. We\nmay expect to witness scenes of violence.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is unjustifiable brutality on the part of the progressionists,\u201d\ndeclared Gerlach indignantly. \u201cAre not the ultramontanes entitled to vote\nand to receive votes? Are they not free citizens? Do they not enjoy the\nsame privileges as others? It is a disgrace and an outrage thus to\ntyrannize over men who are their brothers, sons of Germania, their common\nmother.\u201d\n\n\u201cGranted! Violence is disgraceful. The intention of progress, however, is\nnot quite as bad as you think it. Being convinced of its own\ninfallibility, it cannot help feeling indignant at the unbelief of\nultramontanism, which continues deaf to the saving truths of the\nprogressionist gospel. Hence a holy zeal for making converts urges\nprogress so irresistibly that it would fain force wanderers into the path\nof salvation by violence. This is simply human, and should not be regarded\nas unpardonable. In the self\u2010same spirit did my namesake Charles the Great\nbutcher the Saxons because the besotted heathens presumed to entertain\nconvictions differing from his own. And those who were not butchered had\nto see their sacred groves cut down, their altars demolished, their time\u2010\nhonored laws changed, and had to resign themselves to following the ways\nwhich he thought fit to have opened through the land of the Saxons. You\ncannot fail to perceive that Charles the Great was a member of the school\nof progress.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut your comparison is defective,\u201d opposed the millionaire. \u201cCharles\nsubdued a wild and blood\u2010thirsty horde who made it a practice to set upon\nand butcher peaceful neighbors. Charles was the protector of the realm,\nand the Saxons were forced to bend under the weight of his powerful arm.\nIf Charles, however, did violence to the consciences of his vanquished\nenemies, and converted them to Christianity with the sword and mace, then\nCharles himself is not to be excused, for moral freedom is expressly\nproclaimed by the spirit of Christianity.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no doubt but that the Saxons were blundering fools for rousing\nthe lion by making inroads into Charles\u2019 domain. The ultramontanes, are,\nhowever, in a similar situation. They have attacked the giant Progress,\nand have themselves to blame for the consequences.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe ultramontanes have attacked nobody,\u201d maintained Gerlach. \u201cThey are\nmerely asserting their own rights, and are not putting restrictions on the\nrights of other people. But progress will concede neither rights nor\nfreedom to others. It is a disgusting egotist, an unscrupulous tyrant,\nthat tries to build up his own brutal authority on the ruins of the rights\nof others.\u201d\n\n\u201cStill, it would have been far more prudent on the part of the\nultramontanes to keep quiet, seeing that their inferiority of numbers\ncannot alter the situation. The indisputable rights of the ascendency are\nin our days with the sceptre and crown of progress.\u201d\n\n\u201cA brave man never counts the foe,\u201d cried Gerlach. \u201cHe stands to his\nconvictions, and behaves manfully in the struggle.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell said!\u201d applauded the banker. \u201cAnd since progress also is forced by\nthe opposition of principles to man itself for the contest, it will\nnaturally beat up all its forces in defence of its conviction. Here we are\nat the \u2018Key of Heaven,\u2019 where the ultramontanes are holding their meeting.\nLet us go in, for the proverb says, _Audiatur et altera pars_\u2014the other\nside should also get a hearing.\u201d\n\nThey drew near to a lengthy old building. Over the doorway was a pair of\ncrossed keys hewn out of stone, and gilt, informing the stranger that it\nwas the hostelry of the \u201cKey of Heaven,\u201d where, since the days of hoar\nantiquity, hospitality was dispensed to pilgrims and travellers. The\nprincipal hall of the house contained a gathering of about three hundred\nmen. They were attentively listening to the words of a speaker who was\nwarmly advocating the principles of his party. The speaker stood behind a\ndesk which was placed upon a platform at the far end of the hall.\n\nSeraphin cast a glance over the assembly. He received the painful\nimpression of a hopeless minority. Barely forty votes would the\nultramontanes be able to send to each of the wards. To compensate for\nnumbers, intelligence and faith were represented in the meeting. Elegant\ngentlemen with intellectual countenances sat or stood in the company of\nrespectable tradesmen, and the long black coats of the clergy were not few\nin number. On a table lay two packages of yellow tickets to be distributed\namong the members of the assembly. At the same table sat the chairman, a\ncommissary of police named Parteiling, whose business it was to watch the\nproceedings, and several other gentlemen.\n\n\u201cCompared with the colossal preponderance of progress, our influence is\ninsignificant, and, compared with the masses of our opponents our\nnumerical strength is still less encouraging,\u201d said the speaker. \u201cIf in\nconnection with this disheartening fact you take into consideration the\npressure which progress has it in its power to exert on the various\nrelations of life through numerous auxiliary means, if you remember that\nour opponents can dismiss from employment all such as dare uphold views\ndiffering from their own, it becomes clear that no ordinary amount of\ncourage is required to entertain and proclaim convictions hostile to\nprogress.\u201d\n\nSeraphin thought of Spitzkopf\u2019s mode of electioneering, and of the\nterrible threats made to the \u201cwild men,\u201d and concluded the incredible\nstatement was lamentably correct.\n\n\u201cViewing things in this light,\u201d proceeded the orator, \u201cI congratulate the\npresent assembly upon its unusual degree of pluck, for courage is required\nto go into battle with a clear knowledge of the overwhelming strength of\nthe enemy. We have rallied round the banner of our convictions\nnotwithstanding that the numbers of the enemy make victory hopeless. We\nare determined to cast our votes in support of religion and morality in\ndefiance of the scorn, blasphemy, and violence which the well\u2010known\nterrorism of progress will not fail to employ in order to frighten us from\nthe exercise of our privilege as citizens. We must be prepared, gentlemen,\nto hear a multitude of sarcastic remarks and coarse witticisms, both in\nthe streets and at the polls. I adjure you to maintain the deportment\nalone worthy of our cause. A gentleman never replies to the aggressions of\nrudeness, and should you wish to take the conduct of our opponents in gay\ngood\u2010humor, just try, gentlemen, to fancy that you are being treated to\nsome elegant exhibition of the refinement and liberal culture of the\ntimes.\u201d\n\nLoud bursts of hilarity now and then relieved the seriousness of the\nmeeting. Even Greifmann would clap applause and cry, \u201cBravo!\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us stand united to a man, prepared against all the wiles of\nintimidation and corruption, undismayed by the onset of the enemy. The\nstruggle is grave beyond expression. For you are acquainted with the aims\nand purposes of the liberals. Progress would like to sweep away all the\nreligious heritages that our fathers held sacred. Education is to be\nviolently wrested from under the influence of the church; the church\nherself is to be enslaved and strangled in the thrall of the liberal\nstate. I am aware that our opponents pretend to respect religion\u2014but the\nreligion of would\u2010be progress is infidelity. Divine revelation, of which\nthe church is the faithful guardian, is rejected with scorn by liberalism.\nLook at the tone of the press and the style of the literature of the day.\nYou have only to notice the derision and fierceness with which the press\ndaily assails the mysteries and dogmas of religion, the Sovereign Pontiff,\nthe clergy, religious orders, the ultramontanes, and you cannot long\nremain in the dark concerning the aim and object of progress. Christ or\nAntichrist is the watchword of the day, gentlemen! Hence the imperative\nduty for us to be active at the elections; for the legislature has the\npresumption to wish to dictate in matters belonging exclusively to the\njurisdiction of the church. We are threatened with school laws the purpose\nof which is to unchristianize our children, to estrange them from the\nspirit of religion. No man having the sentiment of religion can remain\nindifferent in presence of this danger, for it means nothing less than the\ndefection from Christianity of the masses of the coming generation.\n\n\u201cGentlemen, there is a reproach being uttered just now by the\nprogressionist press, which, far from repelling, I would feel proud to\ndeserve. A priest should have said, so goes the report, that it is a\nmortal sin to elect a progressionist to the chamber of deputies. Some of\nthe writers of our press have met this reproach by simply denying that a\npriest ever expressed himself in those terms. But, gentlemen, let us take\nfor granted that a priest did actually say that it is a mortal sin to\nelect a progressionist to the chamber of deputies, is there anything\nopposed to morality in such a declaration?\n\n\u201cBy no means, if you remember that it is to be presumed the progressionist\nwill use his vote in the assembly to oppose religion. Mortal sin,\ngentlemen, is any wilful transgression of God\u2019s law in grave matters. Now\nI put it to you: Does he gravely transgress the law of God who controverts\nwhat God has revealed, who would exclude God and all holy subjects from\nthe schools, who would rob the church of her independence, and make of her\na mere state machine unfit for the fulfilment of her high mission? There\nis not one of you but is ready to declare: \u2018Yes, such an one transgresses\ngrievously the law of God.\u2019 This answer at the same time solves the other\nquestion, whether it is a mortal sin to put arms in the hands of an enemy\nof religion that he may use them against faith and morality. Would that\nall men of Christian sentiment seriously adverted to this connection of\nthings and acted accordingly, the baneful sway of the pernicious spirit\nthat governs the age would soon be at an end; for I have confidence in the\nsound sense and moral rectitude of the German people. Heathenism is\nrepugnant to the deeply religious nature of our nation; the German people\ndo not wish to dethrone God, nor are they ready to bow the knee before the\nempty idol of a soulless enlightenment.\u201d\n\nHere the speaker was interrupted by a tumult. A band of factorymen,\nyelling and laughing, rushed into the hall to disturb the meeting. All\neyes were immediately turned upon the rioters. In every countenance\nindignation could be seen kindling at this outrage of the liberals. The\ncommissary of police alone sat motionless as a statue. The progressionist\nrioters elbowed their way into the crowd, and, when the excitement caused\nby this strategic movement had subsided, the speaker resumed his\ndiscourse.\n\n\u201cFor a number of years back our conduct has been misrepresented and\ncalumniated. They call us men of no nationality, and pretend that we get\nour orders from Rome. This reproach does honor neither to the intelligence\nnor to the judgment of our opponents. Whence dates the division of Germany\ninto discordant factions? When began the present faint and languishing\ncondition of our fatherland? From the moment when it separated from Rome.\nSo long as Germany continued united in the bond of the same holy faith,\nand the voice of the head of the church was hearkened to by every member\nof her population, her sovereigns held the golden apple, the symbol of\nuniversal empire. Our nation was then the mightiest, the proudest, the\nmost glorious upon earth. The church who speaks through the Sovereign\nPontiff had civilized the fierce sons of Germany, had conjured the hatred\nand feuds of hostile tribes, had united the interests and energies of our\npeople in one holy faith, and had ennobled and enriched German genius\nthrough the spirit of religion. The church had formed out of the chaos of\nbarbarism the Holy Roman Empire of the German nation\u2014that gigantic and\nwonderful organization the like of which the world will never see again.\nBut the church has long since been deprived of the leadership in German\naffairs, and what in consequence is now the condition of our fatherland?\nIt is divided into discordant factions, it is an ailing trunk, with many\nmembers, but without a head.\n\n\u201cIt is rather amusing that the ultramontanes should be charged with\nreceiving orders from Rome, for the voice of the Father of Christianity\nhas not been heard for many years back in the council of state.\u201d\n\n\u201cHurrah for the Syllabus!\u201d cried Spitzkopf, who was at the head of the\nrioters. \u201cHurrah for the Syllabus!\u201d echoed his gang, yelling and stamping\nwildly.\n\nThe ultramontanes were aroused, eyes glared fiercely, and fists were\nclenched ready to make a summary clearing of the hall. But no scuffle\nensued; the ultramontanes maintained a dignified bearing. The speaker\ncalmly remained in his place, and when the tumult had ceased he again went\non with his discourse.\n\n\u201cSuch only,\u201d said he, \u201ctake offence at the Syllabus as know nothing about\nit. There is not a word in the Syllabus opposed to political liberty or\nthe most untrammelled self\u2010government of the German people. But it is\nopposed to the fiendish terrorism of infidelity. The Syllabus condemns the\ndiabolical principles by which the foundations of the Christian state are\nsapped and a most disastrous tyranny over conscience is proclaimed.\u201d\n\n\u201cHallo! listen to that,\u201d cried one of the liberals, and the yelling was\nrenewed, louder, longer, and more furious than before.\n\nThe chairman rang his bell. The revellers relapsed into silence.\n\n\u201cOurs is not a public meeting, but a mere private gathering,\u201d explained\nthe chairman. \u201cNone but men of Christian principles have been invited. If\nothers have intruded violently, I request them to leave the room, or, at\nleast, to refrain from conduct unbecoming men of good\u2010breeding.\u201d\n\nSpitzkopf laughed aloud, his comrades yelled and stamped.\n\n\u201cLet us go!\u201d said Greifmann to Gerlach in an angry tone.\n\n\u201cLet us stay!\u201d rejoined the latter with excitement. \u201cThe affair is\nbecoming interesting. I want to see how this will end.\u201d\n\nThe banker noticed Gerlach\u2019s suppressed indignation; he observed it in the\nfire of his eyes and the expression of unutterable contempt that had\nspread over his features, and he began to consider the situation as\nalarming. He had not expected this exhibition of brutal impertinence. In\nhis estimation an infringement of propriety like the one he had just\nwitnessed was a far more heinous transgression than the grossest\nviolations in the sphere of morals. He judged of Gerlach\u2019s impressions by\nthis standard of appreciation, and feared the behavior of the\nprogressionist mob would produce an effect in the young man\u2019s mind far\nfrom favorable to the cause which they represented. He execrated the\ndisturbance of the liberals, and took Seraphin\u2019s arm to lead him away.\n\n\u201cCome away, I beg of you! I cannot imagine what interest the rudeness of\nthat uncultivated horde can have for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not scorn them, for they are honestly earning their pay,\u201d rejoined\nGerlach.\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cThose fellows are whistling, bawling, stamping, and yelling in the employ\nof progress. You are trying to give me an insight into the nature of\nmodern civilization: could there be a better opportunity than this?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere you make a mistake, my dear fellow! Enlightened progress is never\nrude.\u201d\n\nTo Be Continued.\n\n\n\n\nGavazzi Versus The See Of S. Peter.\n\n\nBy a Protestant Doctor of Philosophy.\n\n\n\nIntroductory Note.\n\n\nThe topic of this article has already been fully and satisfactorily\ntreated in THE CATHOLIC WORLD. It is well, however, to adopt, in handling\nthe truth, Voltaire\u2019s maxim in regard to falsehood, and to keep\ncontinually repeating those truths which are frequently denied. Not only\nthe mountebank Gavazzi, but others more respectable than he is, keep on\nreasserting the denial of S. Peter\u2019s Roman Episcopate, notwithstanding the\nevidence which has been over and over again presented in proof of it by\nProtestant as well as Catholic writers. We, therefore, willingly give\nadmission to the present article, which, we may as well state, has been\nprinted from the author\u2019s MS. copy, without any alteration.\u2014ED. C. W.\n\n                  \u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\n\nAt our examination in the diocese of the Protestant Episcopal Church in\nwhich we took holy orders, the question of S. Peter\u2019s being at Rome was\ndebated with some warmth by the clerical examiners and the bishop. We had\nat that time just passed our majority, and, while our reading had been\npretty full, we had not touched the subject of this article, for it was\nindeed comparatively new to us. We remember well the remark of our bishop,\nwhose opinion on theological questions we held in veneration. He was\nprominent on the bench of bishops as one of the most learned of our\nprelates, and he had wielded his pen in defence of Anglican Church\nprinciples with great reputation to himself among Episcopalians,\nparticularly the High Church school of religious thought. At the period to\nwhich we refer, he gave it as his opinion that it was extremely doubtful\nthat S. Peter ever visited Rome, and that he was the first bishop of its\nSee was beyond the province of historical proof. Previous to this date in\nour studies, we would as lief have questioned the fact of the existence of\nRome itself as that of S. Peter\u2019s residence there, and his occupancy of\nthat metropolitan see. We had reached this conclusion by no investigation:\nit was, rather, one of those traditional questions which fix themselves in\nthe mind without much thought in either direction. The fact, as we\nsupposed, had never been doubted. To hear for the first time a denial of\nits truth, and that, too, from our ecclesiastical superior, made an\nimpression upon our mind which led us to investigate the subject as soon\nas time and opportunity were afforded us. From that day to this, we have\nheard the same theory advanced by Protestant clergymen of every shade of\ndenominational opinion, and in the minds of many it has lodged itself as\none of those mooted questions which baffle historical proof.\n\nAbout twenty years ago, an Italian known as \u201cFather Gavazzi\u201d visited the\nUnited States. His crusade against the Church of Rome during that visit is\nfamiliar to all. Of its merits or the motives which prompted it we do not\npropose to speak, as it is foreign to the subject to which the interest of\nthe reader is invited. Again the same Alessandro Gavazzi, as\n\u201cCommissioner\u201d of what he denominates the \u201cFree Christian Church of\nItaly,\u201d is lecturing to audiences in our principal cities, for the purpose\nof securing subscriptions for \u201cevangelization\u201d and for the \u201cBiblical\nCollege in Rome.\u201d What these terms may mean we do not know, and of them we\nhave no disposition to speak. In the month of June last, \u201cFather Gavazzi\u201d\nwas advertised to lecture under the auspices of the Young Men\u2019s Christian\nAssociation in the city in which we reside. Among others, who had no\ninterest perhaps in the especial work in which he is engaged, we attended\nhis lecture. From a report of the lecture in the issue of a daily paper of\nthe following morning we make the quotation which forms the text, upon\nwhich we propose to place before the reader some historical proofs for the\nbelief that S. Peter was at Rome.\n\n\u201cFather Gavazzi\u201d said: \u201cA discussion was proposed in Rome as to whether S.\nPeter was ever there or not. The Pope favored, insisted upon it, and in\ntwo days his chosen champions retired defeated from the contest. That is\nsomething. The Bible is entirely silent on this subject. But the priests\nsay that is merely negative proof. The silence of S. Luke is, however,\npositive proof that S. Peter was never there. The discussion of this\nsubject, once prohibited in Rome, is now talked of freely in all public\nplaces. It was his delight to fight the Pope. Pius IX. was no more the\nsuccessor of S. Peter than he was the successor of the emperor of China.\n_S. Peter was never in Rome to be succeeded by anybody._\u201d\n\nModern investigation at best has done little to clear up the difficulties\nconnected with the geographical history of the Apostle Peter. That he was\nat Rome, and suffered martyrdom in that city, is the general belief of the\nfathers. And it was not until the dawn of the Reformation that the\napostle\u2019s journey to that city, and his martyrdom there, became even a\nsubject of doubt. So great was the anxiety of some to disprove the Primacy\nof the Roman See that scholarly men lent themselves to the repetition of\nmyths and traditions which had no foundation in fact, and later writers,\nbiased by early education and ecclesiastical connection, have even\nintroduced into historical literature mythical stories, the germs of which\nrun through the popular mythology of ancient and modern times. If, they\nargue, it can be proved that S. Peter was never at Rome, then we at once\noverturn the pretensions of the Papacy; or, again, if we can demonstrate\nthat there is a break in the chain of succession of its bishops from S.\nPeter, the belief in the doctrine of an apostolic succession is clearly\ndisproved, and the idea of a line of bishops reaching back through the\nlong period of the _Mores Catholici_, or _Ages of Faith_, only a senseless\nforgery which originated with some monk the abbot of whose monastery was\nperhaps the first to give it form after he had ascended the chair of\nPeter. Mosheim, a respectable writer in the Protestant world, blinded by a\nsingular prejudice which led him at times to forget the critical duties of\nthe historian, is one among the few German scholars who has tarnished the\npages of his _Ecclesiastical History_ by giving credence to the fabulous\nstory of Pope Joan. \u201cBetween Leo IV., who died 855, and Benedict III.,\u201d\nsays he, \u201ca woman who concealed her sex and assumed the name of John, it\nis said, opened her way to the pontifical throne by her learning and\ngenius, and governed the church for a time. She is commonly called the\nPapess Joan. During five subsequent centuries the witnesses to this\nextraordinary event are without number; _nor did any one prior to the\nReformation by Luther regard the thing as either incredible or disgraceful\nto the church_.\u201d The earliest writer from whom any information relating to\nthe fable of Pope Joan is derived is Marianus Scotus, a monk of S. Martin\nof Cologne, who died A.D. 1086. He left a chronicle which has received\nmany additions by later writers, and among those interpolations the\nstudents of mythical lore regard the passage which refers to this story.\nPlatina, who wrote the _Lives of the Popes_ anterior to the time of Martin\nLuther, relates the legend, and, with more of the critical acumen than\nMosheim, adds: \u201cThese things which I relate are popular reports, but\nderived from uncertain and obscure authors, which I have therefore\ninserted briefly and baldly, lest I should seem to omit obstinately and\npertinaciously what most people assert.\u201d The legend of Pope Joan has been\nso thoroughly exposed that no controversialist of discrimination thinks of\nreviving it as an argument against the succession of the Bishops of Rome.\nNow and then it may be related to an ignorant crowd by an anti\u2010popery\nmountebank of our cities during times of religious excitement, but it is\nnever heard from the lips of an educated Protestant. We are inclined to\nthink, however, that the class of minds that seeks to throw doubt upon S.\nPeter\u2019s residence at Rome in order to subvert the Primacy of the Apostolic\nSee would not hesitate, in view of the evidence from early ecclesiastical\nwriters, to introduce again this Papess Joan to their unlearned readers.\n\nTurning, then, to the proofs of the subject of our paper, we take as the\nmotto for our investigation of this and all kindred ecclesiastical\nquestions the golden words of Tertullian: \u201cId esse verum, quodcunque\nprimum; id esse adulterum quodcunque posterius.\u201d(4) Or that petition of a\ngreat Anglican divine: \u201cGrant, O Lord! that, in reading thy Holy Word, I\nmay never prefer my private sentiments before those of the church in the\npurely ancient times of Christianity.\u201d(5)\n\nThe earliest testimony is borne by S. Ignatius. He was closely connected\nwith the apostles, both as a hearer of their teachings and sharer of the\nextraordinary mysteries of their faith.(6) S. John was his Christian\nGamaliel, at whose feet he was taught the doctrines of Christianity, which\nprepared him not only to wear the mitre of Antioch, the most cultivated\nmetropolis of the East, but also to receive the brighter crown of a\nmartyr\u2019s agonizing death. Full of years, the follower of the beloved\ndisciple was hurried to Rome, to seal with his blood the truth of the\nreligion of Christ. On his journey to the pagan capital, he was permitted\nto tarry for a season at Smyrna, to visit, for the last time, S. Polycarp,\nthe aged bishop of that city. Here, in view of the dreadful death that\nawaited him in the Roman amphitheatre, and in communion with the revered\nfellow\u2010laborer of his life, he wrote his four epistles. From the one to\nthe Romans we quote the following evidence: \u201cI do not command you as S.\nPeter and S. Paul did; they were apostles of Jesus Christ, and I am a mere\nnothing\u201d (the least).(7) \u201cWhat can be more clear,\u201d says the Anglican\nexpositor of the Creed, Bishop Pearson, \u201cfrom these words than that this\nmost holy martyr was of opinion that Peter, no less than Paul, preached\nand suffered at Rome?\u201d\n\nEusebius relates, upon the authority of Papias and S. Clement of\nAlexandria, that \u201cS. Mark wrote his gospel at the request of S. Peter\u2019s\nhearers in Rome,\u201d and he further adds that \u201cS. Peter mentions S. Mark in\nhis first epistle, written from Rome, which he figuratively calls\nBabylon.\u201d(8)\n\nS. Dionysius, Bishop of Corinth, in his epistle addressed to the Romans,\naffirms that S. Peter and S. Paul preached the Gospel in Corinth and in\nRome, and suffered martyrdom about the same time in the latter city.(9)\n\nS. Iren\u00e6us, Bishop of Lyons, who was born at Smyrna, though of Greek\nextraction, had been the disciple of S. Polycarp, Pothinus, and Papias,\nfrom whose lips he had heard many anecdotes of the apostles and their\nimmediate followers. He was alike eminent both as a scholar in the\nlearning of the times and as a controversialist of no mean repute. The\npart he bore against the Gnostic and other heresies rendered his name\nillustrious, not only within the limits of his episcopal jurisdiction, but\nwherever the claims of Christianity had been presented. The wonderful\naptness with which he interwove Scripture and scriptural phraseology into\nhis style, not altogether unpolished, is perhaps unequalled in patristic\ntheology. Residing in a city whose language and intellectual\ncharacteristics differed from those of his native country, his writings\nare essentially foreign, and, with few exceptions, were lost at an early\nperiod. In the fragments which remain we find an unequivocal testimony in\nbehalf of the subject under discussion. His language is: \u201cS. Peter and S.\nPaul preached the Gospel in Rome, and laid the foundation of the\nchurch.\u201d(10)\n\nCaius, a learned Roman presbyter, and, as some suppose, bishop, arguing\nagainst Proclus, the chief champion of Montanism at Rome, says that he can\n\u201cshow the trophies of the apostles.\u201d \u201cFor if you will go,\u201d he continues,\n\u201cto the Vatican, or to the Ostian Road, you will find the trophies of\nthose who have laid the foundation of this church.\u201d(11)\n\nOrigen, a man of encyclop\u00e6dic learning, who had been carefully nurtured by\nChristian parents, and who was imbued with the hardy, stern culture of the\nGreek literature, at the early age of eighteen became the leader of the\nAlexandrine school of Christian philosophy. He proved no unworthy\nsuccessor of the logical Clement. Certainly no name stands higher in the\ncatechetical school than that of the iron\u2010souled Origen (\u1f00\u03b4\u03b1\u03bc\u03ac\u03bd\u03c4\u03b9\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2). The\neloquent teachings of this youthful master nerved many a Christian soul to\nendure with fortitude the fiery trials of martyrdom, and even comforted\nthe bleeding heart of Leonides, his father, who became a victim of the\nunrelenting persecutions of Severus. From Origen we learn \u201cthat S. Peter,\nafter having preached through Pontus, Galatia, Bithynia, Cappadocia, and\nAsia, to the Jews that were scattered abroad, went at last to Rome, where\nhe was crucified.\u201d \u201cThese things,\u201d says Eusebius, \u201care related by Origen\nin the third book of his \u03a4\u1ff6\u03bd \u03b5\u1f30\u03c2 \u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u0393\u03ad\u03bd\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd \u1f10\u03be\u03b7\u03b3\u03b7\u03c4\u03b9\u03ba\u1ff6\u03bd.\u201d(12)\n\nTertullian by birth was a heathen and Carthaginian. He was the son of a\ncenturion, and had been educated in all the varied learning of Greece and\nRome. Skilled as a rhetorician and advocate in Rome, he brought, on his\nconversion to Christianity, the accomplishments of a highly cultivated\nintellect, but a sombre and irritable temper. The natural lawlessness of a\nmind guided by a passionate and stubborn disposition led him gradually to\nrenounce the truths which the light of a higher intelligence had revealed,\nuntil at last he was anathematized for his Montanistic teachings. His\nwritings are an invaluable addition to the Punic\u2010Latin theology, and a\nrepository from which we receive great information concerning the polemic\nquestions which at that period harassed the Christian church. Upon the\nsubject of our article he writes as follows: \u201cLet them, then, give us the\norigin of their churches; let them unfold the series of their bishops,\ncoming down in succession from the beginning, so that the first bishop was\nappointed and preceded by any of the apostles, or apostolic men, who,\nnevertheless, preserved in communion with the apostles, had an ordainer\nand predecessor. For in this way the apostolic churches exhibit their\norigin; thus the Church of Smyrna relates that Polycarp was placed there\nby John, as the Church of Rome also relates that Clement was ordained by\nPeter.\u201d(13)\n\nAgain: \u201cIf thou be adjacent to Italy, there thou hast Rome, whose\nauthority is near at hand to us. How happy is this church, to which the\napostles poured forth their whole doctrine with their blood! where Peter\nis assimilated to our Lord; where Paul is crowned with a death like that\nof John.\u201d(14)\n\nAnd again: \u201cLet us see with what milk the Corinthians were fed by Paul;\naccording to what rule the Galatians were reformed; what laws were to the\nPhilippians, Thessalonians, Ephesians; what also the Romans sound in our\nears, to whom Peter and Paul left the Gospel sealed with their blood.\u201d(15)\n\nTo this list of witnesses we might add the testimony of the fathers and\necclesiastical writers who have flourished in different ages of the\nchurch, but we now propose to briefly survey the opinions of some of the\nmost noted Protestant commentators.\n\nThe First Epistle of S. Peter is said by the apostle to have been written\nfrom Babylon, but whether it be Babylon in Chaldea, Babylon in Egypt,\nJerusalem, or Rome, has given rise to much speculation.(16) Our Lord\nforetold the manner of St. Peter\u2019s death,(17) and an event of such\nimportance would naturally have awakened more than ordinary interest.\nSeven cities claimed the honor of Homer\u2019s birth,(18) but no other place\nthan Rome ever assumed to itself the glory of the apostle\u2019s martyrdom.\nControversies arose concerning the time of celebrating Easter, the baptism\nof heretics, and questions of a like nature, yet none disputed the place\nin which S. Peter was martyred. It is highly improbable that S. Peter ever\nvisited either Babylon in Egypt or Babylon in Chaldea. Certainly no fact\nof history nor even possibility of conjecture furnishes the least\nwarrantable presumption of either opinion. The great burden of proof\npoints toward Rome. Like Babylon, pagan Rome was idolatrous. Like Babylon,\nit persecuted the church of God. Like Babylon, the glory of its pagan\ntemple and fane had departed. In many manuscripts this epistle is dated\nfrom Rome.\n\nCalvin, who little regarded the authority of the fathers, when, in the\npresumption of his self\u2010opinionated orthodoxy, he said: \u201cAll the ancients\nwere driven into error,\u201d(19) yet from evidence the most patent he believed\nthat S. Peter suffered martyrdom at Rome. His language is: \u201cPropter\nscriptorum consensum non pugno quin illic mortuus fuerit.\u201d(20)\n\n\u201cOn the meaning of the word Babylon,\u201d says Grotius, one of the most\ncelebrated of the Calvinistic school, \u201cancient and modern interpreters\ndisagree. The ancients understand it of Rome, and that Peter was there no\ntrue Christian ever doubted; the moderns understand it of Babylon in\nChaldea. I adhere to the ancients.\u201d(21)\n\nRosenm\u00fcller, of whom an able American critic has said, \u201cHe is almost\neverywhere a local investigator,\u201d(22) has left his testimony in the same\nlanguage as Grotius: \u201cVeteres Romam interpretantur.\u201d\n\nDr. Campbell very reluctantly yielded, by the force of evidence, to the\nsame opinion when he wrote: \u201cI am inclined to think that S. Peter\u2019s\nmartyrdom must have been at Rome, both because it is agreeable to the\nunanimous voice of antiquity, and because the sufferings of so great an\napostle could not fail to be of such notoriety in the church as to\npreclude the possibility of an imposition in regard to the place.\u201d(23)\n\n\u201cFrom a careful examination of the evidence adduced,\u201d says the learned\nHorne, \u201cfor the literal meaning of the word Babylon, and of the evidence\nfor its figurative or mystical application to Rome, we think that the\n_latter_ was intended.\u201d(24)\n\nWe commend to \u201cFather Gavazzi,\u201d and to the Rev. Doctors Sunderland and\nNewman of Washington, who are ever ready to throw down the gauntlet when\nan argument is made to prove that S. Peter was at Rome, the language of\nthe logical and laborious Macknight, who clearly expresses our own view,\nand whose diligence, learning, and moderation were so fully appreciated by\nBishop Tomline: \u201cIt is not for our honor nor for our interest, either as\nChristians or Protestants, to deny the truth of events ascertained by\nearly and well\u2010attested tradition. If any make an ill use of such facts,\nwe are not accountable for it. We are not, from a dread of such abuses, to\noverthrow the credit of all history, the consequences of which would be\nfatal.\u201d(25)\n\n\n\n\nNumber Thirteen. An Episode Of The Commune.\n\n\nMlle. de Lemaque and her sister Mme. de Chanoir lived at No. 13 Rue\nRoyale. They were the daughters of a military man whose fortune when he\nmarried consisted in his sword, nothing else; and of a noble Demoiselle de\nCambatte, whose wedding portion, according to the good old French fashion,\nwas precisely the same as her husband\u2019s, minus the sword. But over and\nabove this joint capital the young people had a good stock of hope and\ncourage, and an inexhaustible fund of love; they had therefore as good a\nchance of getting on as other young folk who start in life under the same\npecuniary disadvantages. M. de Lemaque, moreover, had friends in high\nplace who looked kindly on him, and promised him countenance and\nprotection, and there was no reason, as far as he and his wife could see,\nwhy he should not in due time clutch that legendary baton which Napoleon\ndeclared every French soldier carries in his knapsack. Nor, indeed,\nlooking at things from a retrospective point of view, was there any\nreason, that we can see, why he should not have died a marshal of France,\nexcept that he died too soon. The young soldier was in a fair way of\nclimbing to the topmost rung of the military ladder; but just as he had\ngot his foot on the third rung, Death stepped down and met him, and he\nclimbed no further. His wife followed him into the grave three years\nlater. They left two daughters, F\u00e9licit\u00e9 and Aline, the only fruits of\ntheir short and happy union. The orphans were educated at the Legion of\nHonor, and then sent adrift on the wide, wide world, to battle with its\nwinds and waves, to sink or swim as best they could. They swam. Perhaps I\nought rather say they floated. The eldest, F\u00e9licit\u00e9, was married from S.\nDenis to an old general, who, after a reasonably short time, had the\ndelicacy to betake himself to a better world, leaving his gay wife a widow\nat the head of an income of \u00a340 a year. Aline might have married under\nsimilar circumstances, but, after turning it over in her mind, she came to\nthe conclusion that, all things considered, since it was a choice of\nevils, and that she must earn her bread in some way, she preferred earning\nit and eating it independently as a single woman. This gave rise to the\nonly quarrel the sisters had had in their lives. F\u00e9licit\u00e9 resented the\ndisgrace that Aline was going to put on the family name by degenerating\ninto a giver of private lessons, when she might have secured forty pounds\na year for ever by a few years\u2019 dutiful attendance on a brave man who had\nfought his country\u2019s battles.\n\n\u201cWell, if you can find me a warrior of ninety,\u201d said the younger sister, a\nmonth before she left S. Denis, \u201cI\u2019m not sure that he might not persuade\nme; but I never will capitulate under ninety; I couldn\u2019t trust a man under\nthat; they live for ever when they marry between sixty and eighty, and\nthere are no tyrants like them; now, I would do my duty as a kind wife for\na year or so, but I\u2019ve no notion of taking a situation as nurse for\nfifteen or twenty years, and that\u2019s what one gets by marrying a young man\nof seventy or thereabouts.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9licit\u00e9 urged her own case as a proof to the contrary. G\u00e9n\u00e9ral de Chanoir\nwas only sixty\u2010eight when she married him, and he retired at seventy.\nAline maintained, however, that this was the one exception necessary to\nprove the rule to the present generation, and as no eligible _parti_ of\nfourscore and ten presented itself before she left school, she held to her\nresolve, and started at once as a teacher.\n\nThe sisters took an apartment together, if two rooms, a cabinet de\ntoilette, and a cooking\u2010range in a dark passage, dignified by the name of\nkitchen, can be called an apartment, and for six years they lived very\nhappily.\n\nMme. de Chanoir was small and fair, and very distinguished\u2010looking. She\nhad never known a day\u2019s illness in her life, but she was a hypochondriac.\nShe believed herself afflicted with a spine disease, which necessitated\nreclining all day long on the sofa in a Louis Quinze dressing\u2010gown and a\nDubarry cap.\n\nAline was tall and dark, not exactly pretty, but indescribably piquant.\nWithout being delicate, her health was far less robust than her sister\u2019s;\nbut she was blessed with indomitable spirits and a fund of energy that\ncarried her through a variety of aches and pains, and often bore her\nsuccessfully through her round of daily work when another would have given\nin.\n\nThe domestic establishment of the sisters consisted in a charwoman, who\nrejoiced in the name of Mme. Cl\u00e9ry. She was a type of a class almost\nextinct in Paris now; a dainty little cook, clean as a sixpence, honest as\nthe sun, orderly as a clock, a capital servant in every way. She came\ntwice a day to No. 13, two hours in the morning and three hours in the\nafternoon, and the sisters paid her twenty francs a month. She might have\nstruck for more wages, and rather than let her go they would have managed\nto raise them; but Mme. Cl\u00e9ry was born before strikes came into fashion,\nit was quite impossible to say how long before; her age was incalculable;\nher youth belonged to that class of facts spoken of as beyond the memory\nof the oldest man in the district. Aline used to look at her sometimes,\nand wonder if she really could have been born, and if she meant to die\nlike other people; the crisp, wiry old woman looked the sort of person\nnever to have either a beginning or an end; they had had her now for eight\nyears\u2014at least Mme. de Chanoir had\u2014and there was not the shadow of a\nchange in her. Her gowns were like herself, they never wore out, neither\ndid her caps\u2014high Normandy caps, with flaps extended like a wind\u2010mill in\nrepose, stiff, white, and uncompromising. Everything about her was\nantiquated. She had a religious regard for antiquity in every shape, and a\nproportionate contempt for modernism; but, of all earthly things, what her\nsoul loved most was an old name, and what it most despised a new one. She\nused to say that if she chose to cook the _rotis_ of a parvenu she might\nmake double the money, and it was true; but she could not bend her spirit\nto it; she liked her dry bread and herbs better from a good family than a\nstalled ox from upstarts. She was as faithful as a dog to her two\nmistresses, and consequently lorded over them like a step\u2010mother,\nperpetually bullying and scolding, and bewailing her own infatuation in\nstaying with them while she might be turning a fatter pullet on her own\nspit at home than the miserable _coquille_ at No. 13 ever held a fire to.\nWhy had she not the sense to take the situation that M. X\u2014\u2014, the _agent de\nchange_, across the street, had offered her again and again? The _femme de\nm\u00e9nage_ was, in fact, as odious and exasperating as the most devoted old\nservant who ever nursed a family from the cradle to the grave. But let any\none else dare so much as cast a disrespectful glance at either of her\nvictims! She shook her fist at the _concierge\u2019s_ wife one day for\nventuring to call Mme. de Chanoir Mme. de Chanoir _tout court_, instead of\nMme. la G\u00e9n\u00e9rale de Chanoir, to a flunky who came with a note, and she\nboxed the _concierge\u2019s_ ears for speaking of Aline as \u201cl\u2019Institutrice.\u201d As\nMme. la G\u00e9n\u00e9rale\u2019s sofa was drawn across the window that looked into the\ncourt, she happened to be an eye\u2010witness to the two incidents, and heard\nevery word that was said. This accidental disclosure of Mme. Cl\u00e9ry\u2019s\nregard for the family dignity before outsiders covered a multitude of sins\nin the eyes of both the sisters. Indeed, Mme. de Chanoir came at last, by\nforce of habit, almost to enjoy being bullied by the old soul. \u201c_Cela nous\npose, ma ch\u00e8re_,\u201d she would remark complacently, when the wind from the\nkitchen blew due north, and Aline threatened to mutiny.\n\nAline never could have endured it if she had been as constantly tried as\nher easy\u2010going sister was; but, lucky for all parties, she went out\nimmediately after breakfast, and seldom came in till late in the\nafternoon, when the old beldame was busy getting ready the dinner.\n\nIt was a momentous life they led, the two young women, but, on the whole,\nit was a happy one. Mme. de Chanoir, seeing how bravely her sister carried\nthe burden she had taken up, grew reconciled to it in time. They had a\npleasant little society, too; friends who had known them from their\nchildhood, some rich and in good positions, others struggling like\nthemselves in a narrow cage and under difficult circumstances; but one and\nall liked the sisters, and brought a little contingent of sunshine to\ntheir lives. As to Aline, she had sunshine enough in herself to light up\nthe whole Rue Royale. Every lesson she gave, every incident of the day, no\nmatter how trivial, fell across her path like a sunbeam; she had a knack\nof looking at things from a sunny focus that shot out rays on every object\nthat came within its radius, and of extracting amusement or interest from\nthe most commonplace things and people; even her own vexations she had\nturned into ridicule. Her position of governess was a fountain of fun to\nher. When another would have drawn gall from a snub, and smarted and been\nmiserable under a slight, Aline de Lemaque saw a comic side to the\ncircumstance, and would dress it up in a fashion that diverted herself and\nher friends for a week. Moreover, the young lady was something of a\nphilosopher.\n\n\u201cYou never find out human nature till you come to earn your own bread\u2014I\nmean, women don\u2019t,\u201d she used to say to Mme. de Chanoir. \u201cIf I were the\nmother of a family of daughters, and wanted to teach them life, I\u2019d make\nevery one of them, no matter how big their _dots_ were, begin by running\nafter the _cachet_. Nobody who hasn\u2019t tried it would believe what a castle\nof truth it is to one\u2014a mirror that shows up character to the life, a sort\nof moral photography. It is often as good as a play to me to watch the\nchange that comes over people when, after talking to them, and making\nmyself pass for a very agreeable person, I suddenly announce the fact that\nI give lessons. Their whole countenance changes, not that they look on me\nstraightway with contempt. Oh! dear no. Many good Christians, people of\nthe \u2019help yourself and God will help you\u2019 sect, conceive, on the contrary,\na great respect for me; but I become metamorphosed on the spot. I am not\nwhat they took me for, they took me for a lady, and all the time I was a\ngoverness! They did not think the less of me, but they can\u2019t help feeling\nthat they have been taken in; that, in fact, I\u2019m an altogether different\nvariety from themselves, and it is very odd they did not recognize it at\nfirst sight. But these are the least exciting experiences. The great fun\nis when I get hold of an out\u2010and\u2010out worldly individual, man or woman, but\na woman is best, and let them go on till they have thoroughly committed\nthemselves, made themselves gushingly agreeable to me, perhaps gone the\nlength of asking, in a significant manner, if I live in their\nneighborhood; then comes the crisis. I smile my gladdest, and say,\n\u2018Monsieur, or Madame, I give lessons!\u2019 _Changement de d\u00e9coration \u00e0 vue\nd\u2019\u0153il, ma ch\u00e8re._ It\u2019s just as if I _lanc\u00e9d_ an _obus_ into the middle of\nthe company, only it rebounds on me and hits nobody else; the eyebrows of\nthe company go up, the corners of its mouth go down, and it bows to me as\nI sit on the ruins of my respectability, shattered to pieces by my own\n_obus_.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t understand how you can laugh at it. If I were in your place, I\nshould have died of vexation and wounded pride long ago,\u201d said Mme. de\nChanoir, one day, as Aline related in high glee an obus episode that she\nhad had that morning; \u201cbut I really believe you have no feeling.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, whatever I have, I keep out of the reach of vulgar impertinence. I\nshould be very sorry to make my feelings a target for insolence and bad\nbreeding,\u201d replied Aline pertly. This was the simple truth. Her feelings\nwere out of the reach of such petty shafts; they were cased in\ncheerfulness and common sense, and a nobler sort of pride than that in\nwhich Mme. de Chanoir considered her sister wanting. If, however, the obus\nwas frequently fatal to Mlle. de Lemaque\u2019s social standing, on the other\nhand it occasionally did her good service; but of this later. Its present\ncharacter was that of an explosive bomb which she carried in her pocket,\nand _lanc\u00e9d_ with infinite gusto on every available opportunity.\n\nOn Saturday evening the sisters were \u201cat home.\u201d These little soir\u00e9es were\nthe great event of their quiet lives. All the episodes and anecdotes of\nthe week were treasured up for that evening, when the intimes came to see\nthem and converse and sip a glass of cold _eau sucr\u00e9e_ in summer, and a\ncup of hot ditto in winter (but then it was called tea) by the light of a\nsmall lamp with a green shade. There was no attempt at entertainment or\nfinery of any kind, except that Mme. Cl\u00e9ry, instead of going home as soon\nas the dinner things were washed up, stayed to open the door. It was a\nremnant of the sort of society that used to exist in French families some\nthirty years ago, when conversation was cultivated as the primary\naccomplishment of men and women, and when they met regularly to exercise\nthemselves in the difficult and delightful art. It was not reserved to the\nwell\u2010born exclusively to talk well and brilliantly in those days, when the\nmost coveted encomium that could be passed on any one was, \u201cHe talks\nwell.\u201d All classes vied for it; every circle had its centre of\nconversation. The _fauteuil de l\u2019a\u00efeule_ and the salon of the _femme\nd\u2019esprit_, each had its audience, attended as assiduously, and perhaps\nenjoyed quite as much, as the vaudevilles and ambigus that have since\ndrawn away the bourgeois from the one and the man of fashion from the\nother. Besides its usual habitu\u00e9s for conversation, every circle had one\nhabitu\u00e9 who was looked upon as the friend of the family, and tacitly took\nprecedence of all the others. The friend of the family at No. 13 was a\ncertain professor of the Sorbonne named M. Dalibouze. He was somewhere on\nthe sunny side of fifty, a bald, pompous little man who wore spectacles,\ntook snuff, and laid down the law; very prosy and very estimable, a model\nprofessor. He had never married, but it was the dream of his life to\nmarry. He had meditated on marriage for the last thirty years, and of\ncourse knew more about it than any man who had been married double that\ntime. He was never so eloquent or so emphatic as when dilating on the joys\nand duties of domestic life; no matter how tired he was with study and\nscientific researches, how disappointed in the result of some cherished\nliterary scheme, he brightened up the moment marriage came on the tapis.\nThis hobby of the professor\u2019s was a great amusement to Mme. de Chanoir,\nwho delighted to see him jump into the saddle and ride off at a canter\nwhile she lay languidly working at her tapestry, patting him on the back\nevery now and then, by a word of encouragement, or signifying her assent\nmerely by a smile or a nod. Sometimes she would take him to task seriously\nabout putting his theories into practice and getting himself a wife,\nassuring him that it was quite wicked of him not to marry when he was so\nrichly endowed with all the qualities necessary to make a model husband.\n\n\u201cAh! madame, if I thought I were capable of making a young woman happy!\u201d\nM. Dalibouze would exclaim with a sigh; \u201cbut at my age! No, I have let my\nchance go by.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow, sir, at your age!\u201d the g\u00e9n\u00e9rale would protest. \u201cWhy, it is the very\nflower of manhood, the moment of all others for a man to marry. You have\noutlived the delusions of youth and none of its vigor; you have crossed\nthe Rubicon that separates folly from wisdom, and you have left nothing on\nthe other side of the bridge but the silly chimera of boyhood. Believe me,\nthe woman whom you would select would never wish to see you a day\nyounger.\u201d\n\nAnd M. Dalibouze would caress his chin, and observe thoughtfully: \u201cDo you\nthink so, madame?\u201d Upon which Mme. de Chanoir would pour another vial of\noil and honey on the learned head of the professor, till the wonder was\nthat it did not turn on his shoulders.\n\nAline had no sympathy with his rhapsodies or his jeremiads; they bored her\nto extinction, and sometimes it was all she could do not to tell him so;\nbut she disapproved of his being made a joke of, and testified against it\nvery decidedly when F\u00e9licit\u00e9, in a spirit of mischief, led him up to a\nmore than usually ridiculous culmination. It was not fair, she said, to\nmake a greater fool of the good little man than he made of himself, and\ninstead of encouraging him to talk such nonsense one ought to laugh him\nout of it, and try and cure him of his silly conceit.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see it at all in that light,\u201d Mme. de Chanoir would answer. \u201cIn\nthe first place, if I laughed at him, or rather if I let him see that I\ndid, he would never forgive me, and, as I have a great regard for him, I\nshould be sorry to lose his friendship; and in the next place, it\u2019s a\ngreat amusement to me to see him swallow my little doses of flattery so\ncomplacently, and I have no scruple in dosing him, because nothing that I\nor any one else could say could possibly add one grain to his self\u2010\nconceit, so one may as well turn it to account for a little\nentertainment.\u201d\n\nIt was partly this system of flattery, which Aline resented on principle,\nthat induced her occasionally to snub the professor, and partly the fact\nthat she had reason to suspect his dreams of married bliss centred upon\nherself. In fact, she knew it. He had never told her so outright, for the\nsimple reason that, whenever he drew near that crisis, Aline cut him short\nin such a peremptory manner that it cowed him for weeks, but nevertheless\nshe knew in her heart of hearts that she reigned supreme over M.\nDalibouze\u2019s. She would not have married him, no, not if he could have\ncrowned her queen of the Sorbonne and the Coll\u00e9ge de France, but the fact\nof his being her slave and aspiring to be her master constituted a claim\non her regard which a true\u2010hearted woman seldom disowns.\n\nF\u00e9licit\u00e9 would have favored his suit if there had been the ghost of a\nchance for him, but she knew there was not.\n\nMme. Cl\u00e9ry looked coldly on it. Needless to say, neither M. Dalibouze nor\nhis cruel\u2010hearted lady\u2010love had ever made a confidante of the _femme de\nm\u00e9nage_; but she often remarked to her mistresses when they ventured an\nopinion on anything connected with her special department, \u201cJe ne suis pas\nn\u00e9e d\u2019hier,\u201d an assertion which, strange to say, even the rebellious Aline\nhad never attempted to gainsay. Mme. Cl\u00e9ry was not, indeed, born\nyesterday, moreover she was a Frenchwoman, and a particularly wide\u2010awake\none, and from the first evening that she saw Aline sugaring M. Dalibouze\u2019s\ntea, dropping in lump after lump in that reckless way, while the little\nman held his cup and beamed at her through his spectacles as if he meant\nto stand there for ever simpering, \u201cMerci encore!\u201d\u2014it occurred to Mme.\nCl\u00e9ry when she saw this that there was more in it than tea\u2010making. Of\ncourse it was natural and proper that a young woman, especially an orphan,\nshould think of getting married, but it was right and proper that her\nfriends should think of it too, and see that she married the proper\nperson. Now, on the face of it, M. Dalibouze could not be the proper\nperson. Nevertheless, Mme. Cl\u00e9ry waited till the suspicion that M.\nDalibouze had settled it in his own mind that he was that man took the\nshape of a conviction before she considered it her duty to interfere.\n\nBy interfering Mme. Cl\u00e9ry meant going _aux renseignements_. Nobody ever\ngot true _renseignements_, especially when there was a marriage in\nquestion, except people like her; ladies and gentlemen never get behind\nthe scenes with each other, or, if they do, they never tell what they see\nthere. They are very sweet and smiling when they meet in the salon, and\nnobody guesses that madame has rated her _femme de chambre_ for not\nputting the flowers in her hair exactly to her fancy, or that monsieur has\nflung a boot at his valet for giving him his shaving\u2010water too hot or too\ncold. If you want the truth, you must get it by the back\u2010stairs. This was\nMme. Cl\u00e9ry\u2019s belief, and, acting upon it, she went to M. Dalibouze\u2019s\n_concierge_ in the Rue Jean Beauvais to consult him confidentially about\nhis _locataire_.\n\nThe first thing to be ascertained before entering on such secondary\ndetails as character, conduct, etc., was whether or not the professor was\nof a good enough family to be entertained at all as a husband for Mlle. de\nLemaque. On this _sine qua non_ question the _concierge_ could\nunfortunately throw no light. The professor had a multitude of friends,\nall respectable people, many of them _d\u00e9cor\u00e9s_, who drove to the door in\nspruce _coup\u00e9s_, but of his family Pipelet knew nothing; of his personal\nrespectability there was no doubt whatever; he was the kindest of men, a\nvery pearl of tenants, always in before midnight, and gave forty francs to\nPipelet on New Year\u2019s day, not to count sundry other little bonuses on\nminor _f\u00eates_ during the year. But so long as her mind was in darkness on\nthe main point, all this was no better than sounding brass in the ears of\nMme. Cl\u00e9ry.\n\n\u201cHas he, or has he not, the _particule_?\u201d she demanded, cutting Pipelet\nshort in the middle of his panegyric.\n\n\u201cThe _particule_?\u201d repeated Pipelet. \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe _particule nobiliaire_,\u201d explained Mme. Cl\u00e9ry, with a touch of\ncontempt. \u201cThere is some question of a marriage between him and one of my\nladies; but, if M. Dalibouze hasn\u2019t got the _particule_, it\u2019s no use\nthinking of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cMadame,\u201d said Pipelet, assuming a meditative air\u2014he was completely at sea\nas to what this essential piece of property might be, but did not like to\nown his ignorance\u2014\u201cI\u2019m not a man to set up for knowing more of my tenant\u2019s\nbusiness than I do, and M. Dalibouze has never opened himself to me about\nhow or where his money was placed; but I could give you the name of his\nagent, if I thought it would not compromise me.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not a woman to compromise any one that showed me confidence,\u201d said\nMme. Cl\u00e9ry, tightening her lips, and bobbing her flaps at Pipelet; \u201cbut\nyou need not give me the name of his agent. What sort of a figure should I\nmake at his agent\u2019s! Give me his own name. How does he spell it?\u201d\n\n\u201cSpell it!\u201d echoed Pipelet.\n\n\u201cA big _D_ or a little _d_?\u201d said Mme. Cl\u00e9ry.\n\n\u201cWhy, a big _D_, of course! Who ever spelt their name with a little one?\u201d\nretorted Pipelet.\n\n\u201cAh!...\u201d Mme. Cl\u00e9ry smiled a smile of serene pity on the benighted\nignoramus, and then observed coolly: \u201cI suspected it! I\u2019m not easy to\ndeceive in that sort of things. I was not born yesterday. Good\u2010morning, M.\nle Concierge.\u201d She moved towards the door.\n\n\u201cStop!\u201d cried Pipelet, seizing his berette as if a ray of light had shot\nthrough his skull\u2014\u201cstop! Now that I think of it, it\u2019s a little _d_. I have\nnot a doubt but it\u2019s a little _d_. I noticed it only yesterday on a letter\nthat came for monsieur, and I said to myself: \u2018Let us see!\u2019 I said. \u2018What\na queer fancy for a man of distinction like M. le Professeur to spell his\nname with a little _d_!\u2019 L\u00e0! if I didn\u2019t say those words to myself no\nlater than yesterday!\u201d\n\nMme. Cl\u00e9ry was dubious. Unluckily there was no letter in M. Dalibouze\u2019s\nbox at that moment, which would have settled the point at issue, so she\nhad nothing for it but to go home, and turn it in her mind what was to be\ndone next. After all, it was a great responsibility on her. The old soul\nconsidered herself in the light of a protector to the two young women, one\na cripple on the broad of her back, and the other a light\u2010hearted creature\nwho believed everything and everybody. It was her place to look after them\nas far as she could. That afternoon, when Mme. Cl\u00e9ry went to No. 13, after\nher fruitless expedition to the Rue Jean Beauvais, she took a letter in to\nMme. de Chanoir. She had never seen, or, at any rate, never noticed, the\nwriting before, but as she handed the envelope to her mistress it flashed\nupon her that it was from M. Dalibouze, and that it bore on the subject of\nher morning\u2019s peregrination.\n\nShe seized a feather\u2010broom that hung by the fireplace, and began\nvigorously threatening the clock and the candlesticks, as an excuse for\nstaying in the room, and watching Mme. de Chanoir in the looking\u2010glass\nwhile she read the letter. The old woman was an irascible enemy to dust;\nthey were used to see her at the most inopportune times pounce on the\nfeather\u2010broom and begin whipping about her to the right and left, so Mme.\nde Chanoir took no notice of this sudden castigation of the chimney\u2010piece\nat four o\u2019clock in the afternoon. She read her note, and then, tossing it\ninto the basket beside her, resumed her tapestry as if nothing had\noccurred to divert her thoughts from roses and Berlin wool.\n\n\u201cMme. la G\u00e9n\u00e9rale, pardon and excuse,\u201d said Mme. Cl\u00e9ry, deliberately\nhanging the feather\u2010broom on its nail, and going up to the foot of the\ng\u00e9n\u00e9rale\u2019s sofa. \u201cI have it on my mind to ask something of madame.\u201d\n\n\u201cAsk it, my good Mme. Cl\u00e9ry.\u201d\n\n\u201cDoes Mme. la G\u00e9n\u00e9rale think of marrying Mlle. Aline?\u201d\n\nMme. de Chanoir opened her eyes, and stared for a moment in mild surprise\nat her charwoman, then a smile broke over her face, and she said:\n\n\u201cYou are thinking that you would not like to come to me if I were alone?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was not thinking of that, madame,\u201d replied Mme. Cl\u00e9ry, in a tone of\nceremony that was not habitual, and which would have boded no good (Mme.\nCl\u00e9ry was never so respectful as when she was going to be particularly\ndisagreeable), except that she looked very meek, and, F\u00e9licit\u00e9 thought,\nrather affectionately at her as their eyes met.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Mme. de Chanoir, \u201cI suppose we must marry her some day; I\nought, perhaps, to occupy myself about it more actively than I do; but\nthere\u2019s time enough to think about it yet; mademoiselle is in no hurry.\u201d\n\n\u201cDame!\u201d said Mme. Cl\u00e9ry testily, \u201cwhen a demoiselle has become an old\nmaid, there is not so much time to lose! Pardon and excuse, Mme. la\nG\u00e9n\u00e9rale, but I thought, I don\u2019t know why, that that letter had something\nto do with it?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis letter! What could have put that into your head?\u201d\n\nMme. de Chanoir took up the note to see if the envelope had anything about\nit which warranted this romantic suspicion, but it was an ordinary\nenvelope, with no trace of anything more peculiar than the post\u2010mark.\n\n\u201cAs I have told Mme. la G\u00e9n\u00e9rale before,\u201d said Mme. Cl\u00e9ry, shaking her\nhead significantly, \u201cI was not born yesterday\u201d\u2014she emphasized the _not_ as\nif Mme. de Chanoir had denied that fact and challenged her to swear to it\non the Bible\u2014\u201cand I don\u2019t carry my eyes in my pocket; and when a\ndemoiselle heaps lumps of sugar into a gentleman\u2019s cup till it\u2019s as thick\nas honey for a spoon to stand in, and a shame to see the substance of the\nfamily wasted in such a way, and she never grudging it a bit, but looking\nas if it would be fun to her to turn the sugar\u2010bowl upside down over it\u2014I\nsay, when I see that sort of thing, I\u2019m not femme Cl\u00e9ry if there isn\u2019t\nsomething in it.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9licit\u00e9 felt inclined to laugh, but she restrained herself, and observed\ninterrogatively:\n\n\u201cWell, Mme. Cl\u00e9ry, suppose there is?\u201d\n\nThis extravagance of sugar on M. Dalibouze was an old grievance of Mme.\nCl\u00e9ry\u2019s. In fact, it had been her only one against the professor, till she\ngrew to look upon him as the possible husband of Mlle. Aline, and then the\nquestion of his having or not having the _particule_ assumed such alarming\nimportance in her mind that it magnified all minor defects, and she\nbelieved him capable of every misdemeanor under the sun.\n\n\u201cMme. la G\u00e9n\u00e9rale,\u201d she replied, \u201cone does not marry every day; one ought\nto think seriously about it; Mlle. Aline has not experience; she is _vive_\nand light\u2010hearted; she is a person to be taken in by outward appearances;\nsuch things as learning, good principles, and _esprit_ would blind her to\nserious shortcomings; it is the duty of Mme. la G\u00e9n\u00e9rale to prevent such a\nmistake in time.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat sort of shortcomings are you afraid of in M. Dalibouze, Mme. Cl\u00e9ry?\u201d\ninquired Mme. de Chanoir, dropping her tapestry, and looking with awakened\ncuriosity at the old woman.\n\n\u201cLet us begin with a first principle, Mme. la G\u00e9n\u00e9rale,\u201d observed Mme.\nCl\u00e9ry, demurely slapping the palm of her left hand. \u201cMlle. Aline is _n\u00e9e_;\nthe father and mother of mamzelle were both of an excellent family; it is\nconsequently of the first necessity that her husband should be so, too;\nthe first thing, therefore, to be considered in a suitor is his name. Now,\nhas M. Dalibouze the _particule_, or has he not?\u201d\n\nIt was a very great effort for Mme. de Chanoir to keep her countenance\nunder this charge and deliver with which the old woman solemnly closed her\nspeech, and then stood awaiting the effect on her listener; still, such is\nthe weakness of human nature, the g\u00e9n\u00e9rale in her inmost heart was\nflattered by it; it was pleasant to be looked up to as belonging to a race\nabove the common herd, to be recognized in spite of her poverty, even by a\n_femme de m\u00e9nage_, as superior to the wealthy parvenus whose fathers and\nmothers were not of a good family.\n\n\u201cMy good Mme. Cl\u00e9ry,\u201d she said after a moment\u2019s reflection, \u201cyou, like\nourselves, were brought up with very different ideas from those that\npeople hold nowadays. Nobody cares a straw to\u2010day who a man\u2019s father was,\nor whether he had the _particule_ or not; all that they care about is that\nhe should be well educated, and well conducted, and well off; and, my\ndear, one must go with the times, one must give in to the force of public\nopinion around one. Customs change with the times. I would, of course,\nmuch rather have a brother\u2010in\u2010law of our own rank than one cleverer and\nricher who was not; but what would you have? One cannot have everything.\nIt is not pleasant for me to see Mlle. de Lemaque earning her own bread,\nrunning about the streets like a milliner\u2019s apprentice at all hours of the\nday. I would overlook something to see her married to a kind, honorable\nman who would keep her in comfort and independence.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Bont\u00e9 divine!_\u201d exclaimed Mme. Cl\u00e9ry, with a look of deep distress and\nconsternation, \u201cmadame would then actually marry mamzelle to a _bourgeois\nsans particule_? For madame admits that M. Dalibouze has not the\n_particule_, that he spells his name with a big _D_?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas! he does,\u201d confessed the g\u00e9n\u00e9rale; \u201cbut he comes, nevertheless, of a\ngood old Normandy stock, Mme. Cl\u00e9ry; his great\u2010grandfather was _procureur\ndu roi_ under\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cTut! tut!\u201d interrupted Mme. Cl\u00e9ry; \u201chis great\u2010grandfather may have been\nwhat he liked; if he wasn\u2019t a gentleman, he has no business marrying his\ngreat grandson to a de Lemaque. No, madame; I am a poor woman, but I know\nbetter than that. Mamzelle\u2019s father would turn in his grave if he saw her\nmarried to a man who spelt his name with a big _D_.\u201d\n\nThe conversation was interrupted by a ring at the door. It was Aline. She\ncame back earlier than usual, because one of her pupils was ill and had\nnot been able to take her lesson. The young girl was flushed and excited,\nand flung herself into an arm\u2010chair the moment she entered, and burst into\ntears. Mme. de Chanoir sat up in alarm, fearing she was ill, and suggested\na cup of _tisane_.\n\n\u201cOh! \u2019tis nothing. I\u2019m an idiot to mind it or let such impertinence vex\nme,\u201d she said, when the first outburst had passed off and relieved her.\n\n\u201c_Mon Dieu!_ but what vexes mamzelle?\u201d inquired Mme. Cl\u00e9ry anxiously.\n\n\u201cA horrid man that followed me the length of the street, and made some\nimpudent speech, and asked me where I lived,\u201d sobbed Aline.\n\n\u201cIs it possible!\u201d exclaimed the old woman, aghast, and clasping her hands.\n\u201cWell, mamzelle does astonish me! I thought young men knew better nowadays\nthan to go on with that sort of tricks; fifty years ago they used to. I\nremember how I was followed and spoken to every time I went to church or\nto market; it was a persecution; but now I come and go and nobody minds\nme. To think of their daring to speak to mamzelle!\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s what one must expect when one walks about alone at your age, _ma\npauvre_ Aline,\u201d said the g\u00e9n\u00e9rale, rather sharply, with a significant look\nat Mme. Cl\u00e9ry which that good lady understood, and resented by compressing\nher lips and bobbing her flaps, as much as to say, \u201cOne has a principle or\none has not\u201d\u2014principle being in this instance synonymous with _particule_.\n\nThings remained _in statu quo_ after this for some years. Mme. de Chanoir\ndid not enlighten her sister on the subject of the conference with Mme.\nCl\u00e9ry, but she worked as far as she could in favor of the luckless suitor\nwho spelt his name with a capital _D_. It was of no use, however. Aline\ncontinued to snub him so pertinaciously and persistently that Mme. de\nChanoir at last gave up his cause as hopeless, and the professor himself,\nwhen he saw this, his solitary stronghold, surrender, thought it best to\nraise the siege with a good grace, and make a friendly truce with the\nvictor. He frankly withdrew from the field of suitors, and took up his\nposition as a friend of the family. This once done, he accepted its\nresponsibilities and prerogatives, and held himself on the _qui vive_ to\nrender any service in his power to Mme. de Chanoir; he kept her\n_concierge_ in order, and brought bonbons and flowers to No. 13 on every\npossible occasion. He knew Aline was passionately fond of the latter, and\nhe was careful to keep the flower stand that stood in the pier of the\nlittle salon freshly supplied with her favorite plants, and the vases\nfilled with her favorite flowers. He never dared to offer her a present,\nbut under cover of offering them to the g\u00e9n\u00e9rale he kept her informed\nabout every new book which was likely to interest her. Finally, Frenchman\u2010\nlike, having abandoned the hope of marrying her himself, he set to work to\nfind some more fortunate suitor. This was _par excellence_ the duty of a\nfriend of the family, and M. Dalibouze was fully alive to its importance.\nThe disinterested zeal he displayed in the discharge of it would have been\ncomical if the spirit of genuine self\u2010sacrifice which animated him had not\ntouched it with pathos. One by one every eligible _parti_ in the range of\nhis acquaintance was led up for inspection to No. 13. Mme. de Chanoir\nentered complacently into the presentations; they amused her, and she\ntried to persuade herself that, sooner or later, something would come of\nthem; but she knew Aline too well ever to let her into the secret of the\nprofessor\u2019s matrimonial man\u0153uvres. The result would have been to furnish\nMlle. de Lemaque with an _obus_ opportunity and nothing more.\n\nBut do what she would, the g\u00e9n\u00e9rale could never cheat Mme. Cl\u00e9ry. The old\nwoman detected a _pr\u00e9tendant_ as a cat does a mouse. It was an instinct\nwith her. There was no putting her off the scent. She never said a word to\nMme. de Chanoir, but she had a most aggravating way of making her\nunderstand tacitly that she knew all about it\u2014that, in fact, she was not\nborn yesterday. This was her system, whenever M. Dalibouze brought a\n_parti_ to tea in the evening. Mme. Cl\u00e9ry was seized next day with a\nfurious dusting fit, and when the g\u00e9n\u00e9rale testified against the feathers\nthat kept flying out of the broom, Mme. Cl\u00e9ry would observe, in a\nsignificant way:\n\n\u201cMme. la G\u00e9n\u00e9rale, that makes an impression when one sees a salon well\ndusted; that proves that the servant is capable\u2014that she attends to her\nwork. Madame does not think of those things, but strangers do.\u201d\n\nIt became at length a sort of cabalistic ceremony with the old woman;\nintelligible only to Mme. de Chanoir. If Aline came in when the fit was on\nher, and ventured to expostulate, and ask what she was doing with the\nduster at that time of day, Mme. Cl\u00e9ry would remark stiffly: \u201cMamzelle\nAline, I am dusting.\u201d Aline came at last to believe that it was a modified\nphase of S. Vitus\u2019 dance, and that for want of anything better the old\nbeldame vented her nerves on imaginary dust which she pursued in holes and\ncorners with her feathery weapon.\n\nThis went on till Mlle. de Lemaque was six\u2010and\u2010twenty. She was still a\nbright, brave creature, working hard, accepting the privations and toil of\nher life in a spirit of sunshiny courage. But the sun was no longer always\nshining. There were days now when he drew behind a cloud\u2014when toil pressed\nlike a burden, and she beat her wings against it, and hated the cage that\ncooped her in; and she longed not so much for rest or happiness as for\nfreedom\u2014for a larger scope and higher aims, and wider, fuller sympathies.\nWhen these cloudy days came around, Aline felt the void of her life with\nan intensity that amounted at times to anguish; she felt it all the more\nkeenly because she could not speak of it. Mme. de Chanoir would not have\nunderstood it. The sisters were sincerely attached to each other, but\nthere was little sympathy of character between them, and on many points\nthey were as little acquainted with each other as the neighbors on the\nnext street. They knew this, and agreed sensibly to keep clear of certain\nsubjects on which they could never meet except to disagree. The younger\nsister, therefore, when the sky was overcast, and when her spirits\nflagged, never tried to lean upon the older, but worked against the enemy\nin silence, denying herself the luxury of complaint. If her looks betrayed\nher, as was sometimes the case, and prompted Mme. de Chanoir to inquire if\nthere was anything the matter beyond the never\u2010ending annoyance of life in\ngeneral, Aline\u2019s assurance that there was not was invariably followed by\nthe remark: \u201c_Ma s\u0153ur_, I wish you were married.\u201d To which Aline as\ninvariably replied: \u201cI am happier as I am, F\u00e9licit\u00e9.\u201d It was true, or at\nany rate Mlle. de Lemaque thought it was. Under all her surface\nindifference she carried a true woman\u2019s heart. She had dreamt her dreams\nof happiness, of tender fireside joys, and the dream was so fair and\nbeautiful that for years it filled her life like a reality, and when she\ndiscovered, or fancied she did, that it was all too beautiful to be\nanything but a dream, that the hero of her young imagination would never\ncross her path in the form of a mortal husband, Aline accepted the\ndiscovery with a sigh, but without repining, and laid aside all thought of\nmarriage as a guest that was not for her. As to the marriages that she saw\nevery day around her, she would no more have bound herself in one of them\nthan she would have sold herself to an Eastern pasha. Marriage was a very\ndifferent thing in her eyes from what it was in Mme. de Chanoir\u2019s. There\nwas no point on which the sisters were more asunder than on this, and\nAline understood it so well that she avoided touching on it except in\njest. Whenever the subject was introduced, she drew a mask of frivolity\nover her real feelings to avoid bringing down the g\u00e9n\u00e9rale\u2019s ridicule on\nwhat she would stigmatize as preposterous sentimentality.\n\nM. Dalibouze alone guessed something of this under\u2010current of deep feeling\nin the young girl\u2019s character. With the subtle instinct of affection he\npenetrated the disguise in which she wrapped herself, but, with a delicacy\nthat she scarcely gave him credit for, he never let her see that he did.\nSometimes, indeed, when one of those fits of _tristesse_ was upon her, and\nshe was striving to dissemble it by increased cheerfulness towards\neverybody, and sauciness towards him, the professor would adapt the\nconversation to the tone of her thoughts with a skill and apropos that\nsurprised her. Once in particular Aline was startled by the way in which\nhe betrayed either a singularly close observation of her character, or a\nstill more singular sympathy with its moods and sufferings. It was on a\nSaturday evening, the little circle was gathered round the fire, and the\nconversation fell upon poetry and the mission of poets amongst common men.\nAline declared that it was the grandest of all missions; that, after the\nprophet and priest, the poet did more for the moral well\u2010being, the\nspiritual redemption of his fellows than any other missionary, whether\nphilosopher, artist, or patriot; he combined them all, in fact, if he\nwished it. If he was a patriot, he could serve his country better than a\nsoldier, by singing her wrongs and her glories, and firing the souls of\nher sons, and making all mankind vibrate to the touch of pain, or joy, or\npassionate revenge, while he sat quietly by his own hearth; she quoted\nMoore and Krazinski, and other patriot bards who living had ruled their\npeople, and sent down their name a legacy of glory to unborn generations,\ntill warmed by her subject she grew almost eloquent, and broke off in an\nimpulsive cry of admiration and envy: \u201cOh! what a glorious privilege to be\na poet, to be even a man with the power of doing something, of living a\nnoble life, instead of being a weak, good\u2010for\u2010nothing woman!\u201d\n\nThe little ring of listeners heard her with pleasure, and thought she must\nhave a very keen appreciation of the beauties of the poets to speak of\nthem so well and so fervently. But M. Dalibouze saw more in it than this.\nHe saw an under\u2010tone of impatience, of disappointment, of longing to go\nand do likewise, to spread her wings and fly, to wield a wand that had\npower to make others spread their wings; there was a spirit\u2019s war\u2010cry in\nit, a rebel\u2019s impotent cry against the narrow, inexorable bondage of her\nlife.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the professor, \u201cit is a grand mission, I grant you, but it is\nnot such a rare one as you make it out, Mlle. Aline. There are more poets\nin the world than those who write poetry; few of us have the gift of being\npoets in language, but we may all be poets in action if we will; we may\nlive out our lives in poems.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf we had the fashioning of our lives, no doubt we might,\u201d asserted Aline\nironically; \u201cbut they are most of them so shabby that I defy Homer himself\nto manufacture an epic or an idyl out of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are mistaken. There is no life too shabby to be a poem,\u201d said M.\nDalibouze; \u201cit is true, we can\u2019t fashion our lives as you say, but we can\ncolor them, we can harmonize them; but we must begin by believing this,\nand by getting our elements under command; we must sort them and arrange\nthem, just as Mme. la G\u00e9n\u00e9rale is doing with the shreds and silks for the\ntapestry, and then go on patiently working out the pattern leaf by leaf;\nby\u2010and\u2010by when the web gets tangled as it is sure to do with the best\nworkers, instead of pulling angrily at it, or cutting it with the sharp\nscissors of revolt, we must call up a soft breeze from the land of souls\nwhere the spirit of the true poet dwells, and bid it blow over it, and\nthen let us listen, and we shall hear the spirit\u2010wind draw tones of music\nout of our tangled web, like the breeze sweeping the strings of an \u00c6olian\nharp. It is our own fault, or perhaps oftener our own misfortune, if our\nlives look shabby to us; we consider them piecemeal instead of looking at\nthem as a whole.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how can we look at them as a whole?\u201d said Aline. \u201cWe don\u2019t even know\nthat they ever will develop into a whole. How many of us remain on the\neasel a sort of washed\u2010in sketch to the end? It seems to me we are pretty\nmuch like apples in an orchard; some drop off in the flower, some when\nthey are grown to little green balls, hard and sour and good for nothing;\nit is only a little of the tree that comes to maturity.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd is there not abundance of poetry in every phase of the apple\u2019s life,\nno matter when it falls?\u201d said M. Dalibouze. \u201cHow many poems has the\nblight of the starry blossom given birth to? And the little green ball,\nwho will count the odes that the school\u2010boy has sung to it, not in good\nhexameters perhaps, but in sound, heart poetry, full of zest and the gusto\nof youth, when all bitters are sweet? O mon Dieu! when I think of the days\nwhen a bright\u2010green apple was like honey in my mouth, I could be a poet\nmyself! No _pat\u00e9 de foie gras_ ever tasted half so sweet as that forbidden\nfruit of my school\u2010days!\u201d\n\n\u201cGood for the forbidden fruit!\u201d said Aline, amused at the professor\u2019s\nsentiment over the reminiscence; \u201cbut that is only one view of the\nquestion: if the apples could speak, they would give us another.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould they?\u201d said M. Dalibouze. \u201cI\u2019m not sure of that. If the apples\ndiscuss the point at all, believe me, they are agreed that whatever\nbefalls them is the very best thing that could. We have no evidence of any\ncreated thing, vegetable, mineral, or animal, grumbling at its lot; that\nis reserved to man, discontent is man\u2019s prerogative, he quarrels with\nhimself, with his destiny, his neighbors, everything by turns. If we could\nbut do like the apples, blossom, and grow, and fall, early or late, just\nas the wind and the gardener wished, we should be happy. Fancy an apple\nquarrelling with the sun in spring for not warming him as he does in\nAugust! It would be no more preposterous than it is for men to quarrel\nwith their circumstances. The fruit of our lives have their seasons like\nthe fruit of our gardens; the winter and snows and the sharp winds are\njust as necessary to both as the fire of the summer heat; all growth is\ngradual, and we must accept the process through which we are brought to\nmaturity, just as the apples do. It is not the same for all of us; some\nare ripened under the warm vibrating sun, others resist it, and, like\ncertain winter fruit, require the cold twilight days to mellow them. But\nit matters little what the process is, it is sure to be the right one if\nwe wait for it and accept it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wonder what stage of it I am in at the present moment,\u201d said Aline. \u201cI\ncan\u2019t say the sun has had much to do with it; the winds and the rain have\nbeen the busiest agents in my garden so far.\u201d\n\n\u201cPatience, mademoiselle!\u201d said M. Dalibouze. \u201cThe sun will come in his own\ngood time.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou answer for that?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do.\u201d\n\nAline looked him straight in the face as she put the question like a\nchallenge, and M. Dalibouze met the saucy bright eyes with a grave glance\nthat had more of tenderness in it than she had ever seen there before. It\nflashed upon her for a moment that the sun might come to her through a\nless worthy medium than this kind, faithful, honorable man, and that she\nhad been mayhap a fool to her own happiness in shutting the gate on him so\ncontemptuously.\n\nPerhaps the professor read the thought on her face, for he said in a\npenetrated tone, and fixing his eyes upon her:\n\n\u201cThe true sun of life is marriage.\u201d\n\nIt was an unfortunate remark. Aline tossed back her head, and burst out\nlaughing. The spell that had held her for an instant was broken.\n\n\u201cA day will come when some one will tell you so, and you will not laugh,\nMlle. Aline,\u201d said M. Dalibouze humbly, and hiding his discomfiture under\na smile.\n\nThis was the only time within the last two years that he had betrayed\nhimself into any expression of latent hope with regard to Mlle. de\nLemaque, and it had no sooner escaped him than he regretted it. The\nfollowing Saturday, by way of atonement, he brought up a most desirable\n_parti_ for inspection, and next day Mme. Cl\u00e9ry was seized with the\ninevitable dusting fit. Nothing, however, came of it.\n\nThings went on without any noticeable change at No. 13 till September,\n1870, when Paris was declared in a state of siege. The sisters were not\namong those lucky ones who wavered for a time between going and staying,\nbetween the desire to put themselves in safe\u2010keeping, and the temptation\nof living through the _blocus_ and boasting of it for the rest of their\ndays. There was no choice for them but to stay. Aline, as usual, made the\nbest of it; she must stay, so she settled it in her mind that she liked to\nstay; that it would be a wonderful experience to live through the most\nexciting episode that could have broken up the stagnant monotony of their\nlives, and that, in fact, it was rather an enjoyable prospect than the\nreverse.\n\nMme. Cl\u00e9ry was commissioned to lay in as ample a store of provisions as\ntheir purse would allow. The good woman did the best she could with her\nmeans, and the little group encouraged each other to face the coming\nevents like patriotic citizens, cheerfully and bravely. Of the magnitude\nof those events, or their own probable share in their national calamities,\nthey had a very vague notion.\n\n\u201cThe situation,\u201d M. Dalibouze assured them, \u201cwas critical, but by no means\ndesperate. On the contrary, France, instead of being at the mercy of her\nenemies, was now on the eve of crushing them, of obtaining one of those\nastonishing victories which make ordinary history pale. It was the\nincommensurable superiority of the French arms that had brought her to\nthis pass; that had driven Prussia mad with rage and envy, and roused her\nto defiance. Infatuated Prussia! she would mourn over her folly once and\nfor ever. She would find that Paris was not alone the Greece of\ncivilization and the arts and sciences, but that she was the most\nimpregnable fortress that ever defied the batteries of a foe. Europe had\ndeserted Paris, after betraying France to her enemies; now the day of\nreckoning was at hand; Europe would reap the fruits of her base jealousy,\nand witness the triumph of the capital of the world!\u201d\n\nThis was M. Dalibouze\u2019s firm opinion, and he gave it in public and private\nto any one who cared to hear it. When Mme. de Chanoir asked if he meant to\nremain in Paris through the siege, the professor was so shocked by the\nimplied affront to his patriotism that he had to control himself before he\ncould trust himself to answer her.\n\n\u201c_Comment_, Mme. la G\u00e9n\u00e9rale! You think so meanly of me as to suppose I\nwould abandon my country at such a crisis! Is it a time to fly when the\nenemy is at our gates, and when the nation expects every man to stand\nforth and defend her, and scatter those miserable eaters of sauerkraut to\nthe winds!\u201d\n\nAnd straightway acting up to this noble patriotic credo, M. Dalibouze had\nhimself measured for a National Guard uniform. No sooner had he endorsed\nit than he rushed off to Nadar\u2019s and had himself photographed. He counted\nthe hours till the proofs came home, and then, bursting with satisfaction,\nhe set out to No. 13.\n\n\u201cIt is unbecoming,\u201d he said, shrugging his shoulders as he presented his\ncarte de visite to the g\u00e9n\u00e9rale, \u201c_mais que voulez\u2010vous?_ A man must\nsacrifice everything to his country; what is personal appearance that it\ncould weigh in the balance against duty! Bah! I could get myself up as a\npunchinello, and perch all day on the top of Mont Val\u00e9rien, if it could\nscare away one of those despicable brigands from the walls of the\ncapital!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are wrong in saying it is unbecoming, M. Dalibouze,\u201d protested the\ng\u00e9n\u00e9rale, attentively scanning the portrait, where the military costume\nwas set off by a semi\u2010heroic military _pose_, \u201cI think the dress suits you\nadmirably.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are too indulgent, madame,\u201d said the professor. \u201cYou see your friends\nthrough the eyes of friendship; but, in truth, it was purely from an\nhistorical point of view that I made the little sacrifice of personal\nfeeling; the portrait will be interesting as a souvenir some day when we,\nthe actors in this great drama, have passed away.\u201d\n\nBut time went on, and the prophetic triumphs of M. Dalibouze were not\nrealized; the eaters of sauerkraut held their ground, and provisions began\nto grow scarce at No. 13. The purse of the sisters, never a large one, was\nnow seriously diminished, Aline\u2019s contribution to the common fund having\nceased altogether with the beginning of the siege. Her old pupils had\nleft, and there was no chance of finding any new ones at such a time as\nthis. No one had money to spend on lessons, or leisure to learn; the study\nthat absorbed everybody was how to realize food or fuel out of impossible\nelements. Every one was suffering, in a more or less degree, from the\nmiseries imposed by the state of _blocus_; but one would have fancied the\npresence of death in so many shapes, by fire without, by cold and famine\nwithin, would have detached them generally from life, and made them\nforgetful of the wants of the body and absorbed them in sublimer cares.\nBut it was not so. After the first shock of hearing the cannon at the\ngates close to them, they got used to it. Later, when the bombardment\ncame, there was another momentary panic, but it calmed down, and they got\nused to that too. Shells could apparently fall all round without killing\nthem. So they turned all their thoughts to the cherishing and comfort of\ntheir poor afflicted bodies. It must have been sad, and sometimes grimly\ncomical, to watch the singular phases of human nature developed by the\n_blocus_. One of the oddest and most frequent was the change it wrought in\npeople with regard to their food. People who had been ascetically\nindifferent to it before, and never thought of their meals till they sat\ndown to table, grew monomaniac on the point, and could think and speak of\nnothing else. Meals were talked of, in fact, from what we can gather, more\nthan politics, the Prussians, or the probable issue of the siege, or any\nof the gigantic problems that were being worked out both inside and\noutside the besieged city. Intelligent men and women discussed by the\nhour, with gravity and gusto, the best way of preparing cats and dogs,\nrats and mice, and all the abominations that necessity had substituted for\nfood. Poor human nature was fermenting under the process like wine in the\nvat, and all its dregs came uppermost: selfishness, callousness to the\nsufferings of others, ingratitude, all the pitiable meanness of a man,\nboiled up to the surface and showed him a sorry figure to behold. But\nother nobler things came to the surface too. There were innumerable silent\ndramas, soul\u2010poems going on in unlikely places, making no noise beyond\ntheir quiet sphere, but travelling high and sounding loud behind the\ncurtain of gray sky that shrouded the winter sun of Paris. The cannon\nshook her ramparts, and the shells flashed like lurid furies through the\nmidnight darkness; but far above the din and the darkness and the death\u2010\ncries rose the low sweet music of many a brave heart\u2019s sacrifice; the\nstronger giving up his share to the weaker, the son hoarding his scanty\nrations against the day of still scantier supplies, when there would be\nscarcely food enough to support the weakened frame of an aged father or\nmother, talking big about the impossibility of surrender, and lightly\nabout the price of resistance. There were mothers in Paris, too, and\nwherever mothers are there is sure to be found self\u2010sacrifice in its\nloveliest, divinest form. How many of them toiled and sweated, aye, and\nbegged, subduing all pride to love for the little ones, who ate their fill\nand knew nothing of the cruel tooth that was gnawing the bread\u2010winner\u2019s\nvitals!\n\nWe who heard the thunder of the artillery and the blasting shout of the\nmitrailleuse, we did not hear these things, but other ears did, and not a\nnote of the sweet music was lost, angels were hearkening for them, and as\nthey rose above the dark discord, like crystal bells tolling in the storm\nwind, the white\u2010winged messengers caught them on golden lyres and wafted\nthem on to paradise.\n\nTo Be Continued.\n\n\n\n\nOn A Picture Of S. Mary Bearing Doves To Sacrifice.\n\n\n    My eyes climb slowly up, as by a stair,\n      To seek a picture on my chamber wall\u2014\n    A picture of the Mother of our Lord,\n      Hung where the latest twilight shadows fall.\n\n    My lifted eyes behold a childlike face,\n      Under a veil of woman\u2019s holiest thought,\n    O\u2019ershadowed by the mystery of grace,\n      And mystery of mercy\u2014God hath wrought.\n\n    Down through the dim old temple, moving slow,\n      Her drooping lids scarce lifted from the ground,\n    As if she faintly heard the distant flow\n      Of far\u2010off seas of grief she could not sound.\n\n    I think archangels would not count it sin\n      If, underneath the veil that hides her eyes,\n    They, seeing all things, saw the soul within\n      Held more of mother\u2010love than sacrifice.\n\n    She walks erect, the virgin undefiled,\n      Back from her throat the loose robe falls apart,\n    And e\u2019en as she would clasp her royal Child,\n      She holds the dovelets to her tender heart.\n\n    No white wing trembles \u2019neath her pitying palm,\n      No feather flutters in this last warm nest,\n    And thus she bears them on\u2014while solemn psalm\n      Wakes dim, prophetic stirrings in her breast.\n\n    Sweet Hebrew mother! many a woman shares,\n      Thy crucifixion of her hopes and loves,\n    And in her arms to death unshrinking bears\n      Her precious things\u2014even her turtle\u2010doves.\n\n    But often, ere the temple\u2019s marble floor\n      Has ceased the echo of her parting feet,\n    Her gifts prove worthless\u2014thine is ever more\n      The gift of gifts\u2014transcendent and complete.\n\n    We mothers, too, have treasures all our own,\n      And, one by one, oft see them sacrificed:\n    Thou, Blessed among women\u2014thou alone\n      Hast held within thine arms the dear Child\u2010Christ.\n\n    Therefore, mine eyes mount up, as by a stair,\n      To seek the picture on my chamber wall;\n    Therefore my soul climbs oft the steeps of prayer,\n      To rest where shadows of thy Son\u2019s cross fall.\n\n\n\n\nCentres Of Thought In The Past. First Article. The Monasteries.\n\n\nIt seems very ambitious to try and present to the reader a sketch of\nanything so vast as the field of research pointed out by the above title,\nand, indeed, far from aiming at this, we will set forth by saying, once\nfor all, that our attempts will be nothing more than passing views,\nisolated specimens of that immense whole which, under the names of\neducation, progress, development, scholasticism, and _renaissance_, forms\nthe intellectual \u201cstock in trade\u201d of every modern system of knowledge.\n\nThe \u201cpast\u201d is divided into two distinct eras\u2014the monastic and the\nscholastic. In the earlier era, the centres of thought were the\nBenedictine and the Columbanian monasteries; in the second era,\nintellectual life gathered its strength in the universities, under the\nguidance of the church, typified by the Mendicant Orders. The first era\nmay be said to have lasted from the fifth century to the eleventh, and to\nhave reached its apogee in the seventh and eighth. The second reached from\nthe eleventh century to the sixteenth, and attained its highest glory in\nthe prolific and gifted thirteenth century. Each had its representative\ncentre _par excellence_, its representative men, philosophy, and religious\ndevelopment. Prior Vaughan, in his recent masterpiece, the _Life of S.\nThomas of Aquin_, expresses this idea in many ways. \u201cFrom the sixth to the\nthirteenth century,\u201d he says, \u201cthe education of Europe was Benedictine.\nMonks in their cells ... were planting the mustard\u2010seed of future European\nintellectual growth.\u201d Further on he says: \u201cPlato represents rest;\nAristotle, inquisitiveness. The former is synthetical; the latter,\nanalytical. _Quies_ is monastic, inquisitiveness is dialectical.\u201d Thus,\nPlato is the representative master of the earlier era; S. Benedict and his\nincomparable rule, its representative religious outgrowth; the study of\nthe Scriptures, the Fathers, and the liberal arts, its representative\nsystem of education. We do not hear of many \u201ccommentaries\u201d in those days,\nnor of curious schedules of questions, such as, \u201cDid the little hands of\nthe Boy Jesus create the stars?\u201d(26) On the other hand, elegant Latinity\nwas taught, and the Scriptures were multiplied by thousands of costly and\nlaborious transcriptions. The first era was eminently conservative. Its\nvery schools were physically representative; \u201cthe solitary abbey, hidden\naway amongst the hills, with its psalmody, and manual work, and unexciting\nstudy.\u201d(27) In the scholastic era, things were reversed. \u201cLatinity grew\nbarbarous, and many far graver disorders arose out of the daring and undue\nexercise of reason. Yet intellectual progress was being made in spite of\nthe decay of letters.... In the extraordinary intellectual revolution\nwhich marked the opening of the thirteenth century, the study of\n_thoughts_ was substituted for the study of _words_.\u201d(28) Here the\nrepresentative exponent was Aristotle; the religious developments, the\nCrusades and the Mendicant Orders; and the personal outgrowth of the\nclashes of the two systems\u2014that of the old immovable dogmatic church, and\nthat of irreverence and rationalism\u2014S. Bernard, S. Dominic, S. Thomas of\nAquin, on the one hand, and Peter Abelard and William de Saint Amour, on\nthe other. Here, again, we find the _locale_ analogous to the spirit of\nthe age. Cities were now the centres of knowledge; noisy streets, with\nominous names, such as the \u201cRue Coupegueule,\u201d(29) in Paris, so named from\nthe frequent murders committed there during university brawls, take the\nplace of the silent cloister and long stone corridors of the abbey;\nphysical disorder typifies the moral confusion of the day; and Paris the\nchaotic stands in the room of Monte Casino, S. Gall, or English Jarrow.\nThen followed the \u201cRenaissance,\u201d that \u201crevival of practical paganism.\u201d(30)\n\u201cThe saints and fathers of the church gradually disappeared from the\nschools, and society, instead of being permeated, as in former times, with\nan atmosphere of faith, was now redolent of heathenism.\u201d(31) Petrarch and\nBoccaccio were the representatives of this refined (if we must use the\nword in its ordinary sensual meaning) infidelity; Plato was the god of the\nnew Olympus, but unrecognizable from the Plato embodied in the Fathers and\nBenedictine _litt\u00e9rateurs_, for, practically speaking, polite life had now\nbecome Epicurean; while as for the religious development of the times,\nsince it could no longer be representative, it became apostolic.\nSavonarola and S. Francis Xavier are names that stand out in the moral\ndarkness of that era, and the latter suggests the only new creation in the\nchurch from that day to our own. Christian education had been Benedictine,\nthen Dominican; it now became Jesuit. The world knew its old enemy in the\nnew dress, and ever since has warred against it with diabolical foresight\nand unwearied venom. Of this last phase of the past, which is so like the\npresent that we have classed it apart, we do not purpose to speak, but\nwill confine ourselves to those older and grander, though hardly less\ntroublous times known as the middle ages.\n\nThe first two centres of Christianity and patristic learning outside Rome\nwere Alexandria and Constantinople. The latter soon fell away into schism,\nand thence into that barbarism which the vigorous Western races were at\nthat very same time casting off through the influence of the church that\nByzantium had rejected. From Alexandria we may date the beginnings of our\nown systems of learning. The end of the second century already found the\nChristian schools of that city famous, and the converted Stoic Pant\u00e6nus\nspoken of as one of \u201ctranscendent powers.\u201d Clement of Alexandria, Origen,\nHippolytus, Bishop of Porto, were teachers in those schools, and the _Acts\nof the Martyrs_ tell us that Catharine, the learned virgin\u2010martyr, was an\nAlexandrian. Hippolytus was a famous astronomer and arithmetician. Clement\nused poetry, philosophy, science, eloquence, and even satire, in the\ninterests of religion. Origen became the master of S. Gregory Thaumaturgus\nand his brother Athenodorus. \u201cIt was now recognized that Christians were\nmen who could think and reason with other men, ... and of whom a\nuniversity city need not be ashamed. Christians were expected to teach and\nstudy the liberal arts, profane literature, philosophy, and the Biblical\nlanguages, ... and all the time the business of the school went on,\n_persecution_ raged with _small intermission_.\u201d(32) Prior Vaughan says\nthat \u201cFaith took her seat with her Greek profile and simple majesty in\nAlexandria, and withstood, as one gifted with a divine power, two subtle\nand dangerous enemies\u2014heathen philosophy and heretical theology\u2014and, by\nmeans of Clement and of Origen, proved to passion and misbelief that a new\nand strange _intellectual_ influence had been brought into the world.\u201d(33)\nAntioch and Constantinople claimed the world\u2019s attention later on, and the\nThebaid teemed with equal treasures of learning and of holiness. S. John\nChrysostom exhorts Christian parents, in 376, \u201cto entrust the education of\ntheir sons to the solitaries, to those _men of the mountain_ whose lessons\nhe himself had received.\u201d(34)\n\nWhen the glories of the patristic age were waning, and the East seemed to\nfail the church, through whose influence alone she had become famous,\nthere arose in the West, among the half\u2010barbarous races of Goths, Franks,\nCelts, and Teutons, other champions of monasticism and pioneers of\nlearning. The raw material of Christian Europe was being moulded into the\nheroic form it bore during medi\u00e6val times by poet, philosopher, and\nlegislator\u2010monks.\n\nOf these monastic centres, Lerins is perhaps the oldest. Founded in 410,\non an island of the Mediterranean near the coast of France, it became\n\u201canother Thebaid, a celebrated school of theology and Christian\nphilosophy, a citadel inaccessible to the works of barbarism, and an\nasylum for literature and science which had fled from Italy on the\ninvasion of the Goths.\u201d(35) All France sought its bishops from this holy\nand learned isle. Among its great scholars was Vincent of Lerins, the\nfirst controversialist of his time, and the originator of the celebrated\nformula: _Quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab omnibus creditum est_. We may\nbe pardoned for extending our notice of him, since the words he uses on\nthe progress of the church are so singularly appropriate to our own times\nand problems. Having established the unchangeableness of Catholic\ndoctrine, he goes on to say: \u201cShall there, then, be no progress in the\nchurch of Christ? There shall be progress, and even great progress, ...\nbut it will be _progress_ and _not change_. With the growth of ages there\nmust necessarily be a growth of intelligence, of wisdom, and of knowledge,\nfor each man as for all the church. But the religion of souls must imitate\nthe progress of the human form, which, in developing and growing in years,\nnever ceases to be the same in the maturity of age as in the flower of\nyouth.\u201d(36) Had the monk of Lerins foreknown the aberrations of the doctor\nof Munich, he could not have better refuted the latest heresy of our own\nday. S. Lupus of Troyes, who arrested Attila at the gates of his episcopal\ncity, and successfully combated the Pelagian heresy in England; S.\nCesarius of Arles, who was successively persecuted and finally reinstated\nby two barbarian kings, and who gave his sister Cesaria a rule for her\nnuns which was adopted by Queen Radegundes for her immense monastery of\nPoictiers; Salvian, whose eloquence was likened to that of S. Augustine,\nwere all monks of Lerins. S. Cesarius has well epitomized the training of\nthis great and holy school when he says: \u201cIt is she who nourishes those\nillustrious monks who are sent into all provinces of Gaul as bishops. When\nthey arrive, they are children; when they go out, they are fathers. She\nreceives them as recruits, she sends them forth kings.\u201d(37) As late as\n1537, we find on the list of the commission appointed by Pope Paul III. to\ndraw up the preliminaries of the Council of Trent, and especially to point\nout and correct the abuses of secular training and paganized art, the name\nof Gregory Cortese, Abbot of Lerins.(38) But we must hasten on to other\nfoundations of a reputation and influence as world\u2010wide as that of the\nMediterranean Abbey.\n\nIn 580, there was a famous school at Seville, where all the arts and\nsciences were taught by learned masters, presided over by S. Leander, the\nbishop of the diocese. Then S. Ildefonso, of Toledo, a scholar of Seville,\nfounded a great school at Toledo itself (where the famous councils took\nplace later on), which, together with Seville, made \u201cSpain the\nintellectual light of the Christian world in the seventh century.\u201d(39)\n\nFrom the South let us turn to the fruitful land where monks supplied the\nplace of martyrs, and where the faith, planted by Patrick, grew so\nmarvellously into absolute power within the short space of a century.\nArmagh, Bangor, Clonard, are names that at once recall the palmy days of\nsacred learning. \u201cWithin a century after the death of S. Patrick,\u201d says\nBishop Nicholson, \u201cthe Irish seminaries had so increased that most parts\nof Europe sent their children to be educated there, and drew thence their\nbishops and teachers.\u201d(40) \u201cBy the ninth century, Armagh could boast of\n7,000 students.\u201d(41) \u201cClonard,\u201d says Usher, \u201cissued forth a stream of\nsaints and doctors like the Greek warriors from the wooden horse.\u201d(42) The\nIrish communities, Montalembert tells us in his brilliant language,\n\u201centered into rivalry with the great monastic schools of Gaul. They\nexplained Ovid there; they copied Virgil; they devoted themselves\nespecially to Greek literature; they drew back from no inquiry, from no\ndiscussion; they gloried in placing boldness on a level with faith.\u201d The\nyoung Luan answered the Abbot of Bangor, who warned him against the\ndangers of too engrossing a study of the liberal arts: \u201cIf I have the\nknowledge of God, I shall never offend God, for they who disobey him are\nthey who know him not.\u201d\n\nThe Irish were as adventurous as they were learned, and Montalembert bears\nwitness to the national propensity in the following graceful language:\n\u201cThis monastic nation became the missionary nation _par excellence_. The\nIrish missionaries covered the land and seas of the West. Unwearied\nnavigators, they landed on the most desert islands; they overflowed the\ncontinent with their successive immigrations. They saw in incessant\nvisions a world known and unknown to be conquered for Christ.\u201d And the\nauthor of _Christian Schools and Scholars_ reminds us of the beautiful\nlegend of S. Brendan, the founder of the great school of Clonfert in\nConnaught, the school\u2010fellow of Columba, and the pupil of Finian at\nClonard, who is declared to have set sail in search of the Land of\nPromise, and during his seven years\u2019 journey to have \u201cdiscovered a vast\ntract of land, lying far to the west of Ireland, where he beheld wonderful\nbirds and trees of unknown foliage, which gave forth perfumes of\nextraordinary sweetness.\u201d Whatever fiction is mingled with this marvellous\nnarrative, it is difficult not to admit that it must have had some\nfoundation of truth, and the poetic legend which was perfectly familiar to\nColumbus is said to have furnished him with one motive for believing in\nthe existence of a western continent. Later on we shall find Albertus\nMagnus foreshadowing the same belief in his writings. Two of the Irish\nmissionaries deserve especial notice\u2014Columba, the Apostle of Caledonia,\nand Columbanus, the founder of Luxeuil in Burgundy. The former, with his\nstronghold of Iona, which \u201ccame to be looked upon as the chief seat of\nlearning, not only in Britain, but in the whole Western world,\u201d(43) is\nfamiliar to all readers of Montalembert\u2019s great monastic poem, and to that\nother public who have had access to the Duke of Argyll\u2019s recent work on\nthe rock\u2010bound metropolis of Christian Britain. We are told that the most\nscrupulous exactitude was required in the Scriptorium of Iona, and that\nColumba himself, a skilful penman, wrote out the famous _Book of Kells_\nwith his own hand. It is now preserved in the library of Trinity College,\nDublin. The monks of Iona studied and taught the classics, the mechanical\narts, law, history, and physic. They transferred to their new home all the\nlearning of Armagh and Clonard. Painful journeys in search of books or of\nthe oral teaching of some renowned master were nothing in their eyes; they\nlistened to lectures on the Greek and Latin fathers, hung entranced over\nHomer and Virgil, and were skilled in calculating eclipses and other\nnatural phenomena. They astonished the world with their arithmetical\nknowledge and linguistic erudition, and their keen logic and love of\nsyllogism are spoken of by S. Benedict of Anian in the ninth century.(44)\nArt was equally cultivated, but this, strictly speaking, is outside our\npresent subject. As an example of Columba\u2019s liberal spirit and devotion to\nthe best interests of literature, we may remark his defence of the bards\nat the Assembly of Drumceitt. Poets, historians, law\u2010givers, and\ngenealogists, the bards represented all the learning of a past age and\nsystem; and if their arrogance now and then overstepped the bounds of\ncourtesy, and even sometimes the restraints of law, in the main their\ninstitute was heroic and praiseworthy. Columba argued against their\nopponent, a prince of the Nialls of the South, Aedh, that \u201ccare must be\ntaken not to pull up the good corn with the tares, and that the general\nexile of the poets would be the death of a venerable antiquity, and that\nof a poetry which was dear to the country and useful to those who knew how\nto employ it.\u201d His eloquence saved the bardic institute, and the poets in\ntheir gratitude composed a famous song in his praise, which became\ncelebrated in Irish literature under the name of _Ambhra_, or _Praise of\nS. Columbkill_.(45)\n\nColumbanus, a monk of Bangor, was destined to found an Irish colony of\neven greater fame and longer duration than Iona. Luxeuil, founded in 590,\nat the foot of the Vosges in Burgundy, soon counted among its sons many\nhundred votaries of learning. Montalembert says of it that \u201cno monastery\nof the West had yet shone with so much lustre or attracted so many\ndisciples\u201d. It became another Lerins, a nursery of bishops for the\nFrankish and Burgundian cities, a notable seat of secular knowledge, and,\nabove all, a school of saints. Indeed, among the meagre, skeleton\u2010like\ndetails that come down to us of these giant abodes of a supernatural race\nof men, we find ourselves perforce repeating over and over the same\nformula of commendation. What more could one say but that each of these\nmonastic centres was a school of saints? And yet how much variety in that\nsameness! How much that even we can see, and distinguish, and mentally\ndissect! We see some soaring spirit, whose burning love is never content\nwith renunciation, but ever seeks, with holy restlessness, some deeper\nsolitude in which to pray and meditate, like the Bavarian monk Sturm, the\npupil and companion of S. Boniface, and the founder of the world\u2010renowned\nAbbey of Fulda; or, again, some great thinker like Alcuin of York, whose\ntouching love for his own land and city makes us feel with pardonable\npride how near akin is our own weak human nature to that of even the giant\nmen of old; or spirits like the gentle Cuthbert of Lindisfarne, the\ntraditions of whose unwearied moderation and \u201cinestimable gift of kindness\nand light\u2010heartedness,\u201d as well as his \u201cintense and active sympathy for\nthose human sorrows which in all ages are the same,\u201d are all the more\nprecious to us that they are also mingled with tales of his wondrous\nhorsemanship, athletic frame, and simple enjoyment of legitimate sports.\nThe same author we have just quoted, Montalembert, says that the\ndescription of his childhood reads like that of a little Anglo\u2010Saxon of\nour own day, a scholar of Eton or Harrow. So that, when one after another\nwe read of Gaulish, Celtic, and Teutonic abbeys that were intellectual\ncapitals and centres of far\u2010reaching and all\u2010embracing knowledge, we must\nalways remember that these words, grown trite at last from frequent use,\nhave as varied a meaning as the collective name of Milky Way, which stands\nfor countless worlds of unknown stars.\n\nAs Christianity spread in the early part of the middle ages, these\nmonastic centres were multiplied like the posterity of Abraham, Isaac, and\nJacob. Lindisfarne, the Iona of the eastern coast of England, soon\nrivalled her Scottish predecessor, and retained much the same impress of\nCeltic learning, while Melrose served as a supplementary school and\nnovitiate. The Teutonic element now began to make itself felt. Caedmon,\nthe Saxon cowherd, transformed into a poet and a monk by a direct call\nfrom God, sang the creation in strains \u201cwhich,\u201d says Montalembert, \u201cmay\nstill be admired even beside the immortal poem of the author of _Paradise\nLost_.\u201d Wilfrid, the S. Thomas \u00e0 Becket of the seventh century, vigorously\nplanted Roman traditions and customs in the Saxon monastery of Ripon, and\nperpetuated the name of S. Peter in his other magnificent foundation of\nPeterborough, the poetic \u201cHome among the Meadows,\u201d or Medehamstede.(46)\nTheodore, the Greek metropolitan of England, in 673 introduced into the\nAnglo\u2010Saxon schools \u201can intellectual and literary development as worthy of\nthe admiration as of the gratitude of posterity; the study of the two\nclassic tongues (Greek and Latin) chiefly flourished under his care....\nMonasteries, thus transformed into homes of scientific study, could not\nbut spread a taste and respect for intellectual life, not only among the\nclergy, but also among their lay\u2010protectors, the friends and neighbors of\neach community.\u201d(47)\n\nBenedict Biscop, the contemporary of the chivalrous Wilfrid of York, is\neminently a representative of Anglo\u2010Saxon cultivation. Montalembert puts\nhis name in the \u201cmonastic constellation of the seventh century\u201d for\nintelligence, art, and science. He it was who undertook a journey to Rome\n(which place he had visited many times before on other errands) solely to\nprocure books; and it must be borne in mind that this journey was then\ntwice as long and a hundred times more dangerous than a journey from\nLondon to Australia is now. After having founded the Abbey of Wearmouth,\nat the mouth of the Wear, Benedict set forth again, bringing masons and\nglass\u2010makers from Gaul to teach the Anglo\u2010Saxons some notions of solid and\nornamental architecture. He was a passionate book\u2010collector, and wished\neach of his monasteries to have a great library, which he considered\nindispensable to the discipline, instruction, and good organization of the\ncommunity. Originally a monk at Lerins, whither he had gone after giving\nup a knightly and seignorial career in his own country, he naturally drank\nin that thirst for learning which, in the earlier middle ages, seems to\nhave been almost inseparable from holiness. Jarrow, the sister monastery\nto Wearmouth, situated near it by the mouth of the Tyne, was even yet more\nfamous as a school of hallowed knowledge, and has become endeared to the\nhearts of all Englishmen as the home of the Venerable Bede. His is a\nfigure which, even in the foreign annals of the church, stands pre\u2010eminent\namong ecclesiastical writers, and one in whom the Anglo\u2010Saxon character is\nthoroughly and beautifully revealed. Calm and steadfast self\u2010possession,\nthat beautiful attribute of the followers of the \u201cPrince of Peace,\u201d is the\nkey\u2010note to the writings of the historian\u2010monk of Jarrow. The first\nglimpse we have of him is as the solitary companion of the new\u2010made abbot,\nCeolfrid, chanting the divine office at the age of seven; his voice choked\nwith sobs as he thought of the elder brethren, all of whom a grievous\npestilence had carried off. But though the choir had gone to join in the\nhymns of the New Jerusalem, the canonical hours were nevertheless kept up\nby the sorrowing abbot and the child\u2010chorister until new brethren came to\ntake the place of the old ones. Bede was never idle; he says himself that\n\u201che was always his own secretary, and dictated, composed, and copied all\nhimself.\u201d His great history was the means of bringing him into contact\nwith the best men of his day. \u201cThe details he gives on this subject show\nthat a constant communication was kept up between the principal centres of\nreligious life, and that an amount of intellectual activity as surprising\nas it is admirable\u2014when the difficulty of communication and the internal\nwars which ravaged England are taken into account\u2014existed among their\ninhabitants.\u201d(48) Bede\u2019s political foresight seems to have been of no mean\norder, and the grave advice he administers to bishops on ecclesiastical\nabuses shows at once his practical common sense and fearlessness of\ncharacter. He also condemns the too sweeping grants of land, exemptions\nfrom taxes, and privileges offered to monastic houses, and gives the\nwisest reasons for his strictures. \u201cThe nations of Catholic Europe envied\nEngland the possession of so great a doctor, the first among the offspring\nof barbarous races who had won a place among the doctors of the church,\n... and his illustrious successor Alcuin, speaking to the community of\nJarrow which Bede had made famous, bears witness to his celebrity in these\nwords: \u2018Stir up, then, the minds of your sleepers by his example; study\nhis works, and you will be able to draw from them the secret of eternal\nbeauty.\u2019 \u201d(49)\n\nMalmesbury was another Anglo\u2010Saxon centre of thought, and the memory of S.\nAldhelm long gave it that \u201cpowerful and popular existence which lasted far\ninto the middle ages.\u201d(50) The cathedral school of York, \u201cwhich rose into\ncelebrity just as Bede was withdrawn from the scene of his useful\nlabors,\u201d(51) produced one of the greatest of English scholars, and one\ninstrumental in carrying knowledge acquired among monks to the warrior\ncourt of a foreign prince. Charlemagne and his Palatine schools of Aix\u2010la\u2010\nChapelle would have been shorn of half their glory had it not been for the\nEnglishman Alcuin. But it was not without a pang that the home\u2010loving\nmaster left the school he had almost formed, and which he cherished as the\nproduct of his first efforts, and undertook to foster the same\ninstitutions in a strange land. These schools, in which enthusiastic\nFrench writers love to trace the germ of the mighty University of Paris,\nseem to have possessed a system of equality very creditable both to their\nmaster and their imperial patron. Later on, when the wearied _magister_ at\nlast wrested from Charlemagne the permission to retire into some\nmonastery, since he had failed in obtaining leave to return and die at\nYork, it was only to found another school that he occupied his leisure. S.\nMartin\u2019s at Tours now became as famous as the Palatine at Aix\u2010la\u2010Chapelle.\n\u201cHe applied himself to his new duties with unabated energy, and by his own\nteaching raised the school of Tours to a renown which was shared by none\nof its contemporaries. In the hall of studies, a distinct place was set\napart for the copyists, who were exhorted by certain verses of their\nmaster, set up in a conspicuous place, _to mind their stops and not to\nleave out letters_.\u201d(52) Here, then, is another of those pleasant little\ndetails which creates a fellow\u2010feeling between the human nature of to\u2010day\nand that of past ages. The description of his life from which we have\ndrawn this sketch closes thus: \u201cIn short, his active mind, thoroughly\nAnglo\u2010Saxon in its temper, worked on to the end; laboring at a sublime end\nby homely practical details. One sees he is of the same race with Bede,\nwho wrote and dictated to the last hour of his life, and, when his work\nwas finished, calmly closed his book and died.\u201d(53)\n\nWe have already named Fulda, the glorious monastic centre where the monk\nSturm established the Benedictine rule in 744, and where, before his\ndeath, 400 monks sang daily the praises of God, and good scholars were\ntrained to intellectual warfare in the name of faith. In 802, \u201cmindful of\nits great origin, it was one of the first to enter heartily into the\nrevival of letters instituted by Charlemagne,\u201d and sent the monks Hatto\nand Rabanus to study under Alcuin. We find a most graphic description of\nthe daily routine of this great school in _Christian Schools and\nScholars_. It so well illustrates the common life of the middle ages that\nwe do not hesitate to give it at some length: \u201cThe German nobles gladly\nentrusted their sons to Rabanus\u2019 care, and he taught them with wonderful\ngentleness and patience. At his lectures every one was trained to write\nequally well in prose or verse on any subject placed before him, and was\nafterwards taken through a course of rhetoric, logic, and natural\nphilosophy.... The school of Fulda had inherited the fullest share of the\nAnglo\u2010Saxon spirit, and exhibited the same spectacle of intellectual\nactivity which we have already seen working in the foundations of S.\nBenedict Biscop. Every variety of useful occupation was embraced by the\nmonks.... Within doors the visitor might have beheld a huge range of\nworkshops, in which cunning hands were kept constantly busy on every\ndescription of useful and ornamental work in wood, stone, and metal....\nPassing on to the interior of the building, the stranger would have been\nintroduced to the scriptorium, over the door of which was an inscription\nwarning the copyists to abstain from idle words, to be diligent in copying\ngood books, _and to take care not to alter the text by careless mistakes_.\nNot far from the scriptorium was the interior school ... where our\nvisitor, were he from the more civilized South, might well have stood in\nmute surprise in the midst of these fancied barbarians, whom he would have\nfound engaged in pursuits not unworthy of the schools of Rome. The monk\nProbus is perhaps lecturing on Virgil or Cicero, and that with such hearty\nenthusiasm that his brother\u2010professors accuse him in good\u2010natured jesting\nof ranking them with the saints. Elsewhere disputations are being carried\non over the _Categories_ of Aristotle, and an attentive ear will discover\nthat the controversy which made such a noise in the twelfth century, and\ndivided the philosophers of Europe into the rival sects of Nominalists and\nRealists, is perfectly well understood at Fulda, though it does not seem\nto have disturbed the peace of the school. To your delight, if you be not\naltogether wedded to the study of the dead languages, you may find some\nengaged on the uncouth language of their fatherland, and, looking over\ntheir shoulders, you may smile to see the barbarous words which they are\ncataloguing in their glossaries, _words, nevertheless, destined to\nreappear centuries hence in the most philosophic literature of Europe_....\nIt may be added that the school of Fulda would have been found ordered\nwith admirable discipline. Twelve of the best professors were chosen, and\nformed a council of elders or doctors, presided over by one who bore the\ntitle of principal, and who assigned to each one the lectures he was to\ndeliver to the pupils. In the midst of this world of intellectual life and\nlabor, Rabanus continued for some years to train the first minds of\nGermany, and reckoned among his pupils the most celebrated men of the\nage.... For the rest, he was an enemy to anything like narrowness of\nintellectual training. His own works in prose and verse embraced a large\nvariety of subjects, ... and he is commonly reputed the author of the\n_Veni Creator_.\u201d(54)\n\nOne of his pupils, the monk Otfried of Weissembourg, entered with singular\nardor into the study of the Tudesque or native dialect. Inspired by\nRabanus, who himself devoted much attention to this subject, and\nencouraged by a \u201ccertain noble lady named Judith,\u201d Otfried undertook to\ntranslate into his native tongue the most remarkable Gospel passages\nrelating to Our Lord\u2019s life. His verses speedily became familiar to the\npeople, and by degrees took the place of those pagan songs of their\nforefathers, by which much of the leaven of heathenism yet remained in the\nminds of the peasantry, associated as it was with all the touching\nprestige of nationalism and the honest pride they felt in their ancestors\u2019\nprowess.\n\nRabanus, while master of the Fulda school, had much to suffer from the\neccentricities of his abbot, Ratgar, who, afflicted with the _building\nmania_, actually forced his monks to interrupt their studies, and even\nshorten their prayers, to take up the trowel and the hod and hasten on his\nnew erections. Here we have the other side of the daily life of the middle\nages, and a more ludicrous scene can hardly be imagined than the enforced\nlabor of the scholar\u2010monks, their rueful countenances showing their\ndespair at the unpleasant task, yet their unflinching principle of\nobedience towering above their disgust, and compelling them to work in\nsilence till relieved by the Emperor Louis himself. The new abbot,\ninstalled in Ratgar\u2019s place by a commission empowered to look into the\nlatter\u2019s unheard\u2010of abuse of his authority, was a saint as well as a\nscholar, and \u201chealed the wounds which a long course of ill\u2010treatment had\nopened in the community.\u201d Rabanus himself succeeded him, and resigned the\nmastership of the school to his favorite assistant, Candidus.\n\nPassing over many abbeys whose merits it were too long a story to\nenumerate, we come to S. Gall, the great Helvetian centre of thought.\nOriginally it was founded by Gall, the disciple of Columbanus, and in the\nreign of King Pepin changed the Columbanian for the Benedictine rule.\nAlready, in its early beginnings, it was a home of art, and Tutilo\u2019s works\nin gold, copper, and brass were famous throughout the Germanic world. The\nmills, the forge, the workshops of all sorts, the cloisters for the monks,\nthe buildings for the students, the immense tracts of arable land, the\nreclaimed forests, the fleet of busy little boats on the great Lake of\nConstance, all told of a stirring centre of human life. And while art,\nscience, philosophy, agriculture, and mechanical industry were all at work\nin the townlike abbey, \u201cyou will hear these fine classical scholars\npreaching plain truths, in barbarous idioms, to the rude race of the\nmountains, who, before the monks came among them, sacrificed to the evil\none, and worshipped stocks and stones.\u201d(55) \u201cS. Gall was almost as much a\nplace of resort as Rome or Athens, at least to the learned world of the\nninth century. Her schools were a kind of _university_, frequented by men\nof all nations, who came hither to fit themselves for _all professions_.\nS. Gall was larger and freer, and made more of the arts and sciences;\nindeed, so far as regards its studies, it had a better claim to the title\nof _university_ than any single institution which can be named as existing\nbefore the time of Philip Augustus.(56) You would have found here not\nmonks alone, but courtiers, soldiers, and the sons of kings. All\ndiligently applied themselves to the cultivation of the Tudesque dialect,\nand to its grammatical formation, so as to render it capable of producing\na literature of its own.\u201d(57) The monks were in correspondence with all\nthe learned monastic houses of France and Italy, and the transfer of a\ncodex, a Livy, or a Virgil from one to the other occasioned as much\ndiplomacy, interest, and excitement as a commercial treaty or the\ndiscovery of new gold fields would in our day. S. Gall had its Greek\nscholars, too, and seems to have fostered among its copyists a love for\n\u201cfine editions,\u201d such as would do honor to an English or Russian\nbibliomaniac of to\u2010day. They made their own parchment from the hides of\nthe wild animals of their mountains, and employed many hands on each\nprecious manuscript. The costly binding was likewise all home\u2010made, and\nmany a jewelled missal must have come from the hand of the artist\u2010monk\nTutilo. Music was a specialty of S. Gall, if one may say so in an age when\nmusic was so much a part of education that alone of all the arts it was\nincluded in the _quadrivium_, or higher instruction of the medi\u00e6val\nschools. Romanus of S. Gall it was who first named the musical notes by\nthe letters of the alphabet, a system which is universal in Germany, and\nvery commonly followed in England to this day.\n\nWe should multiply names _ad infinitum_ were we to allow ourselves to roam\nfurther over that field of history so falsely called the dark ages.\nEinsiedeln, Paderborn, Magdeburg, Utrecht, are but a few of the many\nequally deserving of notice, the latter being, we are told, \u201ca\n_fashionable_ place of education for the sons of German princes\u201d in the\ntenth century. Before we go on to the second stage of the learning of the\npast\u2014the era of the universities\u2014we cannot help looking back to the little\nSaxon island where, in 882, Alfred devoted one\u2010fourth of his revenue to\nthe restoration of the Oxford schools and obtained from Pope Martin II. a\nbrief constituting them what may be fairly called a university. This was\nat a time when learning was at a low ebb, and the invasions of the Danes\nwere endangering the cause of letters\u2014a cause so intimately wrapped up in\nthat of the great monasteries. Glastonbury, the ruined home of so much\nwisdom, science, and philosophy, was destined under S. Dunstan to retake\nher place among the schools. A great revival was initiated by him, a\nreform among the clergy vigorously enforced, episcopal seminaries\nreopened, and monastic schools once more brought to their ancient place in\nthe vanguard of civilization. Ethelwold, Dunstan\u2019s disciple, was zealous\nfor the study of sacred learning, and \u201cloved teaching for its own sake. A\nnew race of scholars sprang up in the restored cloisters, some of whom\nwere not unworthy to be ranked with the disciples of Bede and Alcuin.\u201d(58)\nAt Glastonbury, like as at Fulda, the native tongue was cultivated,\nharmonized, and rendered capable of being ranked no longer as a dialect,\nbut as the characteristic language of an eminently masterful people.\nCroyland, also, a ruined centre of intellectual life, rose again from its\nashes; new monks and scholars reared its walls and filled its schools, and\nthe Danish horrors were soon forgotten in the thoughtful kindness of the\nnew abbot, Turketul, the nephew of Alfred, who, as we read, from a warrior\nand a courtier, a minister of state, and a royal prince, became a gentle\nmonk and the rewarder of his little pupils. \u201cTurketul took the greatest\ninterest in the success of the school, visiting it daily, inspecting the\ntasks of each child, and taking with him a servant who carried raisins,\nfigs, and nuts, or more often apples and pears, and such like little\ngifts, that the boys might be encouraged to be diligent, not with words\nonly or blows, but rather by the hope of reward.\u201d Such is the sweet,\nhomely picture given us by the historian Ingulph of one of the greatest of\nschools in its early monastic beginnings. We have left ourselves so little\nspace that even the metropolis of the Benedictines, the glorious and\nworld\u2010renowned Monte Casino, can find but a scant notice in these pages.\nIf Subiaco was the spiritual birthplace of _the_ order _par excellence_,\nMonte Casino was its intellectual cradle. There the rule was written\nwhich, by some mysterious fate, was destined to absorb and supersede that\nof the widespread Columbanians; there were the missionary principles first\nestablished which led to the conversion of the Anglo\u2010Saxon race; there the\nschool of _quies_ and reverence first planted which made this wonderful\nmonastery \u201cthe most powerful and celebrated in the Catholic universe.\u201d(59)\nIt was likened to Sinai by Pope Victor III., the successor of Hildebrand,\nin bold and simple verses, full of divine exultation and Christian pride:\nit has been defended and protected by an English and Protestant\nscholar,(60) the minister of a nation whose civilization once flowed from\nits bosom, and whose learning was fostered in its early \u201cscriptoria.\u201d It\nhas outlasted many of its own offspring, and still stands undecayed in its\nmoral sublimity, fruitful yet in saints and scholars, the mother\u2010house of\nan order whose origin stretches beyond Benedict far into the desert of\nPaul and Anthony, Jerome and Hilarion.\n\nAnd now that we are forced, reluctantly enough, to let fall the veil over\nthat teeming life of the medi\u00e6val cloister, the fruitful nursery of every\nlater intellectual development, shall we tell the reader what has most\nstruck us throughout the short sketch we have been able to give of these\ncentres of thought? Does not their history sound like some \u201cmonkish\nchronicle\u201d? How is it that all the most \u201ccelebrated men of their time\u201d\n(the phrase so often repeated in these annals) are monks, and so many not\nonly monks, but saints? How is it that we come upon so many instances of\nthese great scholars taking their turn at the mill, the forge, and the\nbake\u2010house, and that these details sound neither sordid nor vulgar, as\nthey might of modern and secular _litt\u00e9rateurs_? It was the monastic\nprinciple, the Christ\u2010principle, as Prior Vaughan calls it in his _Life of\nS. Thomas of Aquin_\u2014the principle of faith, obedience, purity, adoration,\nand reverence. \u201cThe monks had a world of their own.... Whilst the\nbarbarians were laying all things in ruins, they, heedless alike of fame\nor profit, were patiently laying the foundations of European civilization.\nThey were forming the languages of Schiller, of Bacon, and of Bossuet;\nthey were creating arts which modern skill in vain endeavors to imitate;\nthey were preserving the codices of ancient learning, and embalming the\nworld \u2018lying in wickedness\u2019 with the sweet odor of their manifold\nvirtues.\u201d(61) Not only were they men who \u201cwrote and spoke much, and, by\ntheir _masculine genius_ and _young and fresh inspiration_, prevented the\nnew Christian world from falling back from its first advances, either by\nliterature or politics, under the yoke of exhausted paganism\u201d;(62) not\nonly were they men of progress even while essentially conservative, men of\nthe future even while their studies were all of the past, but, \u201cin\nopposing poverty, chastity, and obedience, the three great bases of\nmonastic life, to the orgies of wealth, debauchery, and pride, they\ncreated at once a contrast and a remedy.\u201d(63) Prior Vaughan, in his\nbrilliant lifelike picture of medi\u00e6valism, _S. Thomas of Aquin_,\nperpetually refers to the ruling principle of monasticism: \u201cTo omit\nmention of the Benedictine principle would be to manifest great ignorance\nof the action of the highest form of truth upon mankind. The mastership of\nauthority and reverence, springing out of the school of _quies_, did not\ncease to exert a considerable influence even after the dominant power of\nthe monastic body had nearly disappeared.\u201d(64) Elsewhere we read: \u201cThere\nwas nothing of the sophist or logician in those sweet and venerable\ncountenances, the unruffled beauty of which is so often dwelt upon by\ntheir biographers.... One of the marks of the age is the absence of the\ndisputatious spirit, which, if it diminishes their rank (that of the\nmonastic thinkers) in the world of letters, forms the charm of their\ncharacters as men. The real spirit of the age was one of reverence for\ntradition.\u201d(65)\n\nThe foresight of the monk\u2010teachers of the earlier middle ages is no less\nremarkable than their holiness. Everywhere they fostered the native idiom,\nand labored to reduce it to an intelligible grammar. The national and\npatriotic feeling thus awakened in the centres of learning must needs have\nendeared them to, and more closely linked them with, the intellectual\nprogress of the people they instructed. A modern author observes that\n\u201cBede\u2019s words are evidence that the establishment of the Teutonic nations\non the ruins of the Roman Empire did not _barbarize_ knowledge. He\ncollected and taught more natural truths than any Roman writer had yet\naccomplished, and his works display an advance, not a retrogression, in\nscience.\u201d Indeed, natural science seems to have been from the first a\npeculiarly monastic pursuit. The great names of Bede, Gerbert, Albertus\nMagnus, and Roger Bacon are as a mighty chain from century to century,\nleading up to the discoveries of Galileo, Newton, Arago, and Humboldt;\nwhile in S. Brendan we have a bold precursor of Columbus.\n\nThe monasteries were so entirely the sole centres of civilization that\nnumberless towns owe their origin to them. Scholars came for instruction,\nand remained for edification; grateful patients settled near the heaven\u2010\ntaught physicians who had cured them; peasants clustered round the abbeys\nfor protection, and thus grew towns and villages without number in\nGermany, Switzerland, France, England, and Italy. Even America bears to\u2010\nday, in the name of one of her oldest English settlements, and a\nhereditary representative of intellect\u2014Boston\u2014a memento of the old\nintellectual supremacy of monasticism. S. Botolph, an Anglo\u2010Saxon hermit,\nleft his monastery, and settled in a hut on one of the plains of\nLincolnshire. Scholars gathered around him, and, despite his\nremonstrances, set up other huts around his, and the Benedictine monastery\nof Icanhoe was founded. As time went on, a village sprang up and became a\ntown, and was called Botolphstown. The name was afterwards corrupted and\ncut down into Boston, and from Boston it was that the founders of New\nEngland set sail on their journey to Holland, their first stage on their\nway to the New World.\n\nIn old times, then, monasteries created towns; now, alas, it is towns that\nnecessitate monasteries. We have now to plant the monastic school in the\nmidst of the teeming emporiums of trade and vice, where thousands toil\nharder for a bare crust and a hard board than the monks of old toiled for\nthe kingdom of heaven. It is not to listen to a learned or holy man that\nsettlements are made nowadays, but to dig oil\u2010wells or work coal and iron\nmines. Modern towns are made by traders, eager to be beforehand with their\ncompetitors, and the journalist and the liquor\u2010seller are the first\n_citizens_ of the new town. _Quies_ is relegated to the region of romance;\nit is unpractical, it \u201cdoes not pay\u201d; learning itself, if it succeeds in\ngetting a footing in the centres of commerce, partakes of the commercial\nspirit, and is rather to be called \u201ccramming\u201d than knowledge, and, as to\nthe moral result of the contrast between the Benedictine principle of the\nearly ages and the principle of hurry, of contention, of money\u2010worship\ncurrent in our days, let the annals of modern crime be called upon to\nwitness.\n\n\n\n\nVersailles.\n\n\nWhat an apotheosis of royalty the name evokes! Versailles and Louis\nQuatorze. As if by the stroke of the enchanter\u2019s wand, there starts up\nbefore us a long procession of heroes and poets and statesmen and wits and\nfair women, a galaxy of glory and beauty revolving around one central\nfigure as satellites round their sun. We lose sight of all the dark spots\nupon the disc in contemplating the blaze of brightness that emanates from\nit. We forget the iniquitous follies of the Grand Monarque, and remember\nnothing but the splendors of his reign, its unparalleled monarchical\ntriumph; we see him through a mist of proud achievements in war and peace,\nexcellence in every branch of science and industry, fine arts and letters,\nall that dazzled his contemporaries still dazzles us, and even at this\ndistance his faults and follies are, if not quite eclipsed, softened and\nmodified in the daze of a fictitious light. The group of illustrious men\nwho surround his throne magnify rather than diminish the individuality of\nthe man, lending a false halo to him, as if their genius were a thing of\nhis creation, an effect rather than a cause of his ascendency. How far, in\ntruth, Louis may have tended to create by his personal influence, his\nkindly patronage and keen discrimination, that wonderful assemblage of\ntalent in every grade which will remain for ever associated with his name,\nit would be difficult to determine, but, judging from the extraordinary\ninflux of genius which signalized his reign, and the corresponding dearth\nof it in the succeeding ones, we are tempted to believe that he at least\npossessed in an almost supernatural degree the gift, so precious to a\nking, of divining genius wherever it did exist, and of calling it forth\nfrom its hiding\u2010places, however dismal or remote, to the light of success\nand fame. But for the discriminating admiration of Louis, which fanned the\npoetic fire of the timid and sensitive Racine and stimulated the wit of\nthe obscure and humble Moli\u00e8re, we should assuredly have missed some of\nthe noblest efforts of both those poets. Louis was prodigal of his smiles\nto rising talent, for he knew that to it the sunshine of encouragement is\nas beneficent as the sun\u2019s warmth to the earth in spring\u2010time.\n\nBut we are beginning at the end. Versailles is identified to us chiefly if\nnot solely with Louis Quatorze and his age; but it was not so from the\nbeginning. Once upon a time it was a marshy swamp, unhealthy and\nuncultivated; and, if we deny Louis the faculty of creating men of genius,\nwe cannot refuse him that of having evolved an Eden from a wilderness.\nThere is little indeed in the history of this early period to compensate\nthe reader for keeping him waiting while we review it, still it is better\nto cast our glance back a little, not very far, a century or so, to see\nwhat were the antecedents of the site of one of the grandest historic\nmonuments of France.\n\nIn the year 1561, Martial de Lom\u00e9nie was seigneur of Versailles, and was\nfrequently honored by the visits of Henri de Navarre, who went out to hunt\nthe stag in his subject\u2019s swampy wilderness. De Lom\u00e9nie sold it to Albert\nde Gondy, Mar\u00e9chal de Retz, who in his turn was honored by the presence of\nhis sovereign, Louis XIII., there. Louis was in the habit of indulging his\nfavorite pastime at Versailles, but, beyond placing his land and his game\nat the disposal of the king, the mar\u00e9chal seems to have shown scant\nhospitality to the royal hunter. Saint\u2010Simon tells us that during these\nexcursions Louis usually slept in a windmill or in a dingy inn, whose only\ncustomers were the wagoners who journeyed across that out\u2010of\u2010the\u2010way\nplace. Of the two lodgings he inclines to think the windmill was the most\ncomfortable. Louis probably found neither quarters very luxurious, for in\n1627 he purchased a piece of ground which had been in the Soisy family\nsince the fourteenth century, and built himself a hunting\u2010lodge on the\nruins of an old manor\u2010house there, to the great discomfiture of a large\ncolony of owls who had made themselves at home in the moss\u2010grown ruin.\nBassompierre deplores the vandalism which swept away the venerable shelter\nof the owls, and declares that after all the lodge was but a sorry\nimprovement on the windmill, being \u201ctoo shabby a dwelling for even a plain\n_gentilhomme_ to take conceit in.\u201d Such as it was, it satisfied the king,\nand remained untouched till it was swallowed up in the great palace which\nwas to embody all the glories of the ensuing reign. When Louis Quatorze\nconceived the design of building Versailles, he confided the execution of\nhis vast idea to Mansard, laying down, however, as a primary condition\nthat the shabby little hunting\u2010lodge of the late king should be preserved,\nand comprised in the new structure. Mansard declared that this was\nimpossible, to which Louis, with true kingly logic, replied coolly:\n_Raison de plus_.(66) No argument of artistic beauty or common sense could\nmove him from his resolution, or induce him to sanction the demolition of\nthe quaint little building that his father had raised. Rather than be\nguilty of such an unfilial act, he said he would give up the notion of his\nnew palace altogether. Mansard had nothing for it but to give way, and\npledge himself that the ugly red\u2010brick lodge should stand somehow and\nsomewhere in the magnificent pile that was already reared in his\nimagination. The only concession he obtained was that it should be\nconcealed, if this were possible. Mansard swore he would make it possible,\nand he kept his word. The lodge of Louis XIII. was swallowed up in the\nelaborate stone\u2010work of that part of the palace facing the Avenue de\nParis, and remains to this day an enduring if not a very sensible proof of\nthe filial respect of Louis XIV. This was the one solitary impediment that\nLouis threw in the architect\u2019s way; in everything else he gave him _carte\nblanche_, power unlimited, and all but unlimited wealth to work out his\nfantastic and superb conception. Simultaneously with this mighty fabric\nanother work of almost equal magnitude had to be undertaken; this was the\nplanting of the park and the gardens. The country for miles around the\nsite of the palace was a swamp abounding with reptiles, and reeking with\nvapors of so deadly a character that the men employed in draining it died\nlike flies of a malaria that raged like a pestilence for months together.\nThey refused after a time to continue the work, though enormous wages were\noffered, and it was found necessary at last, under pain of abandoning it,\nto press men into the service as for the army in time of war. No accurate\nstatistics are extant as to the number of victims who perished in the\nexecution of this royal freak; but the most authentic opinions of the time\nput it at the astounding figure of _twenty thousand_. So much for the good\nold times of the _ancien r\u00e9gime_, that we are apt to invest with a sort of\npathetic prestige. What were the lives of so many _vilains_(67) and the\ntears and hunger of innumerable _vilaines_, widows and orphans of the dead\nmen, in comparison to the supreme pleasure of the king and the\naccomplishment of his omnipotent will? The death\u2010sweat of these human\ncattle rained upon the swamp, and in due time it was\u2019 made wholesome,\npurified as so many foul spots upon the earth are by the sweat of toil and\nsorrow, and fitted to grow flowers and green trees that would diffuse\ntheir fragrance and spread pleasant shade where corruption and barrenness\nhad dwelt.\n\nLe Notre, that prince of gardeners, may be truly said to have created the\npleasure\u2010grounds of Versailles; nature had thrown many obstacles in his\nway, she thwarted him at every step, but her obstinate resistance only\nstimulated his genius to loftier flights and his indomitable energy to\nstronger efforts. He conquered in the end. Never was conquest more fully\nappreciated than Le Notre\u2019s by his royal master. Louis not only rewarded\nhim with more than princely liberality, but admitted him to his personal\nintimacy, treating the plebeian artist with an affectionate familiarity\nthat he never extended to the high and mighty courtiers who looked on in\nenvy and admiration. Le Notre was too little of a courtier himself to\nvalue adequately the honor of the king\u2019s condescension, but he loved the\nman, and took no pains to conceal it; there was an expansive _bonhomie_, a\nnative simplicity in his character, that, contrasting as it did with the\nartificial atmosphere of the court, charmed Louis, and he would listen\nwith delight to the honest fellow\u2019s garrulity while he related, with na\u00efve\nsatisfaction, the tale of his early struggles and the difficult and hardy\ntriumphs of his talent and perseverance. Versailles was, of course, to be\nthe crowning achievement of his life, and nothing could exceed the\ndiligence and ardor that he brought to bear on it. He besought the king\nnot to inspect the works while they were in the progressive stage, but to\nwait, once he had seen the disposition of the ground, till they were\nadvanced to a certain point. Louis humored him by consenting, though\ngreatly against his inclination. He kept his word faithfully in spite of\nall temptations of curiosity and impatience; contenting himself with\nquestioning Le Notre, at stated times, as to how things were getting on,\nbut never once, in his frequent and regular visits of inspection to the\npalace, did he set foot within the forbidden precincts. The day came at\nlast when his forbearance was to be rewarded. Le Notre invited him to\nenter the closed doors. Louis came, and found that the reality far\noutstripped his most sanguine expectations; he was in raptures with all he\nbeheld, and declared himself abundantly rewarded for his patience. Le\nNotre, no less enchanted than the king, walked on beside his chair, doing\nthe honors of the gardens and the park, and listening with a swelling\nheart to the exclamations of delight that greeted every fresh view that\nopened in the landscape. It seemed, indeed, as if a whole army of fairies\nhad been at work to bring such a paradise out of chaos; long rows of\nstately full\u2010grown trees, brought from a distance and transplanted into\nthe arid soil, had taken root and were flourishing as in their native\nearth; winding paths intersected majestic avenues, and led the visitor,\nunexpectedly, to richly planted groves, where marble fauns hid coyly, as\nif frightened to be caught by the sunlight in their unveiled beauty; all\nthe elves in fairyland, all the gods in Olympia, were here congregated,\nnow astray in the green tangle of the wood, now standing in majestic\ngroups, or peeping singly through an opening in the foliage as if they\nwere playing hide\u2010and\u2010seek; water\u2010nymphs, dashing the soft spray round\ntheir naked limbs, started unexpectedly from nooks and corners, cooling\nthe air that was heavy with the scent of flowers; the rush of the cascade\nanswered the laughing ripple of the fountain; from bower to bower there\ncame a concert of water\u2010music, such as no mortal ear had ever heard\nbefore; it was, indeed, a sight to set before a king, and the gardener\nmight well rejoice who had worked these wonders in the desert.\n\nLe Notre had been all this time trotting briskly by the king\u2019s rolling\u2010\nchair. When they had gone over the enchanted region, Louis said: \u201cYou are\ntired, my friend; get up here beside me, and let us go over it all once\nmore.\u201d\n\nAnd Le Notre, without more ado, jumped up beside the king, and they began\nit all over again, as the children say of their favorite stories. He\nexplained to Louis how he nearly despaired of ever getting that birch\u2010\ngrove right, owing to a bed of rock that would not be dislodged to make\nroom for it; now and then he would catch the king by the sleeve, and bid\nhim shut his eyes and not open them till they came to a certain point,\nwhen he would cry _Voil\u00e0!_\u2014demeaning himself altogether like a true child\nof nature, and enjoying thoroughly the sympathy of the companion who, for\nthe time being, a common delight made kindred with him. Suddenly, however,\nit seems to have dawned upon him that he was riding side by side with the\nking of France. He rubbed his hands, and exclaimed with childlike glee:\n\u201cWhat a proud day this is in my life!\u201d And then, as the tears came\nunchecked into his honest eyes, he added: \u201cAnd if my good old father could\nbut see me, what a happy one it would be!\u201d\n\nLouis, entering into the son\u2019s emotion, made him talk on about his old\nfather, and listened with profound interest to the story of their humble\nlife in common. He wanted to give Le Notre letters\u2010patent of nobility, and\nso raise all his family to the rank of _gentilshommes_, but the offer was\ngratefully declined; it would have been a temptation to most men, but it\nwas not to Le Notre; he had no ambitions of a worldly cast; his sole\naspirations were those of a man of genius, and he preferred retaining the\nname of his father and ennobling it by a higher title than it was in the\npower of kings to bestow.\n\nAs soon as the palace and the grounds were finished, Louis came and took\nup his abode at Versailles. Then began that series of f\u00eates and pageants\nthat makes the annals of that time read like the description of a long\ncarnival. One of the most gorgeous of these f\u00eates was a sort of\n_carrousel_, given in 1664, when no less than five hundred guests were\nconveyed to Versailles in the king\u2019s suite and at his expense\u2014no small\nmatter in the days when railways were unknown, and carriages drawn by six\nor eight horses were the only mode of travelling for persons of rank. The\nking played the part of \u201cRoger\u201d in the _carrousel_, and came riding on a\nwhite charger, magnificently caparisoned, all the court diamonds being\ngiven up to the adornment of rider and steed; he advanced at the head of a\ncavalcade of two hundred knights, after which came a golden chariot,\ncalled the \u201cChariot of the Sun,\u201d and filled with shepherds and many\nmythological personages; the three queens, namely, the queen\u2010dowager Anne\nd\u2019Autriche, the reigning queen, and the Queen of England, widow of Charles\nI., surrounded by three hundred ladies of the rank and beauty of France,\nassisted at the entrance of the tournament, while a vast concourse of\nenthusiastic spectators added by their presence to the enlivenment of the\nscene. At night \u201cfour thousand huge torches\u201d illuminated the gardens; the\nsupper was spread by nymphs and fauns, while Pan and Diana, \u201cadvancing on\na moving mountain,\u201d came down to preside over the festive board. Not the\nleast noteworthy episode of the entertainment, which lasted seven days,\nwas the representation of Moli\u00e8re\u2019s _Princesse d\u2019Elide_ and the first\nthree acts of _Tartuffe_, played now for the first time. The earlier f\u00eates\nat Versailles were marked by the presence of the greatest and fairest\nnames that illustrated the reign of Louis Quatorze, so fertile throughout\nin celebrities.\n\nForemost in the gay and brilliant throng stands the figure of the one\nwoman whom Louis ever really loved, the pale and pensive Louise de la\nValli\u00e8re, she who was in reality the goddess of this gorgeous temple, but\nwho, in the words of Mme. de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, \u201chid herself in the grass like a\nviolet,\u201d and whose modesty and humility in the midst of her erring\ntriumphs drew from all hearts the pardon she never wrung from her own\nuncompromising conscience.\n\nAll the glories of France flocked to Versailles as to a shrine where they\ndid homage and were glorified in turn. At every step we meet the majestic\nfigure of the Grand Monarque. See him at the top of the great stair,\ncalling out to the Grand Cond\u00e9, who toils painfully up the marble steps,\nbending under the weight of years and the fatigues of war: \u201cTake your\ntime, cousin; you are too heavily laden with laurels to walk fast; we can\nwait for you.\u201d Not a room, or a terrace, or a gallery but has a witness to\nbring forth of the king\u2019s courtesy or the king\u2019s magnificence. There is\nthe _cabinet du roi_, where he used to work at the affairs of state with\nhis ministers, not one of whom worked as hard as the king himself. His\nministers were not his tools nevertheless; despotic as he was, Louis let\nthem hold their own against him, and when they had justice on their side\nhe could yield gracefully to the opposition and respect the courage that\nprompted it. Witness the scene between him and his Chancellor Voisin,\nwhich took place in this same _cabinet du roi_. One of the most\ndisreputable men of that not very reputable court, by dint of intrigue,\nobtained from Louis a promise of _lettres de gr\u00e2ce_. Next day, when the\nchancellor came in to his usual work, the king desired him to affix the\ngreat seals to the document, which was ready prepared. Voisin looked over\nit first conscientiously as was his custom, and then flatly refused to\nobey the king\u2019s command, denouncing the grant of the _lettres de gr\u00e2ce_ to\nsuch a man as an abuse of the royal privilege. Louis replied that his word\nwas pledged, and it was too late now to discuss the unworthiness of the\nsubject; he put forward his hand, and, seeing that Voisin did not move, he\ntook the seals himself and affixed them to the deed. The chancellor looked\non in silence, but, when Louis handed him back the badge of office, he\ndrew away his hand, and said haughtily: \u201cThey are polluted; I will never\ntake them back.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a man!\u201d exclaimed Louis, with a glance of frank admiration at his\nsturdy minister, and he flung the deed into the fire.\n\nVoisin quietly took up the seals, and went on with his work as if nothing\nhad occurred to interrupt it.\n\nIt was in the _cabinet du roi_ that Louis took leave of the Duc d\u2019Anjou,\non the eve of his departure for Spain, with those memorable words:\n\u201cPartez, mon fils, il n\u2019y a plus de Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es!\u201d(68)\n\nBut it is in the _Salle du Tr\u00f4ne_ that the Grand Monarque appears to us in\nhis most congenial attitude; here we see him in his true element, playing\nthe king as the world never saw it played before, and assuredly never will\nagain; here all the potentates of the earth came and greeted him\nspontaneously as _le roi_, as if he were the only real king, and they his\nvassals, or, at least, his humble imitators. One day we see the ambassador\nof the Dey of Algiers presenting in his name \u201ca little present of twelve\nArab steeds, and humbly praying that the mighty majesty of France would\ndeign to accept them, seeing that King Solomon himself had accepted the\nleg of the grasshopper tendered to him by the ant.\u201d\n\nOn another occasion, we see the stately Doge of Genoa advancing to pay his\ncourt; Louis questions him concerning the behavior of the courtiers to\nhim, and the doge replies: \u201cTruly, if the King of France steals away the\nliberty of our hearts, his courtiers take care to restore it.\u201d The king\nsuspects the reply to be provoked by some discourtesy on the part of his\n_entourage_, and, having investigated the matter and found that Louvois\nand De Croissy had demeaned themselves with unseemly hauteur to the\nsensitive stranger, he severely rebuked them in the presence of the whole\ncourt.\n\nIt was here, no doubt, seated on his golden throne, that Louis received\nthe chief of Ch\u00e2teaubriand\u2019s tale, and astonished him by the splendor of\nhis state, and sent the noble savage back to his home in the far West to\nrelate to the awe\u2010stricken children of the forest the wonders of the great\nFrench chief \u201cwhose superb wigwam he had beheld.\u201d\n\nThe _Salle du Sacre_ is less exclusive in its associations, the presence\nof the _grand roi_ being thrown into the shade by the subsequent military\nglory of the _grande arm\u00e9e_. David has covered the walls with the chief\nevents of Napoleon\u2019s career, beginning with the first consulship, and\ncontinuing through the triumphal march of the Empire. When the first\nseries of these immense pictures was shown to Napoleon, he, startled by\ntheir magnitude, of which he was probably a better judge than of their\ntalent, turned to the painter, and exclaimed: \u201cNow I must build a palace\nto lodge them!\u201d\n\nThe _Salle des Amiraux_, which, as its name indicates, is consecrated to\nthe memory of the naval heroes of France, was formerly the room of the\nDauphin, son of Louis XIV. So little is known of this prince beyond the\nfact that he was the direct antithesis of his father in habits and\ncharacter, that the following anecdote may be found interesting as\nconnected with him:\n\nThe dauphin, like most princes of his time, was passionately fond of the\nchase. On one occasion he set out on a hunting expedition accompanied by a\nlarge party, and towards nightfall he and one of his equerries got\nseparated from the rest, and found themselves astray in a dense wood,\nwhere they wandered for some hours without meeting any signs of human\nhabitation. They came at last upon a small cottage, which, from its\nisolated position and shabby appearance, he set down as most likely a\nrendezvous of robbers, that part of the country being much frequented by\nthese worthies. They were well armed, however, and determined to risk the\nbarbarous hospitality of the thieves rather than pass the night amidst the\nsnakes and other uncomfortable inmates of the woods. They knocked at the\ndoor, first meekly, then more peremptorily, and at last furiously; getting\nno answer, they resolved to break open the house, and began hammering away\nvigorously with the but\u2010end of their guns at the shaky old door. At this\ncrisis a window opened somewhere, and a voice, that quavered with fright,\nbesought the burglars to go away, as they would find nothing in so poor a\nlodging to repay their trouble. Summoned to say whom it belonged to, the\nvoice replied that it was that of the _cur\u00e9_ of the neighboring hamlet,\nwhereupon the huntsmen begged him to come down and spare them further\ntrouble by opening the door himself. After much expostulation the host\nobeyed, and then his guests desired him to serve the best he had for their\nsupper; there was no use protesting with visitors who had such formidable\narguments on their shoulders and glistening in their belts, so the cur\u00e9\nobeyed with the best grace he could. There was nothing substantial in the\nlarder, he declared, but a leg of mutton, which the gentlemen were welcome\nto if they would undertake to cook it and let him go back to his bed. This\nthey agreed to, with great good\u2010humor and many courteous thanks, and the\nold priest, after showing them where to find food and shelter for their\nhorses, wished them a good appetite and betook himself to his couch,\nmarvelling much at the sudden gentleness and courtesy of these singular\nburglars who had made their entry in so boisterous and uncivil a manner.\nThe burglars, meantime, did full justice to his hospitality and their own\ncooking, and, having supped heartily, flung themselves at full length on\nthe floor, and were soon sound asleep\u2014sounder, no doubt, than their host,\nwhose slumbers, if he slept at all, were most likely disturbed by visions\nof highwaymen arresting and murdering the king\u2019s subjects or throttling\nhonest folk in their beds, and such like unrefreshing dreams. The good man\nwas up betimes, and while the hunters were still fast asleep he slipt out\nto seek some breakfast for them. Meantime the hunt, which had been in\npursuit of the prince all night, perceived the little wreath of smoke that\ncurled up from the cur\u00e9\u2019s chimney on the clear morning air, and at once\nmade for the point whence it proceeded, sounding the horn as it\napproached. The prince and his companions started to their feet at the\nfirst note of the welcome signal, rushed to their horses, and were in the\nsaddle and far out of sight before their host returned from his foraging\nexpedition. Great was his surprise to find the birds had flown, but he was\nglad to be rid of them, and on such easy terms, for they had carried off\nnothing\u2014the house was just as he had left it. It was not a thing to boast\nof, having harbored a couple of highwaymen for a night, though they had\nbehaved so considerately to him\u2014the cur\u00e9, therefore, kept the adventure to\nhimself. But he had not heard the last of it. The next day a messenger\ncame in hot haste from Versailles with a summons for him to appear without\nfurther delay before the king. Terrified out of his five wits, and knowing\nfull well what had brought this judgment upon him, the worthy old priest\ntook up his stick and asked no questions, but forthwith made his way to\nthe palace. He was conducted at once to the Salle du Tr\u00f4ne, where Louis,\nsurrounded by the rank and blood of France, was seated as for some solemn\nceremonial on his chair of state. He bent a stern gaze on the cur\u00e9, and in\naccents that made the culprit\u2019s soul shake within him, demanded how it\ncame to pass that a man of his holy calling made his house a rendezvous\nfor midnight robbers who prowled about the country, disturbing honest\nsubjects and breaking the king\u2019s laws. The cur\u00e9 fell upon his knees, and\nhumbly confessing cowardly concealment of a fact that he was in conscience\nbound to have denounced at once to the nearest magistrate, pleaded,\nnevertheless, that the bearing of those malefactors was so noble and their\nmanners so courteous that he had doubts as to whether they were indeed\nsuch and not rather two knights of his majesty\u2019s court; whereupon Louis\nbade the malefactors come forward, and, introducing them by name to the\nbewildered cur\u00e9, enjoined him to be less cautious another time in opening\nhis doors to benighted gentlemen.\n\n\u201cAnd in payment of the leg of mutton which my son was so unmannerly as to\nconfiscate on you,\u201d continued the king, \u201cI name you Grand Prieur, with the\nrevenues and privileges attached to the office.\u201d This was assuredly the\nhighest price that ever a leg of mutton fetched.\n\nThe _chambre \u00e2 coucher de la reine_(69) plays a distinct part of its own\nin the annals of Versailles. We forget its first occupant, the gentle,\nlong\u2010suffering Marie Th\u00e9r\u00e8se, of whom, on hearing of her death, Louis\nQuatorze exclaimed: \u201cThis is the first sorrow she ever caused me!\u201d we\nforget the longer\u2010suffering wife of Louis Quinze, the charitable Marie\nLeczinska, surnamed by the people \u201cthe good queen\u201d; we lose sight of all\nthe august figures who pass before us in the retrospect of this royal\nchamber, and see only Marie Antoinette, the haughty sovereign, the heroic\nmother and devoted wife, who has made it all her own. We see her, woke out\nof her sleep, and the cries of the mob menacing the palace in the dead of\nthe night, and flying hardly dressed from the _chambre de la reine_ to\ntake refuge in the dauphin\u2019s apartment, while the faithful guards dispute\nwith their lives the entrance of her own to the mad multitude that have\nnow broken in like a destroying torrent and are close upon the threshold.\nThe walls seem still to echo the cry of those two brave guards as they\nfell: \u201cSave the queen! Save the queen!\u201d The great tragedy that was to\nchange the whole destinies of France may be said to have begun on this\nterrible night of the 6th of October.\n\nThe _chambre \u00e0 coucher du roi_(70) is, on the other hand, filled with\nLouis Quatorze to the exclusion of all other memories. Here was performed\nthat solemn comedy in which the warriors and statesmen of the day took\ntheir part so gravely: the _lever_ and _coucher de roi_. When we read the\nminute details given in the chronicles of the time of the ceremonial gone\nthrough by his courtiers every time the king got in and out of bed, it is\na severe tax on our credulity to believe that the _dramatis person\u00e6_ who\nplayed the farce so seriously were not fools or grinning idiots, but sane\nand sober men whose lineage was second only in blue\u2010blooded antiquity to\nthat of C\u00e6sar himself, men of talent, men of genius, heroes who fought\ntheir country\u2019s battles and deemed it no derogation to come from the field\nof glory and fight for the honor of handing the king his stockings or his\npantaloons. This proud _noblesse_ whom Richelieu could not conquer by the\nsword or subdue by tortures and imprisonment, lay down at the feet of\nLouis, and, it is hardly a figure of speech to say, licked them. They\nappear to have looked upon him, not as a mortal like themselves, however\nelevated above them in rank and power, but as a god, a being altogether\napart from them in species. One is tempted to believe that both they and\nhe must occasionally have been possessed with some vague notion that it\nwas so; there is no other way of accounting for the servile worship which\nthey tendered as a duty, and which he accepted as a due. Truly that famous\n\u201c_L\u2019\u00e9tat c\u2019est moi!_\u201d(71) sounds more of a god than a man; and that other\nutterance of Louis, _Messieurs, j\u2019ai failli attendre!_(72) addressed to\nthe proudest nobility in Europe, who were barely in their places when the\nflourish of trumpets announced the king\u2019s entrance, is scarcely less\ngrotesque in its superhuman pride.\n\nThis great and little _coucher_ which was surrounded by so much prestige\nin the court of France was somewhat ridiculed by contemporary sovereigns,\nfor the honor of humanity be it said; their admiration for Louis did not\ngo the length of viewing the august ceremonial otherwise than in the light\nof a bore or a joke. When Frederick the Great heard from his ambassador an\naccount of the first _grand lever_ at which he assisted at Versailles, he\nburst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and exclaimed: \u201cWell, if I\nwere king of France, I would certainly hire some small king to go through\nall that for me!\u201d\n\nConsidering how eagerly his courtiers contended for the honor of dressing\nthe king\u2019s person, one would have fancied the privilege of making his bed\nwould have been proportionately coveted, and held second only to the honor\nof holding his majesty\u2019s boots; but, such is the inconsistency of human\nbeings, this was not the case. The courtiers probably felt that a line\nshould be drawn somewhere, so they drew it here; they would not perform\nthis menial office for the Grand Monarque, and the distinction of turning\nhis mattresses and spreading his quilt devolved on valets of a lower\ngrade. Among this inferior herd was one named Moli\u00e8re, a youth whom his\ncomrades laughed at and treated as a sort of crazy creature who was always\nin the moon. One day when it happened to be his turn to spread the royal\nsheets, the poet Belloc overheard them chaffing him and refusing to help\nhim in his work. He went up to Moli\u00e8re, and said: \u201cMonsieur de Moli\u00e8re,\nwill you do me the honor of allowing me to help you to make the king\u2019s\nbed?\u201d and Moli\u00e8re granted the request. The incident came to the king\u2019s ear\nand led to his noticing the eccentric valet. A little later, and we see\nhim standing behind the valet\u2019s chair in this same room, where his\nmajesty\u2019s dinner was sometimes served, and waiting upon him, while the\ncourtiers who had refused to sit at table with Moli\u00e8re stood round,\nlooking on in \u201cmute consternation at the strange spectacle,\u201d Saint\u2010Simon\ntells us, who owns na\u00efvely to sharing their consternation.\n\n\u201cSince none of my courtiers will admit Monsieur de Moli\u00e8re to their\ntable,\u201d said Louis, \u201cI must needs set him down at mine, and show them that\nI count it an honor for the King of France to wait upon so great a man.\u201d\n\nHere, in this bed that Belloc and Moli\u00e8re had made together, Louis\nQuatorze died. From under the crimson and gold canopy which had witnessed\nthe eternal _levers_ and _couchers_, Louis rebuked the violent grief of\ntwo young pages who stood within the balustrade, that sanctum sanctorum\nwhich none under a prince of the blood or a high chancellor dare pass at\nany other time; they were weeping bitterly. \u201cWhat!\u201d exclaimed the king,\n\u201cdid ye, then, think I was immortal?\u201d There was a time when he himself\nseemed to have thought so; but viewed by that vivid light that breaks\nthrough the mists of death, things wore a different aspect in his eyes;\nand the adulation which would fain have treated him as immortal, and which\nwas during life as the breath of his nostrils to Louis, showed now as the\nempty bubble that it was.\n\nNo one ever again slept in the bed which had been honored by the last sigh\nof the Grand Monarque; the room remained henceforth unoccupied, and, with\nthe exception of the pictures which have been removed, is still just as he\nleft it. Louis carried his favorite pictures about with him wherever he\nwent. \u201cDavid,\u201d by Domenichino, his best beloved of them all, is now to be\nseen at the Louvre; otherwise little has been altered in the _chambre du\nroi_; the bed and the _ruelle_ are in their old place, also the table, on\nwhich a cold collation was laid every night in case of the king\u2019s awaking\nand feeling hungry; this precautionary little meal was called the _en\ncas_; and the name with the habit, which had given rise to it, is still\nperpetuated in many old\u2010fashioned French families. Louis Quinze, from some\nsuperstitious feeling, could never bring himself to sleep in the death\u2010\nchamber of his illustrious great\u2010grandfather; he took possession of what\nwas then the _salle de billiard_, a noble room opening into the _\u0153il\u2010de\u2010\nb\u0153uf_ (bull\u2019s eye), so called from its having an _\u0153il\u2010de\u2010b\u0153uf_ over the\nlarge window at the north end. In an alcove in this billiard hall, Louis\nXV. died. The adjoining _\u0153il\u2010de\u2010b\u0153uf_ was filled with the courtiers, who\ndare not venture within the polluted atmosphere of the royal chamber, but\nstood outside it, consulting together in \u201cguilty whispers\u201d as to what they\nought to do; dreading on one hand the reward of their cowardice if the\nking should recover, and fearing on the other to fly too soon with their\nservile congratulations to his successor. In the great court below another\ncrowd was assembled, watching in breathless silence for the signal which\nwas to proclaim the king\u2019s death. What a spectacle it was!\u2014what a lesson\nfor a king! The flatterers who yesterday had been his slaves, pandering to\nhis vices, and helping to make him the abject creature that he was,\nabandoned him now that he was struggling with grim Death, and, all\nabsorbed in selfish cares for their own interest, in speculations of the\nfavor of the new king, they had no pity in their hearts for the master who\ncould pay them no more. It came at last, the signal; the small flame of a\ncandle was seen flickering through the darkness, and then held up at the\nwindow of the _\u0153il\u2010de\u2010b\u0153uf_. \u201cSuddenly there was a noise,\u201d says the\nhistorian of that ghastly scene, \u201clike a roll of thunder, it was the\ncourtiers rushing from the antechamber of the dead king to greet his\nsuccessor.\u201d Only his daughters had been brave enough to stand by the\nbedside of the dying man, and, now that he was gone, there was not one in\nall that multitude who could be induced to perform the last office of\nmercy towards his poor remains. It was imperative, nevertheless, that the\nbody should be embalmed, and this appalling task devolved upon Andouill\u00e9,\nthe late king\u2019s surgeon. The Duc de Villequier went up to him and reminded\nhim of it; he knew that the operation must insure certain death to the\noperator, but that was not his concern.\n\n\u201cIt is your duty, monsieur,\u201d said the duke; and he was coolly turning away\nwhen Andouill\u00e9 stopped him. \u201cYes,\u201d he replied, \u201cit is my duty, and it is\nyours to hold the head.\u201d De Villequier had forgotten this; he made no\nanswer, but left the room, and nothing more was said about the embalmment.\nThe body was hustled into a coffin, and smuggled rather than conveyed in\nthe dead of the night to S. Denis, a few menials accompanying the King of\nFrance to his last resting\u2010place. The spirit of French loyalty may be said\nto have been buried with Louis Quinze; \u201cthe divinity that doth hedge a\nking\u201d was that night laid low in France, wrapped in the shroud that\ncovered the unutterable mass of corruption consigned like a dog to the\nready\u2010made grave in S. Denis. _Le roi_ could never again be to the nation\nwhat he had been heretofore. _Le roi est mort, vive le roi!_(73) ceased to\nbe the watchword of its fealty; _le roi_, that being invested not merely\nwith supreme authority, but with a sort of vague personal sacredness that\nhas no parallel in modern loyalty, died with Louis Quinze, never to be\nresuscitated. The miserable death of the libertine prince, fit ending to\nan ignoble life, came upon his people in the light of a divine judgment,\nswift and awful, and dealt the last blow at that prestige which had for\ngenerations been the bulwark of king\u2010worship and shaded with its\nmysterious reverence the iniquities of the throne. No man suffers alone\nfor his sins, but how much more truly may this be said of kings! Who could\nmeasure the depth of the gulf that Louis XV. had dug through his long\nreign for those who were to come after him, and realize the consequences\nof his evil deeds to future generations of Frenchmen? There is no greater\nfallacy than to attribute to an age the responsibility of its own\ndestinies; none probably ever saw the beginning and end of its own\nhistory, for good or evil, but less than any other can the period of the\nRevolution be said to have witnessed this unity. We must look much further\nback to trace the rising of the red flood that inundated France in \u201993. It\nwas the insane extravagance of Louis XIV.\u2019s reign and the official\ndepravity of the succeeding one that sowed the harvest that was to be\nreaped in fire by the innocent victims of a corruption which for a whole\ncentury had been seething as in the caldron of the Prophet\u2019s vision, till\nit boiled over in the mad frenzy of the Revolution, and swallowed up not\nonly the monarch, but the soul and reason of France, in a deluge of\nexasperated hate and suicidal revenge. Louis Seize, the martyred king who\nwas to expiate the follies and crimes of his predecessors, next passes\nbefore us along the galleries of Versailles. There is an interval of\npeace, a short halcyon time of pastorals and idyls, we see Marie\nAntoinette playing at shepherdess in Arcadia, we hear Trianon ringing with\nthe music of her light\u2010hearted laughter, we see her choosing a friend,(74)\nand braving the jealous anger that makes a crime of her friendship though\nit be wise, and rebukes her mirth though it be innocent; but the queen\nturns a deaf ear to all warning sounds and shuts her eyes to the gathering\nclouds. Imprudent Marie Antoinette! Ill\u2010adapted wife of timid, hesitating,\nmagnanimous Louis Seize, the Bourbon of whom it was written with truth:\n\n\n    \u201cLouis ne sut qu\u2019aimer et pardonner,\n    S\u2019il avait su punir, il aurait su regner.\u201d(75)\n\n\nHe loved and forgave to the end, but he never learned to punish. Warnings\nwere not wanting, but he would not heed them. See him standing in the\nembrasure of the window of that _cabinet du roi_ whence Louis Quatorze\nruled the kings and peoples of Europe; a new power has arisen; it is the\npeople\u2019s turn to rule the king, his brow is clouded, his lip trembles, not\nwith fear\u2014that base emotion never stirred the soul of Louis Seize\u2014but with\nanguish, perplexity, doubts in himself that amounted to despair. He\nlistens to the murmurs of the crowd down below; and to De Br\u00e9z\u00e9, who\nrepeats, in tremulous accents, Mirabeau\u2019s message of tremendous import:\n\u201cGo tell the king that the will of the people has brought us here, and\nnothing but the force of bayonets shall drive us hence!\u201d That force he\nknew full well would never be appealed to; it was not the people who\nshould be driven hence, it was they who would drive the king. Presently we\nsee the ponderous state coach jolting slowly down the Avenue de Paris, the\nfirst stage of the royal martyrs towards the guillotine; the mob, in a\nfrenzy of drunken triumph, jostled it from side to side, pressing rudely\nthrough the windows to stare at their victims, and insulting them by\nthrusting the red cap into their faces, and shouting as they go: \u201cThe\nbaker and the bakeress! now we have caught them, and the people shall have\nbread!\u201d This journey dates a new era in the annals of Versailles, it is\nthe death\u2010knell of the pleasant days of royalty; there are to be no more\n_f\u00eates pastorales_ at Trianon, no more merry children of France careering\nover the flowery terraces, making the sombre alleys bright and the gay\nflowers brighter with the sweet melody of child laughter; all this is\ngone, and passed like a dream. \u201cThe old order of things has vanished,\nmaking place for the new.\u201d Soon we shall see the palace of Louis Quatorze\nstripped of its costly furniture, invaded by the rabble, and pillaged from\ngarret to cellar. The Convention will deem it right to utilize the\n\u201cforegoing abode of the tyrants\u201d by turning it into a hospital; they will\ntransport the invalids to Versailles, but the rheumatic old heroes will\nfind the apartments of the Grand Monarque too grand to be comfortable,\nthey will complain of their pains and aches being aggravated by the\ndraughts, and beg to be taken back to their homely quarters, and the\nConvention, in its benevolence, will accede to the request.\n\nLouis XVIII. was anxious to fix his residence at Versailles, and went the\nlength of spending six millions of francs on repairing the fa\u00e7ade, which\nhad been sadly battered by the Revolution, but he found that the expense\nof refurnishing the palace would have been too much for the exhausted\nfinances of France; so he gave up the idea.\n\nLouis Philippe restored it to its ancient splendor, but not for his own\nuse; he made it over to the nation as a museum, where they might go and\nenjoy themselves, and see all the glories of their country commemorated.\nMany of the victories of the _grande arm\u00e9e_ were painted to his order to\ncomplete the series already decorating the walls. Versailles has retained\never since this national character. Under the Second Empire it was used\noccasionally for f\u00eates given to foreign princes; the most magnificent of\nthese was the one prepared for the Queen of England when she visited\nNapoleon III. after his marriage.\n\nFrance has undergone many strange vicissitudes, and her palaces have\nharbored many unlikely guests; but among the strangest on record none can\nassuredly compete with the recent experiences of Versailles. If the spirit\nof Louis XIV. be permitted sometimes to haunt the scene of his earthly\npride, what must his feelings have been during the last two years! What\ndid he feel on beholding the halls which had echoed to his conquering step\nheld by the victorious soldiers of Germany, and vacated by them to make\nway for the President of the French Republic? But this crowning enormity\nstopped short at the threat. The _chambre du roi_ was indeed placed at the\ndisposal of the President, but whether it was that he shrank from the\nprofanation, or feared the vast proportions of the great king\u2019s palace, as\nlikely to prove too large a frame for the representative of a republic, he\ndeclined taking up his abode there. Versailles continues still to be the\nresort of the people and of travellers from all parts of the world.\n\n\n\n\nFather Isaac Jogues, S.J.\n\n\nFather Isaac Jogues, the first of the missionaries to bear the cross into\nthe interior of our country, and the first to shed his blood on its soil\nfor the faith of Christ, was a native of Orleans, France. He was born on\nthe 10th of January, 1607, of a family distinguished alike for their\nvirtues and their worth. In the bosom of this pious family the young Isaac\nwas reared up, surrounded by all the profound and pleasing practices of\nCatholic devotion. Lessons of religion and letters were imparted together,\nand the scholar from his earliest youth proved himself remarkably apt at\nboth. As soon as he was old enough, he was sent, to his own great joy, to\nthe college at Orleans, then recently established by the Jesuit Fathers,\nunder whose instruction he made rapid progress in his studies. The virtues\nof his character so ingratiated him with his companions at college, that\nno thought of jealousy ever entered their hearts at the eminence he\nenjoyed as a student.\n\nAs the close of his collegiate course drew near, he began, more seriously\nthan ever, to meditate on the greatest act of one\u2019s life\u2014the selection of\na vocation. It was his extraordinary devotion to the Passion of Our Lord\nthat settled this question for him. The cathedral church of his native\ncity was dedicated to the Holy Cross, and there from his tenderest years\nhe gazed daily upon that sacred symbol of the Passion and Redemption\nglittering from the spires of the temple, and it became the object of his\nwarmest affection.\n\n\n    \u201cO lovely tree whose branches wore\n    The royal purple of his gore!\n    Oh! may aloft thy branches shoot,\n    And fill all nations with thy fruit!\u201d\n\n\nImpelled by this devotion, he retired into himself in order to discover\nhis vocation, and heard within his soul the voice of Heaven calling him to\nthe Society of Jesus. Having applied for admission into the Society, and\nbeing received with alacrity by the superior, he entered upon his\nnovitiate in October, 1624. To complete his studies he next went to the\ncelebrated college of La Fl\u00e8che, where he passed his examination in\nphilosophy at the end of three years with great distinction. Then, in\nobedience to the discipline of his order, the young Jesuit went to teach\nin the college at Rouen, and for four years instructed the youth of that\ncity in the elements of the Latin language, in the principles of religion\nand the practice of piety. So fruitful were his labors in this regard that\nhis scholars were ever distinguished for the solidity and constancy of\ntheir virtues, and many of them became companions of their saintly\npreceptor in the Society of Jesus.\n\nWe now find him winning laurels in the flowery path of literature. It was,\nat the period of which we speak, the custom at the Jesuit colleges to test\nthe qualifications of the teachers, by requiring them, at the opening of\nthe year, to deliver an oration or poem, or read a lecture of their own\nproduction, in public. Simply in obedience to this rule, and without any\ndesire of his own to gain distinction, the gifted Jogues participated in\nthese exercises, and on one occasion produced a poem of rare excellence.\nBut his heart was too thoroughly pre\u2010engaged to covet the laurels of\nliterary fame. He was intent on winning another crown\u2014the glorious crown\nof martyrdom. Yet so obedient was the young scholastic to the will of his\nsuperior and to the spirit of his institute, that he, who only desired for\nhimself the wigwam and council fires of the roving tribes of the Western\nwilds, went out with as much labor and zeal to acquire all the\naccomplishments of learning as though a professor\u2019s chair in Europe was to\nbe the field of his ambition. He was next sent to Paris, where he began\nhis course of divinity at the college of Clermont.\n\nHe applied himself to these studies with the greatest zeal, since they\nconstituted the last probation and delay preceding his elevation to the\nsacred ministry, and the realization of his fondest hope\u2014a foreign\nmission. He seems not to have discovered his future plans to his family,\nto whom he was, however, most tenderly attached. Writing to them in April,\n1635, on receiving their complaint at his not having joined them in one of\ntheir family festivals, he says: \u201cThe prayers which I offer up, as well\nafar off as near you, are the most affectionate marks I can give of my\ninterest in you all.\u201d\n\nWhen the time for the reception of holy orders drew near, he prepared\nhimself by a spiritual retreat, and was ordained in February, 1636. His\nfamily, who were extremely devoted to him, were not present at his\nordination; but his fond mother obtained from his superior a promise that\nhe might say his first Mass in his native city. He accordingly went to\nOrleans, and offered up the holy sacrifice for the first time in the\nchurch of the Holy Cross. Then, tearing himself away from his mother and\nsisters, never to see them again, he went to Rouen, and entered upon what\nis called the second novitiate in the Society of Jesus. But a fleet was\nsoon ready to sail from Dieppe for Canada, and the young missionary must\nhasten to his chosen field of labor and love.\n\nHe was accompanied on the voyage by the Jesuit Fathers Garnier and\nChatelain, and by M. de Chanflour, afterwards governor at Three Rivers.\nThe vessel in which they sailed being leaky, the pumps were kept in\nconstant motion, and the labor thus imposed upon the crew gave rise to a\nmutiny, which Father Jogues alone was able to quell. M. de Chanflour ever\nafterwards, in speaking of the voyage, attributed his safety to the\ninfluence of Father Jogues\u2019 prayers with God, and of his persuasion with\nthe men.\n\nAfter words of pious affection and encouragement which this exemplary son\nknew well how to address to that excellent mother, he proceeds in one of\nhis letters addressed to her:\n\n\u201cI write this more than three thousand miles away from you, and I may\nperhaps this year be sent to a nation called the Huron, distant nearly a\nthousand miles more from here. It shows great dispositions for embracing\nthe faith. It matters not where we are, provided we are ever in the arms\nof Providence and in his holy grace. This I beg for you and all our family\ndaily at the altar.\u201d\n\nBy his short stay at Miscou he missed the Indian flotilla, and Fathers\nGarnier and Chatelain embarked without him; but, some canoes having come\nin later, the Indians, when about to return, asked, as if reproachfully,\nwhy there was no black\u2010gown to be carried by them. Father Jogues, being\nthen at Three Rivers, was summoned to embark, and at once joyfully entered\nthe canoes.\n\nWe would gladly reproduce, did our space allow, a letter addressed to his\nmother, under date June 5, 1637, giving an account of this voyage. Suffice\nit to say that in nineteen days he accomplished what usually took twenty\u2010\nfive or thirty; joining Fathers Garnier and Chatelain, who had preceded\nhim but a month, and three other missionaries who had been five or six\nyears in the country.\n\nSupported by his zeal, he accomplished his arduous and laborious passage,\nbut no sooner arrived at Ihonitiria than his exhausted nature sank under a\ndreadful malady, which for more than a month threatened to terminate his\nexistence. With four others he lay during all this time in a cabin,\nwithout medicines or food, except such food as was an aggravation to the\ndisease. By the middle of October Father Jogues was so far recovered as to\nbe able to take the ordinary food of the country, the sagamity.\n\nIn November he set out from Ihonitiria to join Father Brebeuf at the great\ntown of Ossossan\u00e9, where for a time they were companions on earth who were\ndestined to be companions in heaven, in the enjoyment of the glorious\ncrown of martyrdom. Sickness was raging over the land, and the\nmissionaries hastened from town to town, and from cabin to cabin,\nbaptizing the dying infants, and such of the adults as were willing to\nreceive the words of eternal life. They even extended their visits to the\nneighboring Nipissings, who had been terribly afflicted with the\nprevailing maladies. The poor Indians, in most cases, would not listen to\nthe voice of the fathers, because they could not promise, as their own\nsorcerers pretended, to cure their bodily afflictions. The horrid orgies\nof the medicine\u2010men were consequently in great requisition, and one of\nthem, a little deformed creature, offered his services to one of the\nfathers in his sickness.\n\nThere was another medicine\u2010man, Tehoronhaegnon, who filled the land with\ndances and orgies of the most wicked and revolting character. The\nmissionaries labored to banish these abominations from the country, and to\nintroduce in their place the pure and holy rites of the Christian\nreligion. Unacquainted with their language, Father Jogues labored under\nthe greatest disadvantages, but by zealous and persevering application he\nwas soon able to make himself well understood; and in a few years he was\nmaster of the Huron, the key\u2010tongue to so many others. Remaining at\nOssossan\u00e9 as his place of residence, he was incessant in his visits and\nministrations in the cabins of the people, preaching the faith to all, and\nat the same time rapidly acquiring their language. Late in 1637 he\nreturned to labor in the same way at Ihonitiria. On the ruin of this town\nand its mission, he went again to join his superior, Father Brebeuf, at\nTeananstayae.\n\nIn 1639, Father Jogues accompanied Father Garnier in his expedition to\nplant the cross among the mountains of the Petuns, or Tobacco Indians.\nThey twice visited the Petun village of Ehwae, which they dedicated to SS.\nPeter and Paul. But their noble efforts were in vain; every door was\nclosed against them, and menaces assailed them on every side; even the\nwomen reproached their husbands for not killing them, and the children\npursued them through the streets. The sachems gave a feast to the young\nwarriors in order to induce them to destroy the missionaries; but the\nprovidence of God saved his servants from the impending blow.\n\nIn the next year, Father Jogues was stationed with Father Francis Duperon\nat the new residence at S. Mary\u2019s. Four towns partook of their care, and\nthese they piously dedicated to S. Ann, S. John, S. Denis, and S. Louis.\nObliged to select the worst season of the year for their labor, because\nthen only were the neophytes drawn together, their time was incessantly\noccupied in conveying to the untaught natives the faith and its\nconsolations. Next year Father Jogues was stationed permanently at St.\nMary\u2019s. Here the fathers established a hospice, where the wayfarer was\never sure to find refreshment and relief for the body as well as the soul.\nTo this sacred spot in the wilderness came Indians from distant villages\nto receive instruction in the faith, some to be baptized, some to prepare\nfor the reception of Holy Communion, some to be trained in the duties of\ncatechists, and others, like Joseph Chihatenhwa, to make a spiritual\nretreat.\n\nBut now a new enterprise for the Gospel drew Father Jogues away from St.\nMary\u2019s. This was to plant the cross in the region now comprising the state\nof Michigan. The missionaries knew that beyond the Huron Lake another vast\nexpanse of water lay which never yet had been visited by them. The strait\nwhich connected the two lakes had formerly been known by the name of\nGaston, and was supposed to have been once visited by Nicholet, but no\nintercourse ever subsisted between the French and the tribes of those\nregions. In the summer of 1641, numerous delegations from all the nations\nand tribes, scattered over a great expanse of country, were attracted to\nthe \u201cFeast of the Dead,\u201d now to be given by the Algonquins.\n\nThus, on the present occasion, the numerous branches of the vast Algonquin\nfamily were brought in contact with the Jesuit missionaries and the\nChristian Hurons, and the latter spread far and near in this vast assembly\nthe fame of the black\u2010gown chiefs. In the general interchange of presents,\nthe missionaries presented to the strangers \u201cthe wampum of the faith.\u201d The\nPanoitigoueieuhak, or Sauteux, as the French called them, a tribe\ninhabiting the small strip near the Falls of St. Mary, were particularly\nfriendly and earnest, and invited the black\u2010gowns to come and bring the\nfaith to their cabins as they had done for the Hurons. Father Raymbault\nand Father Jogues were named by the superior to visit this new and distant\nvineyard. Launching their canoes in the latter part of September at St.\nMary\u2019s, they glided over the little river Wye, and were soon on the broad,\nclear bosom of the great \u201cFresh\u2010Water Sea.\u201d For seventeen days their frail\ncanoes glided through the multitude of little islands that stud the water\nfrom the Huron promontory. They reached without accident the strait where\nSuperior empties its waters into the lower lakes, and then they\nencountered Indians assembled to the number of two thousand. From these\nthey learned of innumerable wild and warlike tribes stretching far to the\nwest and south. Here, too, their eager ears were feasted with tidings of a\nmighty river rolling towards the south till it met the sea, whose shores\nwere lined with numberless tribes and nations. Planting the cross at Sault\nSt. Mary\u2019s, the two fathers turned it hopefully and prophetically towards\nthis great mysterious river, whose vast and teeming valley they thus took\npossession of in the name of the Prince of Peace. Having opened the way to\nthis immense mission\u2010field by their visit, the two missionaries encouraged\nthe Sauteux with the prospect of a future permanent mission, and, amidst\nthe regrets of their new friends, again launched their canoes and returned\nto their mission\u2010house at St. Mary\u2019s. \u201cThus,\u201d says Bancroft, \u201cdid the\nreligious zeal of the French bear the cross to the banks of the St. Mary\nand the confines of Lake Superior, and look wistfully towards the homes of\nthe Sioux in the Valley of the Mississippi, five years before the New\nEngland Eliot had addressed the tribes of Indians that dwelt within six\nmiles of Boston Harbor.\u201d\n\nAt St. Mary\u2019s, Father Jogues remained constantly employed at the hospice\nwith Father Duperon in instructing and preparing the Indians for the\nreception of the faith. One hundred and twenty were baptized during the\nwinter, and among these was the famous warrior, Ahasistari, a chief of the\ntown of St. Joseph\u2019s.\n\nThis brave and chivalrous chief had been for some time receiving\ninstruction in the faith, and he now came forward to ask for baptism. The\nfathers at first put him off, in order that he might become still better\ninstructed; but his entreaties were so earnest, and his appreciation of\nthe Christian truths so intelligent, that it was deemed no longer\nnecessary or proper to postpone the boon. He accordingly received the\nsacrament on Holy Saturday, 1642.\n\nIt has been seen how, at Orleans, the ardent novice of the Society of\nJesus was passionately devoted to the cross, the memento of our Saviour\u2019s\nPassion. Like S. Peter, his heart was still for ever enamored with the\nsacred humanity of his divine Master. Thus his devotion to the Blessed\nSacrament was intense, and the Real Presence, the greatest of blessings,\nmade the wilderness of America a paradise to Father Jogues. Father Buteux\nsays of him that he was \u201ca soul glued to the Blessed Sacrament.\u201d His\nprayers, meditations, office, examens of conscience\u2014in fine, all his\ndevotions\u2014were performed in the little chapel before the Holy Eucharist.\nNeither heat, nor cold, nor the swarms of mosquitoes, with which the\nchapel was infested, could induce him to forego the society of his\nSaviour. No wonder he was attracted thither; for it was in the little\nchapel that he was not unfrequently favored with heavenly visitations. It\nwas there, too, that he breathed that heroic prayer, whose only petition\nwas that he might be allowed to bear a portion of his Saviour\u2019s cross. His\nprayer was heard\u2014a warning voice fortified his soul for the approaching\nconflict.\n\nThe necessities of the Huron missionaries had now arrived at the point of\nextreme distress. They were reduced to procure the wine for the altar from\nthe wild grape; at last, flour to make the sacred host was wanting for the\nholy sacrifice, and the missionaries themselves were in want of clothes\nand other necessaries of life. The perilous passage through various\nintervening hostile tribes to procure relief from Quebec for the pressing\ndemands of the mission must now be undertaken by some one, and Father\nJerome Lalemant, the superior, selected Father Jogues for the task, which,\nhowever, at the same time, he permitted him to accept or decline. His\nimmediate preparation to depart showed that he did not hesitate about\naccepting. To his great joy, the faithful and noble chief, Eustace\nAhasistari, came forward, and offered to become his escort and guide. A\nflotilla of four canoes, bearing the missionary, the Christian chief, four\nFrenchmen, and eighteen Hurons, started from St. Mary\u2019s on the 13th of\nJune. The voyagers had to endure the usual portages at the rapids, and\nother hardships of such trips; but, by the exercise of great care and\nvigilance, they reached Quebec without harm from the savages. The faithful\nmessenger, besides procuring books, vestments, and sacred vessels, had all\nthings in readiness by the last day in July, the feast of S. Ignatius. He\nstopped to celebrate the feast of the great founder of his order, in which\nhis companions united by approaching the sacraments in solemn preparation\nfor their perilous return. The flotilla, now increased to twelve canoes,\nstarted from Three Rivers on the 1st day of August, and at first made slow\nprogress against the impetuous current of the St. Lawrence. They spent the\nnight on a small island in Lake St. Peter, twelve leagues from Three\nRivers, and on the second morning they had not proceeded far when they\ndiscovered suspicious footprints on the adjacent shore. Nerved by the\ndauntless courage of Ahasistari, they pushed on, and had not advanced a\nleague when suddenly a volley from a Mohawk ambush riddled their bark\ncanoes. Panic\u2010struck, the Hurons, whose canoes were near the shore, fled\nin all directions. Only fourteen rallied round the gallant Ahasistari, who\nhad now to oppose a force of twice his numbers. The Mohawks, armed with\nfire\u2010arms, and reinforced from the other shore, overpowered the Hurons,\nwho broke and fled. Father Jogues, ever mindful of his sacred calling, in\nthe heat of the attack calmly stopped to take up water for the baptism of\nhis pilot, who was the only unbaptized Indian in his canoe. Seeing himself\nalmost alone, he made to the shore; but he did not attempt to escape,\nwhich he might easily have done. \u201cCould I,\u201d he says, \u201ca minister of\nChrist, forsake the dying, the wounded, the captive?\u201d Advancing to the\nguard of the prisoners, he asked to be made a captive with them, and their\ncompanion in danger and in death. Well might the Mohawk guard, at the\nsight of such heroism, have been scarcely able to believe his senses! Well\nmight the historian exclaim, \u201cWhen did a Jesuit missionary seek to save\nhis own life, at what he believed to be the risk of a soul?\u201d(76) Father\nJogues at once began his offices of mercy among his fellow\u2010captives. He\nencouraged and confessed his faithful companion, the good Ren\u00e9 Goupil; he\ninstructed and baptized the Hurons, and as, one after another, they were\nbrought in prisoners, the priest of God rushed to meet and embrace them,\nand to unite them to the fold of Christ.\n\nIn the meantime, Ahasistari, having got beyond the reach of his pursuers,\nlooked round for Ondessonk. Finding that the black\u2010gown was not there, the\nnoble chief relinquished his freedom that he might share in the captivity\nof the father, whom he had promised never to abandon. While Father Jogues\nwas engaged in ministering to the prisoners, the voice of Ahasistari\nstruck upon his astonished ears. \u201cI made a vow to thee that I would share\nthy fortunes, whether death or life. Brother, here I am to keep my vow.\u201d\nAlso a young Frenchman, one of those _donn\u00e9s_ who accompanied and aided\nthe missionaries, returned to join the prisoners with the same exalted\nmotive; and, as Father Jogues tenderly embraced him, all bleeding and\nmangled as he was, the savages could not restrain their fury. Rushing upon\nthe father, they beat him with their fists and clubs till he fell\nsenseless to the ground. Then, seizing his hands, they tore out most of\nhis nails with their teeth, and inflicted upon him the exquisite torture\nof crunching his fingers, especially the two forefingers. But these\ntortures were only the first outbursts of savage rage and cruelty, the\nforerunners of more cruel ones in reserve.\n\nThe time consumed in collecting the prisoners, dividing the booty, and\npreparing for retreat enabled Father Jogues to complete the instruction\nand baptism of the remaining prisoners.\n\nOn Lake Champlain, another Mohawk war\u2010fleet met the flotilla, and, drawing\nup on an island, the newcomers prepared to receive their countrymen and\nthe prisoners. They erected a scaffold on the highest point of land for\nthe prisoners; then offering thanks to the sun as the genius of war, they\nlined the shore, and welcomed the conquering fleet with a salute of\nfirearms. The number of savages on the new flotilla was about two hundred,\nand, as their native superstition taught them that their success in war\nwould be proportioned to their cruelty to the prisoners, sad indeed was\nthe fate of the latter. Father Jogues closed the line of prisoners as they\nmarched up to the scaffold, and so terrific was the shower of blows that\nassailed him that he fell exhausted to the ground: \u201cGod alone,\u201d he\nexclaims\u2014\u201cGod alone, for whose love and glory it is sweet to suffer, can\ntell what cruelties they wreaked upon me then.\u201d Unable to proceed, he was\ndragged to the scaffold, when, on reviving, he suffered the ordeal of fire\nand steel. His closing wounds were reopened, his remaining nails were torn\nfrom their sockets, and the bones forced through the crushed fingers.\nTwice one of his tormentors rushed to cut off his nose\u2014a certain prelude\nof death to follow\u2014and was twice restrained by some invisible, some\nprovidential power. Falling repeatedly to the ground, the blazing brands\nand burning calumets forced him to rise. Thus tortured and fainting, the\npaternal eyes of Jogues still possessed tears of tenderest sympathy to\nshed for the sufferings of his fellow\u2010captive, Ahasistari, who, amidst his\nown sufferings, cried aloud in praise of the father\u2019s courage and love of\nhis children. The night was spent without food, and in the morning the\nvoyage was resumed. While passing over the lake, again they met a Mohawk\nfleet, and again the victorious Mohawks must honor their countrymen by\nfresh tortures of the prisoners. On the next day, the ninth of the\ncaptivity, the flotilla reached the extremity of the lake, where the\nentire party landed. The prisoners, weakened and suffering with wounds and\nhunger, were now loaded with all the luggage, and, in this plight, forced\nto commence a four days\u2019 journey by land. Some berries, gathered on the\nwayside, constituted their only food, and the exhausted father narrowly\nescaped being drowned in crossing the first river. On the eve of the\nAssumption of the Blessed Virgin, they reached the river near the Mohawk\nvillage. Here again the captives became the objects of cruel tortures for\nthe amusement of the crowds swarming from the settlement to see them. \u201cAnd\nas he ran the gauntlet, Jogues comforted himself with a vision of the\nglory of the Queen of Heaven,\u201d(77) for it was the eve of her glorious\nAssumption into Heaven. Some Hurons, who met them at the river, exclaimed\nin compassion, \u201cFrenchmen, you are dead!\u201d Before going up to the village,\nFather Jogues was again cruelly beaten with clubs and sticks, especially\non the head, which by its baldness excited the derision of the savages.\nTwo remaining finger\u2010nails, which had escaped their impatient cruelty\nbefore, were now torn out with the roots. \u201cConscious that, if we withdrew\nourselves from the number of the scourged, we withdrew from that of the\nchildren of God, we cheerfully presented ourselves,\u201d were the words of the\nmartyr himself, relating how he advanced to receive new tortures.\n\nThe line of march was formed for the village, Father Jogues closing as\nbefore the procession. Again the scaffold was erected, again the heroic\nband ran the gauntlet in marching to the scaffold hill, and the signal for\nthe tortures to begin was given by a chief, who struck each captive three\ntimes on the back with a club. An old man approached Father Jogues, and\ncompelled an aged captive woman to sever his left thumb from his hand with\na dull knife. Long and various were the tortures which Father Jogues and\nhis companions now endured, and though exhausted from the loss of blood,\nhe consoled them in their sufferings. As night approached, the prisoners\nwere tied to stakes driven in the ground, and thus exposed to the\nmaltreatment of the children, who threw burning coals upon them, \u201cwhich\nhissed and burned in the writhing flesh, till they were extinguished\nthere.\u201d(78)\n\nOn the following day the prisoners were led forth half naked through the\nbroiling sun, to be exhibited and tortured in all the Mohawk towns. At the\nsecond village the same tortures were endured as at the first. On entering\nthe last town the heart of Father Jogues was melted at the sight of a\nfresh band of Huron prisoners just brought in. Forgetting his own\ncaptivity and sufferings, he approached the captives with every expression\nof sympathy and kindness: he could not release their bodies from bondage;\nbut he offered to their immortal souls the freedom of the Gospel. There\nwas no water at hand with which to baptize these devoted captives; when,\nlo! the dews of heaven were supplied. An Indian at that anxious moment\npassed by with Indian corn, and threw a stalk at the father\u2019s feet. As the\nfreshly cut plant passed through the sunlight, dew\u2010drops upon the blades\nwere revealed to the eager eyes of the missionary, who, gathering the\nprecious drops into his hands, baptized two Hurons on the spot. A little\nbrook they afterwards crossed supplied the saving water for the others.\n\nIn this town, also, the tortures were repeated with many horrid additions.\nFather Jogues, ever tender and sympathetic for the sufferings of his\nconverts, was compelled to look on, and see the fingers of one of his\nHurons nearly sawed off with a rough shell, and then violently torn off\nwith the sinews uncut. Father Jogues and his companion Ren\u00e9 Goupil were\nled to a cabin and ordered to sing. Availing themselves of the command,\nthey devoutly chanted the Psalms of David. They were burned in several\nparts of their bodies. Then two poles were erected in the air, in the form\nof a cross, and Father Jogues was tied to it by cords of twisted bark,\nthus throwing the whole weight of his body upon his wounded and lacerated\narms. He asked to be released in mercy, in order that he might prepare for\ndeath, which he thought would result from his tortures, but this was\nrefused him. Begging pardon of God for having made such a request, he had\nalready resigned himself to the mercies of heaven, when suddenly an Indian\nin the crowd, touched with compassion, rushed forward and cut the cords\nthat bound him to the cross. During the night he was again tied to a stake\ndriven in the ground, and his sufferings were prolonged without relief\ntill morning. On the following day the prisoners were carried back to the\nsecond town they had entered. Here the council decided to spare the lives\nof the French for the present, and to put the Hurons to death.\n\nFather Jogues and Ren\u00e9 Goupil lingered in suffering, and almost at the\npoint of death, for three weeks, at Gandawagu\u00e9, now Caughnawaga, in New\nYork. The Mohawks had concluded to send them back when convenient to Three\nRivers. In the meantime, the Dutch settlers in New Netherland, who were\nallies of the Mohawks, heard that their Iroquois neighbors and friends had\ntaken some European prisoners. These generous Dutch, headed by their\nminister, the worthy Dominie Megapolensis, took the matter in hand, and\nraised six hundred guilders for the ransom of the French prisoners.\nAccordingly Arendt Curler set out with this sum, accompanied by two\nburghers from Rensselaerswyck, now Albany, for the Mohawk castles. The\ntreaty between the Dutch and the Mohawks was renewed, but neither money\nnor diplomacy could move the chiefs to deliver up the prisoners, whose\nimportance they began now to perceive from the effort made for their\nrelease. All that the Dutch could obtain was a promise to send them back\nto Three Rivers.\n\nAfterwards, divisions arose among the savages as to what disposition\nshould be made of Father Jogues and Ren\u00e9. In the meantime their lives were\nsuspended upon the capricious humors and passions of the cruel Mohawks.\nThe master of the cabin on seeing this ordered a young brave to put Ren\u00e9\nto death; that order was afterwards obeyed.\n\nAfter the death of Ren\u00e9, Father Jogues remained among the Mohawks, the\nsole object of their barbarous cruelty and superstitious hatred. Amidst\nthe countless sufferings he endured, his consolation consisted in prayer\nand visits of religion to the Huron prisoners. In his poverty he was rich\nin the possession of a volume containing one of the Epistles of S. Paul,\nand an indulgenced picture of S. Bruno. These, his only possessions, he\ncarried always about his person.\n\nIn the fall, he was obliged to accompany the tribe as a slave on a grand\nhunt, and then for two months inconceivable hardships and labors were his\nconstant lot. When the chase was unproductive, he was accused as the demon\nof their ill success. When sacrifice was offered to the god Aireskoi, he\nrefused to eat any of the food of the idolatrous sacrifice, and was\nthereupon repulsed and avoided as polluted and polluting; and every door\nwas closed against him, food was denied him, and a shelter refused. After\nperforming the menial and oppressive labors which they imposed upon him,\nhe retired at night to his little oratory, with its roof of bark and floor\nof snow, to commune with his Heavenly Father, his only friend; even to\nthat sacred spot, the arrows, clubs, and once the tomahawk, of his\npersecutors followed him. He was finally sent back to the village, loaded\nwith venison, over a frozen country, thirty leagues in extent, and almost\nperished of cold on the way. But even such a journey possessed its\nconsolations; for on the way, by an act of heroism, he saved an Indian\nwoman and her infant from drowning, and, as the infant was on the point of\nexpiring from its exposure and injuries, he poured the waters of\nregeneration on its head, and saved another soul for heaven.\n\nOn arriving at the village, he was ordered to return over the same road to\nthe hunting\u2010ground, but his repeated falls on the ice compelled him to\nabandon the journey and return to the village, to endure equal torments\nthere. Obliged to become the nurse of one of the most inveterate of his\nenemies, who was lying devoured by a loathsome disease, the good Samaritan\nentered upon his task as a work of love, and for an entire month bestowed\nthe most tender care and sympathetic attention upon his patient. In the\nspring of 1643, he was compelled to accompany a fishing party to a lake\nfour days\u2019 journey off, when he suffered over again the cruelties of the\nrecent hunt. On the lake shore, as on the hunting\u2010grounds, his cross and\nlittle oratory of fir branches were his only consolations. His mode of\nlife in these wildernesses is thus described by Bancroft: \u201cOn a hill apart\nhe carved a long cross on a tree, and there, in the solitude, meditated\nthe imitation of Christ, and soothed his grief by reflecting that he\nalone, in that vast region, adored the true God of earth and heaven.\nRoaming through the stately forests of the Mohawk Valley, he wrote the\nname of Jesus on the bark of trees, graved the cross, and entered into\npossession of these countries in the name of God\u2014often lifting up his\nvoice in a solitary chant.\u201d\n\nRepeatedly during this period was the murderous tomahawk suspended over\nhis head; and twice was he selected to be sacrificed to the manes of some\nIndian warrior who had gone on the hunt and had not returned. But his life\nwas in the hands of an invisible Protector. A generous Indian matron\nadopted him as her son, in the place of her own son she had just lost; and\nnow, when he mingled with the Mohawks as their brother, he spoke to them\nof God, heaven, eternity, and hell. Though he convinced them that his\nwords were true, they were too much wedded to their idols to yield to the\ngrace of conversion. On one occasion he was led out to be sacrificed to\nthe manes of the braves who had gone on a war party, and, not having\nreturned, were supposed to be lost; but before the ceremony proceeded too\nfar, the warriors returned just in time to save his life. They brought\nwith them some Abnaki prisoners whom they destined for the stake. Father\nJogues secured the services of an interpreter, instructed them in the\nfaith, and succeeded in converting several of them, whom he baptized at\nEaster.\n\nIt was shortly after this that Father Jogues was compelled to witness the\nhorrid spectacle of human sacrifice offered to the demon Aireskoi. How\nwonderful are the ways of divine Providence! for it was in the midst of\nthis act, the lowest point in the scale of human degradation and of insult\nto God, that a human soul is regenerated by one of the Christian\nsacraments, and that soul is the victim itself of the superstitious rite.\nA woman was chosen for the victim, and was tied to the stake. The savages\nformed a line, and as they approached the stake each one did his share in\nburning, cutting, or otherwise torturing the unhappy victim. Father Jogues\nhad previously instructed the woman. He took no part, of course, in this\nawful and wicked sacrifice, but he availed himself of an opportunity to\npress forward in the crowd, and as the victim bowed to receive the\nsacrament from his hands, the missionary poured the baptismal waters on\nher head, in the midst of the raging flames of the heathen sacrifice.\n\nAn effort was now made by his friends in Canada to secure the release of\nFather Jogues. Some braves of the Sokoki tribe, living on the Connecticut,\nhad been captured by the Algonquins, and were now led forth for torture.\nThe French governor procured their liberation, committed them to the care\nof the hospital nuns, and, after their wounds were healed, sent them back\nto their own country, with a request that they would induce their tribe to\nsend an embassy to their allies the Mohawks to intercede for the relief of\nFather Jogues. The embassy was accordingly sent, the Mohawks lit their\ncouncil fires, the Sokoki presents were accepted, but the main question\nwas parried, and finally the old promise to send him back to Three Rivers\nwas the only result. Perceiving now more than ever the dignity and\nimportance of their prisoner, the Mohawks led him forth in triumph to show\ntheir allies that even the powerful French nation was tributary to the\nIroquois. This cruel journey, two hundred and fifty miles long, was over a\nrugged and barren country, and many were the sufferings our missionary had\nto endure. Yet this journey was not without its peculiar consolations to\nFather Jogues. On one occasion he baptized five dying infants; and as he\npassed through the cabins in search of souls, he heard the voice of a\nformer benefactor, the Indian who had so generously cut loose the cords\nthat bound him to the cross of logs hoisted in the air in the village of\nTinniontiogen, crying to him from his bed of misery and death. Father\nJogues embraced his benefactor with a burst of gratitude and sympathy.\nUnable to reward him with worldly goods or temporal relief, the father\ninstructed him in the truths of eternal life, bestowed upon the willing\nconvert the treasure of the faith, and shortly before his death sealed all\nwith the sacrament of baptism.\n\nAfter his return to the village he was rushed upon one day by an\ninfuriated savage, whose club laid him almost lifeless on the ground.\nEvery day he was thus exposed to some imminent peril. His life was\nsuspended upon the merest chance or savage caprice or passion. The good\nold woman who had adopted him, and whom he called his aunt, was his only\nfriend in that vast region. She advised him to make his escape, but he\nbelieved it to be the will of God that he should remain there.\n\nIn August, 1643, he had to accompany a portion of the tribe on a hunting\nand fishing party, during which he visited for the second time the Dutch\nat Rensselaerswyck, the present city of Albany. The inhabitants again made\na generous effort to secure the liberation of Father Jogues, but their\nappeal to the savage Mohawk was in vain. It was here, too, amid the\ndangers and distractions that encompassed him at Rensselaerswyck, that he\nproduced that beautiful monument of taste and learning, as well as of\napostolic zeal and love, the relation of his captivity and sufferings to\nhis superior, which has been so greatly admired for its pure and classic\nLatin. In this letter, he says: \u201cI have baptized seventy since my\ncaptivity, children, and youth, and old men of five different tongues and\nnations, that men of every tribe, and tongue, and nation, might stand in\nthe presence of the Lamb.\u201d\n\nWhile engaged in helping the Iroquois to stretch their nets for fish, he\nheard of more Huron prisoners brought to the village, two of whom had\nalready expired at the stake unbaptized. Obtaining the permission of his\ngood aunt who had adopted him, he at once dropped the fish\u2010nets, and\nreturned to the village in order that he might set his net for human\nsouls. On his way to the village he passed through Rensselaerswyck. Van\nCurler insisted on his making his escape by flight, since certain death\nawaited him at the village, and offered a shelter and a passage on board\nof a ship destined first for Virginia and then for Bordeaux or Rochelle.\nIt has already been related that Father Jogues had resolved to regard the\nMohawk as his mission, he therefore hesitated to accept the generous offer\nof the Dutch, though inevitable death would soon remove him from that\nchosen field. But Van Curler and the minister of the settlement, John\nMegapolensis, pressed their appeal with such powerful arguments that the\nmissionary promised to consider it, and asked one night for prayer and\nconsultation with his soul and with God. After fervent supplication for\nthe aid of heaven in deciding the matter with impartiality, and after much\nreflection, Father Jogues, knowing that if he returned to the village\ndeath would soon remove him from it, and convinced that his return to\nFrance or Canada would prove the only means of founding a regular mission\nin the Mohawk, resolved to attempt his escape, and went in the morning to\nannounce his resolution to Van Curler and Megapolensis. They then arranged\ntogether the plan of escape. Returning to the custody of his guards, he\naccompanied them to their quarters. When they all retired at night to\ntheir barn to rest, the Iroquois slept around the father, in order to\nsecure him closely within, while without the premises were guarded by\nferocious watch\u2010dogs. In his first attempt early in the night, the dogs\nrushed upon him and tore his leg dreadfully with their teeth, and he was\nobliged to return into the barn. Towards daybreak a second attempt was\nmore successful; the dogs were silenced; the prisoner quietly escaped over\nthe fence, and ran limping and suffering with his lacerated limb fully a\nmile to the river where the ship lay. But here he found the bark sent by\nVan Curler for his escape lying high and dry and immovable on the beach,\nand the vessel was not within hailing distance. In these straitened\ncircumstances, he had recourse to prayer. In making another effort to move\nthe bark he seemed to be gifted with renewed strength, and soon the boat\nwas afloat, and thus he succeeded alone in reaching the vessel. He was\nimmediately concealed in the bottom of the hold, and a heavy box was\nplaced over the hatch. In the filth of this narrow and unventilated place\nhe remained two days and nights, suffering extremely from his wound, from\nhunger and the noisome air.\n\nFather Jogues was then carried into the settlement to remain until all was\nquiet and it was time to embark. He was confided to the care of a man who\npermitted him to be thrust into a miserable loft, where he remained six\nweeks crouched behind a hogshead as his only shelter, with scarcely food\nsufficient to keep him alive, enduring every discomfort, and exposed to\ndetection and recapture by the Iroquois or Mohawks, who incessantly\nhaunted the house.\n\nAfter six weeks thus spent, Father Jogues, accompanied by the minister,\nDominie Megapolensis, took the first boat for New Amsterdam, as the city\nof New York was then called. The voyage lasted six weeks, during which\nFather Jogues became a great favorite with all on board. As they passed a\nlittle island in their route, the crew named it in honor of Father Jogues\namid the discharge of cannon, and the Calvinist minister honored the\nJesuit by contributing a bottle of wine to the festivities of the\noccasion. After an agreeable voyage, they arrived at New Amsterdam. The\ngerm of the present monster city consisted then of a little fort\ngarrisoned with sixty men, a governor\u2019s house, a church, and the houses of\nfour or five hundred men scattered over and around the entire Island of\nManhattan. There were many different sects and nations represented there.\nThe director\u2010general told Father Jogues that there were eighteen different\nlanguages spoken on the island. The Jesuit was enthusiastically received\nat New Amsterdam, for the people turned out in crowds to greet him. One of\nthem, a Polish Lutheran, when he saw the mangled hands of Father Jogues,\nran and threw himself at his feet to kiss his wounded hands, exclaiming,\n\u201cO martyr of Christ! O martyr!\u201d So practical, however, were the notions of\nthe old Dutch inhabitants of the city about such matters, that they asked\nthe missionary how much the company of New France would pay him for all he\nhad suffered! Father Jogues made a vigilant search in New Amsterdam for\nCatholics. He found two: one, a Portuguese woman, with whom he could not\nconverse, showed that she still clung to her faith by the pious pictures\nwhich were hanging round her room; the other, an Irishman, trading from\nVirginia, who availed himself of the father\u2019s presence to go to his\nconfession. It was from the latter that he learned that the English\nJesuits had been driven from Maryland by the Puritan rulers of that\ncolony, and had taken refuge in Virginia.\n\nHe remained there three months altogether in the old Dutch colony.\nReceiving commendatory letters from William Kieft, the governor of New\nNetherland, he sailed from the majestic harbor of New Amsterdam on the 5th\nof November, 1643. The little vessel possessed no comforts or\naccommodations. The father\u2019s only bed was a coil of rope on deck, where he\nreceived severe drenchings from the waves breaking over him. A furious\nstorm drove the vessel in on the English coast, near Falmouth, which was\nthen in possession of the king\u2019s party: two parliamentary cruisers pursued\nthe Dutch vessel, but she escaped and anchored at the wharf. The storm\u2010\nbeaten crew went ashore to enjoy themselves, leaving only Father Jogues\nand another person on board, when the vessel was boarded by robbers, who\npointed a pistol at the missionary\u2019s throat and robbed him of his hat and\ncoat. He appealed to a Frenchman, the master of a collier at the wharf,\nfor relief, who took him on board his boat, gave him a sailor\u2019s hat and\ncoat, all his own poverty could spare, and a passage to France. In this\nplight, this celebrated missionary, whose fame filled all France, landed\non his native shore on Christmas morning, at a point between Brest and St.\nPol de Leon.\n\nHe borrowed a more decent hat and cloak from a peasant near the shore, and\nhastened to the nearest chapel, to make his thanksgiving and unite in the\nglorious solemnity of Christmas. As it was early he had the consolation of\napproaching the tribunal of penance, and of receiving the Holy Eucharist,\nfor the first time in sixteen months. The touching story of his captivity\nand sufferings among the savages subdued their hearts and drew floods of\nsympathizing tears from the peasants whose hospitality he shared. They\noffered him all they had to forward him on his journey. A good merchant of\nRennes, then passing on his way, heard the thrilling incidents he related,\nand saw his mangled hands: touched with compassion, he took the missionary\nunder his care, and paid his expenses to Rennes, where he arrived on the\neve of the Epiphany. He went to the college of his order in that city, and\nas soon as it was known that he was from Canada, all the members of the\ncommunity gathered round him to ask him if he knew Father Jogues, and\nwhether he was yet alive and in captivity. He then disclosed his name, and\nshowed the marks of his sufferings; all then pressed forward to embrace\ntheir saintly brother, and kiss his glorious wounds.\n\nHe reposed for a few days at the college at Rennes, and then pushed on\ntowards Paris, to place himself again at the disposal of his superior,\nhumbly and modestly intimating a desire, however, to be sent back to his\nmission in America. His fame had long preceded him, and, when he arrived\nat the capital, the faithful pressed forward in crowds to venerate him and\nkiss his wounds. The pious queen\u2010mother coveted the same happiness, and\nhe, whom we saw so recently the captive and slave of brutal savages, is\nnow honored at the court of the first capital of Christendom. But the\nhumility of Father Jogues took alarm at the honors paid to him. Throwing\nhimself at his superior\u2019s feet, he entreated that he might be sent back to\nthe wilderness from which he had just escaped. The superior consented; but\nan obstacle here presented itself. So great were the injuries inflicted\nupon his hands by the Mohawks that he was canonically disqualified from\noffering up the holy sacrifice of the Mass. Application for the proper\ndispensation was made to the Sovereign Pontiff, upon a statement of the\nfacts. Innocent XI. was moved by the recital, and, with an inspired\nenergy, exclaimed, \u201c_Indignum esse Christi martyrem, Christi non bibere\nsanguinem_\u201d\u2014\u201cIt were unjust that a martyr of Christ should not drink the\nblood of Christ!\u201d Pronounced by the Vicar of Christ on earth to be a\nmartyr, though living, he now goes to seek a double martyrdom in death. In\nthe spring he started for Rochelle, and F. Ducreux, the historian of\nCanada, sought the honor of accompanying him thither.\n\nHe embarked from Rochelle for Canada, where he arrived on the 16th May,\n1644. He found the Iroquois war still raging with unabated fury, and the\ncolony of New France reduced to the verge of ruin. When his brethren in\nCanada heard and saw how cruelly Father Jogues had been treated in the\nMohawk, and that his timely flight alone had saved his life, they felt the\nsaddest apprehensions about the fate of Father Bressani, who had also\nfallen into the hands of the Iroquois. Finding it impossible to return to\nLake Huron, Father Jogues joined Father Buteux in the duties of the holy\nministry at the new town of Montreal, to which its founders gave the name\nof the City of Mary, in consecrating it to the Mother of God. It was\nduring their sojourn together that the superior endeavored to draw from\nFather Jogues, by entreaty, and even by command, the circumstances of his\nsufferings in captivity; but his humility and modesty were so great that\nit was with the greatest difficulty that anything concerning himself could\nbe drawn from him. In this spirit he avoided all the honors that were\npressed upon him. After his return to Canada, he was so desirous of being\nunknown and unhonored that he ceased signing his name, and even his\nletters which he addressed to his superior after his return to Canada are\nwithout signatures.\n\nSome Mohawk prisoners, kindly treated by the Governor of Canada and\nreleased, returned to their country, and disposed the Mohawks to make\npeace. A solemn deputation of their chiefs came to Three Rivers, and were\nreceived on the 12th of July, 1645, with great ceremony and pomp. Father\nJogues was present, though unseen by the deputies; so was Father Bressani,\nwho, having passed the ordeal of a most cruel captivity among the Mohawks,\nhad been ransomed by the Dutch of New York, sent to France, and had now,\nlike Father Jogues, returned to New France to suffer again. When all was\nsilent, the orator of the deputies arose, and opened the session with the\nusual march and chants. He explained, as he proceeded to deliver the\npresents, the meaning of each. Belt after belt of wampum was thrown at the\ngovernor\u2019s feet, until at last he held forth one in his hand, beautifully\ndecorated with the shell\u2010work of the Mohawk Valley. \u201cThis,\u201d he exclaimed,\n\u201cis for the two black\u2010gowns. We wished to bring them both back; but we\nhave not been able to accomplish our design. One escaped from our hands in\nspite of us, and the other absolutely desired to be given up to the Dutch.\nWe yielded to his desire. We regret not their being free, but our\nignorance of their fate. Perhaps even now that I name them they are\nvictims of cruel enemies or swallowed up in the waves. The Mohawk never\nintended to put them to death.\u201d\n\nThe French had little faith in the sincerity of the Mohawk, yet they\nwanted peace. The past was forgiven, the missionaries buried the\nremembrance of their wrongs with the hatchet of the Mohawk, and peace was\nconcluded. The deputies returned to their castles to get the sachems to\nratify the peace, and Father Jogues to Montreal to prepare himself for the\nterrible ordeal which he foresaw a Mohawk mission would open to him. His\npreparation consisted in prayer, meditations, and other spiritual\nexercises. The peace was ratified; the Indians asked for missionaries; the\nFrench resolved to open a mission among them, and Father Jogues was\nselected for the perilous enterprise. When he received the letter of his\nsuperior informing him of his selection, Father Jogues joyfully accepted\nthe appointment, and prepared at once to depart. His letter in reply to\nthe superior contains these heroic words: \u201cYes, father, I will all that\nGod wills, and I will it at the peril of a thousand lives. Oh! how I\nshould regret the loss of so glorious an occasion, when it depends but\nupon me that some souls may be saved. I hope that his goodness, which did\nnot forsake me in the hour of need, will aid me yet. He and I are able yet\nto overcome all the difficulties which can oppose our project.\u201d\n\nOn arriving at Three Rivers, he ascertained that he and the Sieur Bourdon\nwere to go to the Mohawk castle, in the first instance, merely as\nambassadors, to make sure of the peace. They departed on this dangerous\nembassy on the 16th of May, 1646, and during their absence public prayers,\noffered for their return, testified the fears felt for their safety. As\nthey were about to start, an Algonquin thus addressed Father Jogues:\n\u201cThere is nothing more repulsive at first than this doctrine, that seems\nto annihilate all that man holds dearest, and as your long gown preaches\nit as much as your lips, you would do better to go at first in a short\none.\u201d Thereupon the prudent ambassador parted for the time with the habit\nof his order, and substituted a more diplomatic costume.\n\nThey were accompanied by four Mohawks and two Algonquins. After ascending\nthe Sorel, and gliding through the beautiful islands of Lake Champlain,\nthey arrived at the portage leading to the Lake Andiataroct\u00e9 on the 29th\nof May, which was the eve of Corpus Christi. Here Father Jogues paused,\nand named the lake Saint Sacrament; but by a less Christian taste that\nbeautiful name, given in honor of the King of kings, has since yielded to\none given in honor of one of the kings of earth.(79) They suffered greatly\nfor food on the way, but obtained a supply of provisions at Ossarane, a\nfishing station on the Hudson, supposed to be Saratoga. Then, gliding down\nthe Hudson, they came to Fort Orange, where Father Jogues again, in the\nmost earnest and sincere terms, expressed his deep gratitude to his\nliberators, the Dutch, whose outlay in his behalf he had already\nreimbursed to them from Europe. Not satisfied with expressing his thanks,\nFather Jogues endeavored to bestow upon his friend, Dominie Megapolensis,\nthe greatest of possible returns\u2014the true faith. He wrote from this place\na letter to the minister, in which he used every argument that his well\u2010\nstored mind or the unbounded charity of his heart could suggest to reclaim\nhim to the bosom of that ancient church which his fathers had so\nunfortunately left.\n\nAfter a short repose at Albany, they proceeded to the Mohawk, and arrived\nat the nearest town on the 7th of June. A general assembly of the chiefs\nwas called to ratify the peace, and crowds came from all sides; some\nthrough curiosity to see, and others with a desire to honor, the untiring\nand self\u2010sacrificing Ondessonk. Father Jogues made a speech appropriate to\nthe occasion and the purposes of his visits, which the assembled chiefs\nheard with great enthusiasm; presents were exchanged, and peace was\nfinally and absolutely ratified. The Wolf family in particular, being that\nin which Father Jogues had been adopted, exclaimed, \u201cThe French shall\nalways find among us friendly hearts and an open cabin, and thou,\nOndessonk, shalt always have a mat to lie on and fire to keep thee warm.\u201d\nFather Jogues endeavored to impress favorably the representatives of other\ntribes who were there by presents and friendly words. Then remembering his\nsacred character as a minister of God, he visited and consoled the Huron\ncaptives, especially the sick and dying; he heard the confessions of some,\nand baptized several expiring infants. Before departing Father Jogues\ndesired to leave behind his box containing articles most necessary for the\nmission, which he was soon to return and commence among them; the Mohawks,\nhowever, dreading some evil from the box, objected at first, but the\nfather opened it, and showed them all it contained, and finally, as he\nsupposed, overcame their superstitious fears, and the box was left behind\namong them.\n\nThe ambassadors and their suite set out on their return, on the 16th of\nJune, bearing their baggage on their backs. They also constructed their\nown canoes at Lake Superior, and, having crossed the lake in safety,\narrived at Three Rivers, after a passage of thirteen days, on the feast of\nSS. Peter and Paul, to the infinite joy and relief of all their friends.\n\nOn the 28th day of September, Father Jogues was on his way to the Mohawk,\naccompanied by Lalande, a young Frenchman from Dieppe, an Iroquois of\nHuron birth, and some other Hurons. As they advanced, tidings of war on\nthe part of the Mohawks became more frequent, and the Indian escorts began\nto desert. They passed Lake Champlain in safety, and had advanced within\ntwo days\u2019 journey of the Mohawk when a war\u2010party, marching on Fort\nRichelieu, came upon them. The savages rushed upon them, stripped Father\nJogues and Lalande of their effects, bound them as prisoners, and turning\nback led them to the village of Gandawagu\u00e9,(80) the scene of Father\nJogues\u2019 first captivity and sufferings. Here they were received with a\nshower of blows, amid loud cries for their heads, that they might be set\nup on the palisades.\n\nTowards evening, on the 18th of October, some of the savages of the Bear\nfamily came and invited Father Jogues to sup in their cabin. Scarcely had\nthe shadow of the black\u2010gown darkened the entrance of their lodge, when a\nconcealed arm struck a well\u2010aimed blow with the murderous tomahawk, and\nthe Christian martyr fell lifeless to the ground. The generous Kiotsaeton,\nwho had just arrived as a deputy of a council called to decide on his\ncase, rushed to save him, but the blade had done its work, and now spent\nits remaining force by inflicting a deep wound in the arm of that noble\nchief. The head of Father Jogues was severed from his body, and raised\nupon the palisade. The next day the faithful Lalande, and a no less\nfaithful Huron, shared the same fate.\n\nFather Jogues was in his fortieth year when he received the fatal stroke.\nWhen the tidings of his death arrived, every tongue in Canada and in\nFrance was zealous in the recital of his many virtues, and in praise of\nhis glorious death. His zeal for the faith, his courage in danger, his\nhumility, his love of prayer and suffering, his devotion to the cross,\nwere conspicuous among the many exalted virtues that adorned his life and\ndeath. While his brethren lamented the loss the missions had sustained,\nthey envied him the crown he had won. \u201cWe could not,\u201d says Father\nRagueneau, \u201cbring ourselves to offer for Father Jogues the prayers for the\ndead. We offered up the adorable sacrifice, indeed, but it was in\nthanksgiving for the favors which he had received from God. The laity and\nthe religious houses here partook our sentiments as to this happy death,\nand more are found to invoke his memory than there are to pray for his\nrepose.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nDo\u00f1a Ramona.\n\n\nFrom The Spanish.\n\nIn an empire whose name history has failed to record, there lived in a\nmiserable stable a poor laborer and his wife. Juan and Ramona were their\nnames, though Juan was better known by the nickname \u201cUnder present\ncircumstances,\u201d which they gave him because in season or out of season\nthat phrase was continually dropping from his lips. Juan and Ramona were\nso wretchedly poor that they would have had no roof to cover them unless a\nlaborer of the province of Micomican had taken pity upon them, and given\nthem a hut to live in, which in other days had served as a stable, and was\nnow his property.\n\n\u201cWe are badly enough off in a stable,\u201d said Juan: \u201cbut we ought to conform\nourselves with our lot, since under present circumstances God, though he\nwas God, lived in a stable when he made himself man.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right,\u201d replied Ramona.\n\nSo both worked away, if not happy, at least resigned\u2014Juan in going out day\nafter day to gain his daily reward of a couple of small pieces of money,\nand Ramona in taking care of the house, if house be a proper term to apply\nto a stable.\n\nThe emperor was very fond of living in the country, and had many palaces\nof different kinds in the province of Micomican. One day Juan was working\nin a kitchen garden near the road, when far away he saw the carriage of\nthe emperor coming at a rate almost equal to that of a soul that the devil\nwas trying to carry off.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll bet you,\u201d said Juan, \u201cthat the horses have escaped from his majesty,\nand some misfortune is going to happen! It would be a great pity, for\nunder present circumstances an emperor is worth an empire.\u201d\n\nJuan was not mistaken. The emperor\u2019s horses had escaped, and the emperor\nwas yelling:\n\n\u201cGod take pity on me! I\u2019m going to break my neck over one of those\nprecipices! Isn\u2019t there a son of a gun to save me? To whoever throws\nhimself at the head of these confounded horses, I\u2019ll give whatever he\nasks, though it be the very shirt on my back.\u201d\n\nBut no one dared throw himself at the horses\u2019 heads; for they tore along\nat such a furious rate that to rush at them was to rush into eternity.\n\nJuan, enraged at the cowardice of the other workmen, and moved by his love\nfor the emperor as well as his natural propensity to do good without\nlooking at the person to whom he did it, threw himself at the horses\u2019\nheads, and succeeded in stopping the coach, to the admiration of the\nemperor himself, who at that moment would not have given a brass farthing\nfor his life.\n\n\u201cAsk whatever you like,\u201d said the emperor to him, \u201cfor everything appears\nto me small as a recompense to the man who has rendered me so signal a\nservice.\u201d\n\n\u201cSire!\u201d said Juan to him, \u201cI, under present circumstances, am a poor day\nlaborer, and the day that I don\u2019t gain a couple of _pesetas_ my wife and I\nhave to fast. So, if your majesty will only assure me my day\u2019s labor\nwhether it rains or whether it is fine weather, my wife and I will sing\nour lives away in happiness, for we are people content with very little.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s pretty clear. Well, go along, it\u2019s granted. The day that you have\nnothing to do anywhere else, go to one of my palaces, whichever you like,\nand occupy yourself there in whatever way you please.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, sire!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! No; no reason for thanks, man. That is a mere nothing.\u201d\n\nThe emperor went on his road happy enough, and Juan went on his, thinking\nof the great joy he was about to give his wife when he returned home at\nnight, and told her that he had his day\u2019s work secured for the rest of his\nlife whether it rained or was fine weather.\n\nIn fact, his wife was greatly rejoiced when he carried her the good news.\nThey supped, and went to bed in peace and in the grace of God, and Juan\nslept like one of the blessed; but Ramona passed the whole night turning\nabout in the bed like one who has some trouble or desire that will not let\nhim sleep.\n\n\u201cDo you know what I have been thinking the whole night long, Juan?\u201d said\nRamona, the following morning.\n\n\u201cWhat?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat yesterday you were a fool to ask so little from the emperor.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed! What more had I to ask?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat he would give us a little house to live in, something more suitable\nand decent than this wretched stable.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right, woman; but now there is no help for it.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps there may be.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow?\u201d\n\n\u201cLook here; go and see the emperor, and ask him.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; now is the time to go on such an errand!\u201d\n\n\u201cGo you shall, and quickly, too!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, woman, don\u2019t get angry. My goodness! what a temper you have! Well,\nwell; I will go, and God grant his majesty does not send me off with a\nflea in my ear, although, under present circumstances, he is a very open\u2010\nhearted, outspoken gentleman.\u201d\n\nWell, Juan set out for the palace of the emperor; and the emperor granted\nhim an audience immediately on his arrival.\n\n\u201cHallo, Juan!\u201d said his majesty. \u201cWhat brings you this way, man?\u201d\n\n\u201cSire!\u201d replied Juan, twirling and twirling the hat which he held in his\nhand, \u201cmy wife, under present circumstances, is as good as gold; but, you\nsee, the stable that we live in is gone to rack and ruin, and we wish to\nget it out of our sight. So she said to me this morning: \u2018If your majesty,\nwho is so kind, would only give us a little house, something better than\nthe one we have, who dare sneeze at us then?\u2019 \u201d\n\n\u201cDoes your wife want nothing more than that? Well, it\u2019s granted. This very\nmoment I will give orders that they place the little white house at her\ndisposal. Go into the dining\u2010room, and take a mouthful and a drop of\nsomething; and, instead of going afterwards to the stable, go to the\nlittle white house, and there you will find your wife already installed.\u201d\n\nJuan returned thanks to the emperor for his latest kindness, and, passing\non to the dining\u2010room, filled himself with ham and wine.\n\nOur friend commenced his journey home, and, when he arrived at the white\nhouse, his wife rushed out to receive him with tears of joy.\n\nAnd indeed it was very natural for poor Ramona to find herself so merry,\nfor the little white house was a perfect jewel. It occupied the summit of\na gentle acclivity, whence the whole beauty of the plain was spread out\nbefore it. A large Muscatel vine covered the whole of the porch, and\nbeneath it there were seats and little plots of pinks and roses. The\napartments of the house were a little drawing\u2010room, very white, and clean,\nand pretty, with its chairs, its cupboard, and its looking\u2010glass; an\nalcove with its bed, so soft and clean and beautiful that the emperor\nhimself might have slept in it; a little kitchen with all its\nrequirements, among which were included the utensils, which shone like\ngold; and a little bewitching dining\u2010room, with four chairs, a table, and\na sideboard. To the dining\u2010room there was a fairy entrance, adorned\nwithout by an arc of flowers, and through this entrance you passed into a\ngarden, where there were fruits, and flowers, and vegetables, and a small\narmy of chickens clucked; and every egg they laid was as big as Juan\u2019s\nfist.\n\nWhen night came on, Juan and Ramona took their supper like a couple of\nprinces in their little dining\u2010room, and soon after laid them down in\ntheir beautiful bed. They both slept well, particularly Juan, who stirred\nneither hand nor foot the whole night through.\n\nRamona began to find fault the very next day, and Juan noticed that every\nnight her sleep was more disturbed.\n\n\u201cWoman, what the devil is the matter with you, that all night long you are\ntwisting like a reel?\u201d asked Juan, one morning. \u201cWhy, there are no fleas\nhere as there were in the stable.\u201d\n\n\u201cFleas hinder my sleep very little.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, what hinders it, woman?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat hinders it? Your stupidity in asking the emperor so little hinders\nit.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn the name of the Father, and of the Son!... And you still think it\nlittle that I have asked, and he granted us?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, indeed I do. This little house is so small that one can scarcely\nturn in it; and if to\u2010morrow or some other day we have children, what\nshall we do with them in a hut like this?\u201d\n\n\u201cSay what you like about it, there is no help for it now.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps there may be.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how, I should like to know?\u201d\n\n\u201cGoing back and seeing his majesty, and telling him to give us a larger\nhouse, of course.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo to Jericho, woman. You don\u2019t catch me going on an errand of that\nkind!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, go you shall, then; or we\u2019ll see who is master here.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, wife, don\u2019t you see that my very face would drop from me with\nshame?\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, that\u2019s enough of talk on the matter. All you have to do is, run\nalong to the palace as fast as you can, if you care to have a quiet time\nof it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, well; since you wish it, I\u2019ll go.\u201d\n\nJuan, who did not possess an ounce of will of his own\u2014a thing which is the\ngreatest misfortune that can befall a husband who is not blessed with such\na wife as God ordained for him\u2014set out once more on his road towards the\npalace of the emperor.\n\n\u201cIndeed,\u201d said he to himself, with more fear than shame, \u201cit is very\npossible he will send me down\u2010stairs head foremost, because it is only\nnatural that this abuse of his good\u2010nature will prove too much, even for\nhim. And it will serve me right for my unfortunate weakness of character.\u201d\n\nJuan\u2019s fears were not realized. So soon as he sought an audience with his\nmajesty it was granted, and the emperor asked him, with a smiling face:\n\n\u201cHow goes it at the little white house?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot badly, sire!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd your wife, how does she find herself there?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot badly, sire, but your majesty knows what the women are. Give \u2019em an\ninch, they\u2019ll take an ell. My wife, under present circumstances, hasn\u2019t a\nflaw in her; but she says that, if to\u2010morrow or the day after we have\nyoungsters, we shall all be crowded there like bees in a bottle.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right. So she wants, of course, a house a little larger?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve just hit it, sire!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, turn into the dining\u2010room till they give you a snack of something;\nand, instead of returning to the white house, go to the Azure Palace,\nwhere you will find your wife installed with the attendance befitting\nthose who live in a palace.\u201d\n\nJuan returned the emperor thanks for his great goodness, and, after\nstuffing himself till he looked like a ball in the dining\u2010room, off he\nset, as happy as could be, to the Azure Palace, which was one of those\nthat the emperor had in that district.\n\nThe Azure Palace was neither very large nor furnished with great wealth;\nbut it was very beautiful and adorned with becoming elegance. A servant in\nlivery received Juan at the door and conducted him to the apartment of the\nlady. The lady was Ramona, whom her maid had just finished dressing in one\nof the beautiful robes which she found in her new dwelling. Juan could do\nnothing but open his mouth and stare in amazement at seeing his wife in\nsuch majestic attire.\n\nJuan and Ramona feared they would go mad when they found themselves lords\nof a palace, well fitted, elegant, and waited on by four servants: namely,\na coachman, a footman, a maid, and a cook.\n\n\u201cTake off that clown\u2019s dress,\u201d said Ramona to Juan. \u201cAren\u2019t you ashamed to\nshow yourself in such a trim before our own servants?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is a new start,\u201d said Juan, astonished at the sally of his wife. \u201cSo\nI, who, under present circumstances, have passed all my life in digging\nthe earth, and things even worse than that, must feel ashamed of the\nclothes I have worn all my life long!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, you stupid head,\u201d replied Ramona, \u201cif you have costume corresponding\nto your rank, why didn\u2019t you put it on?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy rank!... Come, this woman\u2019s head is turned.\u201d\n\n\u201cJuan, go to your apartment and change your things, and don\u2019t try my\npatience so much, for you know already that my temper will not stand too\ngreat a trial.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, there\u2019s no need to put yourself out, woman. Here I\u2019m going now,\u201d\nsaid Juan, turning to the room from which he saw Ramona come out.\n\n\u201cBlockhead!\u201d said she, catching hold of him and showing him another room,\n\u201cthis apartment is mine, and that is yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cHallo! this is another surprise. So my wife\u2019s room is not mine also?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; that is only among common folk; but in people of our rank no.\u201d\n\nJuan gave up the dispute, and, entering the room which she had pointed out\nas his, found therein a wardrobe with a quantity of fine changes befitting\na gentleman, and came out again transformed into a milord.\n\nThere passed fifteen days since Juan and Ramona came to live in the Azure\nPalace, and Ramona grew day by day more captious, and slept less and less\nevery night.\n\n\u201cWhat the deuce ails you? One would think the ants were at you,\u201d said Juan\nto her, one morning.\n\n\u201cWhat ails me is that I have the biggest fool for a husband that ever ate\nbread.\u201d\n\n\u201cHey for the sweet tempers! So you are not yet content with the sweet\nlittle fig that your husband gathered for you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, sir, I am not. One must be a dolt like you to content herself with\nwhat we have, when we might have much more only for the asking.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, woman alive, have you lost your senses? Can the emperor grant us\nmore than he has granted us, or do we need more to make us happy?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, he can give us more, and we need it.\u201d\n\n\u201cExplain yourself, and the devil take the explanation, for you\u2019re going to\ndrive me mad with your ambition.\u201d\n\n\u201cExplain myself! I\u2019ll explain myself, and very clearly, too; for, thank\nGod, there are no hairs on my tongue to prevent me speaking to anybody,\neven to the emperor himself. To make you happy, all that is wanting is\nwhat common folk want\u2014a good table where you may stuff yourself with\nturkey all the day long; but for us who have higher aims, we want\nsomething more than chunks of meat and wine that would make an ox dance a\nhornpipe. You can swell yourself out and look big when you walk out here,\nand hear them calling you Don Juan; but as for me, I could eat myself with\nrage when they call me Do\u00f1a Ramona.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, and isn\u2019t it better for them to call us that than Juan and Ramona,\nas they used to call us before? What more do you want, woman?\u201d\n\n\u201cI want them to call me lady marchioness.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you lost your ears, Ramona? Now I tell you, and tell you again, that\nthat wicked ambition of yours has deprived you of your senses.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook here, Juan, you and I are not going into disputes and obstinacy. You\nknow me well enough already, or if you don\u2019t you ought to, to be certain\nthat it doesn\u2019t take long for my nose to itch. I want to be no less than\nthe Marchioness of Radishe and the Countess of Cabbidge, who at every turn\nfill their mouths with their grand titles, and, when they meet one, don\u2019t\nseem to have time to say with their drawling affectation, \u2018Adios, Do\u00f1a\nRamona.\u2019 Now, since the emperor has told you, when you saved his life,\nthat you might ask him even for the shirt that he had on his back, go and\nsee him, and ask him to make us Marquises.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo and ask him if he has a head on his shoulders, why don\u2019t you say? But\nthere\u2019s enough about it. Even in fun I don\u2019t like to hear such nonsense.\u201d\n\n\u201cJuan, don\u2019t provoke me; take care that I don\u2019t send you with a flea in\nyour ear.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, woman alive, however much of your husband\u2019s breeches you may wear,\ncould you even imagine that I was going to agree to this new start of\nyours?\u201d\n\n\u201cI bet you, you will agree.\u201d\n\n\u201cI tell you I am not going again to see the emperor.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo you shall, though you have to go on your head.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, wife, don\u2019t be a fool\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, come; less talk, and run along.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019m going, then, since you are so anxious about it. The saints\nprotect me, if I don\u2019t deserve to be shot for this chicken\u2010hearted\nweakness of character!\u201d\n\nJuan took the road to the court, and solicited a new audience with the\nemperor. Though he took it for certain that his majesty would send him to\nOld Nick if he did not throw him to him over the balcony, he found that\nhis majesty was very ready to grant him an audience.\n\n\u201cSire, your majesty will pardon so many impertinences\u2014\u201d he stammered out,\nfull of shame, when he drew near the emperor.\n\n\u201cWhy, man, don\u2019t be ashamed and a fool,\u201d interrupted his majesty kindly.\n\u201cWell, how goes it in the Azure Palace?\u201d\n\n\u201cBeautifully, sire.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how is that little rib of yours, eh?\u201d\n\n\u201cWho\u2014she? Oh! very well, under present circumstances.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd content with her lot? Is it not so?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, as for that, sire! Well, your majesty knows what the women are.\nTheir mouths are like a certain place I wouldn\u2019t mention before your\nmajesty, always open, and there\u2019s no getting at the bottom of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, and what does the good Do\u00f1a Ramona ask now?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, sire? But there\u2014one is ashamed to say it.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo on, man; out with it, and don\u2019t be bashful. To the man that saved my\nlife I\u2019d give anything, even the crown I wear.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, sire! She wants to be a marchioness.\u201d\n\n\u201cA marchioness! Is that all? Then from this instant she is the Marchioness\nof Marville.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, sire.\u201d\n\n\u201cKeep the thanks for your wife; and look into the dining\u2010room to see if\nthere is anything to lay hands on. And when you go back you will find your\nwife already installed in the palace belonging to her title, for the Azure\nPalace is not good enough for marquises.\u201d\n\nJuan passed into the dining\u2010room, and, after running the danger of\nbursting, he made his way for the palace of Marville. The palace of\nMarville was not such a very great wonder as its name might lead one to\nbelieve; but, for all that, one might very well pass his life in it!\n\nA crowd of footmen and porters received Juan at the gates of the palace,\naddressing him as my lord marquis; and Juan, for all his modesty, could\nnot but feel a little inflated with such a reception and such a title.\n\nBut there was nothing to hold the pride of his wife (though one might be\nas big as the bell of Toledo, under which one day there sat down seven\ntailors and a shoemaker) at hearing herself called by her maids lady\nmarchioness here, and lady marchioness there.\n\n\u201cWell, so you are at last content, wife?\u201d said Juan to her.\n\n\u201cYes, of course, I am. And indeed it was very provoking to hear one\u2019s self\ncalled Do\u00f1a Ramona, short like, as though one were only the wife of the\napothecary or the surgeon. You see the truth of what I have said; if one\nhas only to open her mouth in order to be a marchioness, why shouldn\u2019t\nshe? Now you see that his majesty did not eat you for asking such a\nreasonable thing.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, do you know, now, that it cost me something to ask it of him?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! get out of that; men are good for nothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it gave me more courage when his majesty said to me: \u2018Don\u2019t be\nbashful, man; for to the man that saved my life I\u2019d give even the crown I\nwear.\u2019 \u201d\n\n\u201cWhew! so he said that to you?\u201d\n\n\u201cAs sure as I\u2019m here.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen why didn\u2019t you ask him more?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere we are again! What more had I to ask?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right; for, as somebody said, \u2018there are more days than long\nsausages,\u2019 and\n\n\n    \u2018A horse and a friend\n    No work can spend.\u2019 \u201d\n\n\nOn the following day the Marquis and Marchioness of Marville took a turn\nin their grandest coach, and it was a sight to see how they rolled along,\nat every hour in the day, all around those parts, the very wheels seeming\nto say envy! envy! to the Marchioness of Radishe and the Countess of\nCabbidge. Some little trouble took place on account of the actions and\ncomplaints of the country folk, who prevented them from passing in their\ncoach over this and that road, or by this and that property. But the\nmarchioness quite forgot all these annoyances when, for example, at\nmeeting the wife of the apothecary or surgeon, she said to them from her\ncoach wherein she reclined in all her glory, \u201cAdios, Do\u00f1a Fulana,\u201d and the\nother answered her, trotting along on foot, \u201cGood\u2010by, my lady\nmarchioness.\u201d\n\nAfter some time the marquis thought he noticed that his wife was not\nperfectly happy, because he found her every day more capricious, and she\nnever slept quietly.\n\nOne morning, when the day was already advanced, the marquis slept away\nlike a dormouse, and the marchioness, who had passed a more restless and\nsleepless night than ever, lay awake at his side impatiently waiting for\nhim to awake.\n\n\u201cS. Swithin! what a sleeper!\u201d exclaimed the marchioness; and, no longer\nable to restrain her impatience, she gave her husband a tremendous pinch,\nand said, \u201cWake up, brute.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! ten thousand d\u2014\u2014!\u201d yelled the marquis.\n\n\u201cAre you not ashamed to sleep so much?\u201d\n\n\u201cAshamed! of something so natural? More ashamed should the one be who does\nnot sleep, for sleeplessness bespeaks an unquiet conscience. What the\ndevil is the matter with you that you have not ceased the whole night from\nturning and twisting about?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, indeed, if one only had a soul as broad\u2010shouldered as you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t understand you, woman.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, you shall understand me, blockhead though you are. Now, tell\nme, Juan, an emperor is greater than a king?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t he be?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is to say, that emperors can make kings?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think so. For instance, suppose his majesty the emperor wished to say\nto us, \u2018Ha, my good friends the Marquis and Marchioness of Marville, I\nconvert the province of Micomican, which belongs to me, into a kingdom,\nand I make you the monarchs of my new kingdom,\u2019 I believe nobody could\nhinder it.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, then; I wish his majesty to say and do this at your petition.\u201d\n\nThe very house seemed to fall atop of Juan at hearing this from his wife;\nbut this latest caprice of Ramona was so absurd that he had courage to\nhope in its all being a joke.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you think his majesty would give the person a nice slap in the face\nwho was so impudent and barefaced as to go to him with such a petition as\nthis?\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cIf you go, he will not; since he has said that he cannot deny even his\ncrown to the man who saved his life. So go along, ducky, hurry and see his\nmajesty.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you mean this?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t I mean it? I have a nice temper for jokes! I want to be\nqueen, in order to let those little folks know their proper places, who\npass their lives in digging the earth and eating potatoes, and have the\nimpudence to dare face gentlefolk who condescend to pass wherever they\nplease.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, well, now it\u2019s clear that you have lost your wits altogether!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat you are going to lose, since you have no wits, is your teeth, with a\nslap in the face, if you don\u2019t make haste and hurry off to the court.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019d lose my head before I\u2019d commit such an absurdity. There. I\u2019ve given\nway enough already.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed! Then from this day forward know that you have no longer a wife.\nThis is my room, and you shall never set foot in it again, nor I in\nyours.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, woman!\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no; remember we are strangers to each other.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, don\u2019t be obstinate, my own Ramonita.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t I tell you, sir, that all is over between us?\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, look here, pigeon.\u201d\n\n\u201cStop your prate!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe dev\u2014! Well, come, you shall be satisfied; I will go and see his\nmajesty, and tell him that you want to be queen, though I know he will\nshoot me on the spot.\u201d\n\nRamona bestowed a caress on her husband in reward for his consent, and our\ngood Juan made his way to the court cursing his own foolish weakness of\ncharacter.\n\nContrary to his expectations, the emperor hastened to grant him an\naudience, and received him with the accustomed smile.\n\n\u201cWell, marquis, what is it?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cWhat ought it to be, sire? A fresh impertinence.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, out with it man, and don\u2019t be bashful. Something concerning the\nmarchioness, eh?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve hit it again, sire. These foolish women are never content.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, what does yours want?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing, sire. She says, would it please your majesty to make her queen?\u201d\n\n\u201cQueen! nothing more than that? Well, she is queen already, then. Now, go\ninto the dining\u2010room, and see if there is anything there you can destroy;\nand, instead of returning to the palace of Marville, go to the palace of\nthe Crown, where you will find your wife installed as becomes the Queen of\nMicomican.\u201d\n\nJuan outdid himself in thanks and courtesies, and, after treating himself\nin the dining\u2010rooms right royally, made his way home. On his arrival at\nthe palace of the Crown, a salvo of artillery announced his coming. The\ntroops were drawn up around the palace, where he entered to the sound of\nthe Royal March, and amid the _vivas_ of the people, who became mad in the\npresence of the husband of their new sovereign.\n\nHer Majesty, the Queen Do\u00f1a Ramona the First, was holding a lev\u00e9e at the\nmoment when her august spouse arrived at the palace, and he, seating\nhimself by her side, gave also his royal hand to kiss; but it was so dirty\nthat as many as kissed it hurried out of the chamber spitting. To be king,\nit is necessary to keep the hands very clean.\n\nThe King and Queen of Micomican amused themselves mightily during the\nfirst weeks of their reign: so that all was feasting and rejoicing in\ncelebration of their happy coming to the throne. But so soon as the\nfestival passed, the Queen Do\u00f1a Ramona began to grow sad and weary.\n\nThe king summoned the chief physician of the court, and held a deep\nconsultation with him.\n\n\u201cMan alive,\u201d said he to him, \u201cI have summoned you in order to see what the\ndevil you have to say to me touching the sorrow and evil state in which I\nhave noticed my august spouse to be for some time past. She is always\nturning and twisting about in her bed, so that she neither sleeps herself\nnor lets me sleep, and the worst part of it is, that every day she is\nsadder, and everything irritates and exasperates her.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, sire, in the first place, we must please her in everything and by\neverything.\u201d\n\n\u201cI agree with you there, man; but there are things beyond human power. If\nit rains, she is put out because it rains; if it blows, she is put out\nbecause it blows; if we are in the winter, she is put out because the\nspring has not come, and her mind is so turned that she cries out: \u2018I\ncommand it not to rain,\u2019 \u2018I command it not to blow,\u2019 \u2018I command the spring\nto come at once.\u2019 Now, you see that it is only by being God one can secure\nobedience of orders like these. Well, then, to what the deuce do you\nattribute these whims of my august spouse?\u201d\n\n\u201cSire, it is very possible that they may presage a happy event.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, ah! I take you. Well, to be sure, and I never thought of such a\nthing. And wouldn\u2019t it be a joy to me and to my august spouse to find\nourselves with a direct successor? For, if not, there is no use in\ndeluding ourselves: the day that we close our eyes, in comes civil war,\nand the kingdom is gone to Old Nick.\u201d\n\nSo the Queen Do\u00f1a Ramona remained watching to see what would happen. But\nmonths and months passed, and the queen grew every day sadder and more\ncapricious.\n\nOne day the king decided on interrogating very seriously the queen\nherself, to see if he might draw from her the secret of her sadness and\ncapriciousness.\n\n\u201cWell, let us know, now, what the deuce is the matter with you,\u201d he said,\n\u201cthat you neither sleep nor let me sleep, and remain for ever like the\nthorn of S. Lucy.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am very unhappy,\u201d answered the queen, beginning to weep like a\nMagdalen.\n\n\u201cYou unhappy?\u2014you who lived in a stable as empty and bare as that which\nOur Lord lived in when he became man, and under present circumstances you\nfind yourself the somebody of somebodies, a queen clean and complete? What\nthe deuce do you want?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is true, I am a queen. But I die of sadness when from the throne I\nlook back and see nothing of what other queens see.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, and what do other queens see?\u201d\n\n\u201cFor instance, the Queen of Spain sees a series of great and glorious\nkings, named Recaredo, Pelayo, San Fernando, Alonso the Wise, Isabel the\nCatholic, Ferdinand the Catholic, Charles V., Philip II., Charles III.\u2014and\nthose kings had blood of hers, and seated themselves on the throne, and\nloved and made great the people that she loves and makes great.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right, wife. But you wish to do what is impossible, and that God\nalone can do.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, those impossibilities are the very things that tease and\nexasperate me. What is the use of being a queen, if even in the most just\ndesires one sees herself constrained, and unable to realize them? It is a\nfine afternoon, for instance, and I begin to get ready to go out for a\nwalk in the palace gardens, but a wretched little cloud appears in the\nsky, as though to say to one, \u2018Don\u2019t get ready!\u2019 And when one wishes to go\nout, that insolent cloud begins to pour down water, and one is obliged to\nremain at home, disgusted and fretting. What I want is to have power\nenough to prevent a miserable little cloud from laughing at me.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, woman, don\u2019t I tell you that this power God alone can have?\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I want to be God.\u201d\n\nJuan made the sign of the cross on himself, filled with shame and horror\nat hearing his wife give utterance to such a thing, whose head was\nundoubtedly turned by the demon of ambition. But he did not wish to\nexasperate the poor crazed being with lessons which, had she been in her\nright senses, she would have deserved.\n\n\u201cBut don\u2019t you know, child,\u201d he said to her with sweetness, \u201cthat the\nfulfilment of that desire is as impossible as it is foolish? The emperor\nhas granted us whatever we have asked, but what you want now he cannot\ngrant.\u201d\n\n\u201cStill, I want you to go and see him, and say so to him; for perhaps\nbetween him and the Pope they will be able to manage it.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if there is and never can be more than one God, how can you be made\nGod?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have always heard say that God can do everything. If the emperor\nconsults with the Pope, and the Pope has recourse to God, then you\u2019ll see\nif God, who can do everything, will disappoint them both.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if God cannot?\u201d\n\n\u201cHold your tongue, Jew, and don\u2019t say such awful things. God can do\neverything.\u201d\n\nJuan thought it would be more prudent to abstain from contradicting his\nwife any further. So he retired and summoned the chief physician of the\ncourt, in order to lay before him the new and extraordinary phase which\nthe moral malady of the queen displayed. The physician said that in his\nlong professional career he had met with cases of mental aberration even\nmore extraordinary than that of the queen; and insisted that, far from\ncontradicting the august invalid, they should comply with her every wish\nas far as it was humanly possible.\n\nThe king returned soon after to the chamber of his august spouse, who the\nmoment she saw him became a perfect wasp.\n\n\u201cHow, sire?\u201d she exclaimed. \u201cSo you are the first to disobey my orders?\u201d\n\n\u201cHow disobey?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sire! Did I not tell you that I want you to go and see the emperor,\nand implore him to place himself in communication with the Pope in order\nto see whether between them they could so manage that I might be God?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, you told me so, but\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cThere are no buts for me. How is it that you are not already on the road\nto comply with my orders? Now, none of your nice little jokes with me, if\nyou please\u2014you, who are no more than the husband of the queen\u2014and, if you\nruffle my feathers, I\u2019ll send you off to be hanged as soon as look at\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, child, don\u2019t be angry, you shall be obeyed instantly.\u201d\n\n\u201cRemember, none of your pranks, now! And listen: go and tell that health\u2010\nkiller whom you seem to have made one of your council, that if you don\u2019t\ngo to see the emperor, and perform in every point the commission which I\ncharge you with, he shall serve you as partner in your dance in the air.\u201d\n\nThe king withdrew; and when he reported to the chief physician what his\nwife had just said to him, the physician insisted more than ever on the\nnecessity of pleasing the august invalid in everything.\n\nSo the king set out on his journey to the imperial court. The extravagant\nand impious nature of his mission disturbed him greatly; but the\nconsideration gave him comfort that he was no longer a Juan nobody, as on\nother occasions when he had made the same journey, but a monarch about to\nconsult with another monarch. The only thing that weighed at all on his\nmind was the question of etiquette.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said he, \u201cfor the life of me what shoes to tread in when I\naddress the emperor. I have heard it said that all we sovereigns call each\nother cousins, though not a bit of cousinship exists between us: but how\ndo I know, if I call the emperor cousin, that he may not give me a blow\nthat would send all the teeth down my throat?\u201d Occupied with such\nthoughts, he arrived at the imperial court, and the emperor hastened to\nreceive him when he had scarcely set foot in the palace.\n\n\u201cHow is her majesty, Queen Do\u00f1a Ramona?\u201d asked the emperor kindly.\n\n\u201cBad enough, under present circumstances.\u201d\n\n\u201cMan, that is the worst news yet! And what ails her?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat the devil do I know? The evil one alone understands these women. If\nyour majesty could only guess the commission she has given me\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cHallo, hallo! Well, let us hear it.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe says\u2014but pshaw! One is ashamed to say it. She says to see if your\nmajesty could consult with the Pope, and between you manage to make her\nGod.\u201d\n\n\u201cEh! That is a greater request. Make her God, eh!\u201d\n\n\u201cYour majesty sees already that it is a piece of madness; for a woman\ncan\u2019t complain of the small advance in her career who to\u2010day is a queen,\nand not a year ago lived in a stable. A stable is a disgrace to nobody,\nsure enough; for, after all, Our Lord, though he was God, lived in one\nwhen he made himself man.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo the good Do\u00f1a Ramona wishes to be God, eh!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve hit it, your majesty.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, we will please her as far as we are able. Let your majesty step\ninto the dining\u2010room and drive the wolf from the door, and on returning\nyou will find your wife, if not changed into God, changed into something\nwhich is like to him.\u201d\n\nThe royal consort turned into the dining\u2010room, but, do what he would, he\ncould scarcely swallow a mouthful. Everything seemed to disagree with him,\nand the cause of it lay in his feeling within him a restlessness which\nseemed to forebode some misfortune. He made his way homewards, and on\narriving at the palace of the crown he saw, with as great sorrow as\ndismay, that the palace was closed and deserted.\n\n\u201cWhat has happened here?\u201d he inquired of a passer\u2010by.\n\n\u201cThe emperor has put an end to the kingdom of Micomican, re\u2010establishing\nthe ancient province, and re\u2010incorporating it with the empire.\u201d\n\nJuan had neither courage nor strength to ask more. He wandered about for\nhours and hours like one demented without knowing whither, when suddenly\nhe found himself at the door of the stable where he had lived with his\nwife, and on pushing open the door, which revolved on its hinges, he found\nhis wife installed there once more. The only thing Godlike which the woman\nwho had entertained the criminal ambition of becoming like to him,\nconsisted in the similarity of her dwelling to the stable which God\noccupied when he became man.\n\n\n\n\nThe Distaff.\n\n\n\u201cIn der guten alten Zeit wo die K\u00f6nigen Bertha spann.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn the good old times when Queen Bertha span\u201d is a thrifty proverb still\ncurrent in France and some parts of Germany where the distaff is yet seen\nbeneath the arm of the shepherdess, looking, as she tends her flock,\nprecisely like S. Genevieve just stept out from her canvas, or that more\nmodern saint of the hidden life, Germaine of Pibrac, who is always\nrepresented with her spindle and distaff. In the very same fields where S.\nGermaine watched her flocks and twirled her spindle in the old scriptural\nway, keeping her innocent heart all the while united to God, have we seen\nthe young shepherdess clad in the picturesque scarlet or white capuchon of\nthe country, which covers their heads and half veils their forms\u2014guarding\ntheir sheep and spinning at the same time.\n\nAnd the same womanly implement is sometimes found in the hands of those of\ngentle birth in those old lands where so many still cling to the\ntraditions of the past. We read of the now world\u2010famous Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin\nthat the same hand that wrote such charmingly na\u00efve letters and journals\ndid not disdain the spindle and the distaff. She writes thus in her\njournal: \u201cI have begun my day by fitting myself up a distaff, very round,\nvery firm, and very smart with its bow of ribbon. There, I am going to\nspin with a small spindle. One must vary work and amusements: tired of a\nstocking, I take up my needle and then my distaff. So time passes, and\ncarries us away on its wings.\u201d And again a day or two after: \u201cI took my\ndistaff by way of diversion, but all the while I was spinning, my mind\nspun and wound and turned its spindle at a fine rate. I was not at my\ndistaff. The soul just sets that kind of mechanical work going and then\nleaves it.\u201d\n\nThis reminds us of Uhland\u2019s verse:\n\n\n    \u201cLong, long didactic poems\n      I spin with busy wheel,\n    The lengthened yarns of epic\n      Keep running off my reel:\n\n    \u201cMy wheel itself has a lyrical whirr,\n      My cat has a tragic mew,\n    While my spindle plays the comic parts\n      And does the dancing too.\u201d\n\n\nEug\u00e9nie\u2019s charming Arcadian life, passed in the primitive occupations of\nspinning, sewing, superintending the kitchen\u2014even going, like Homer\u2019s\nNausicaa, to the margin of the stream to wash the linen in the running\nwaters, and afterwards taking pleasure in spreading it all white on the\ngreen grass, or seeing it wave on the lines: all this, we say, without\ndetracting from the poetry and grace of her nature, is enough to make us\nrecall with a sigh the good old days when Queen Bertha span.\n\nAnd this queen was _Berthe au grand pied_, the mother of Charlemagne, who\nhad one foot larger than the other, and hence her name:\n\n\n    \u201cYou are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, queen of Helvetia,\n    She whose story I read at a stall in the streets of Southampton,\n    Who, as she rode on her palfrey o\u2019er valley and meadow and\n                mountain,\n    Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff fixed to her saddle.\n    She was so thrifty and good, that her name passed into a proverb.\u201d\n\n\nWhether this Queen of Helvetia is our Bertha with the great foot we know\nnot. The name is found in many curious old legends like the German one of\nFrau Bertha, a kind of tutelar genius of spinners, with an immense foot\nand a long iron nose, which doubtless served as a spindle. And an old\nmanuscript, long hidden in some obscure corner of a German monastery,\ntells how King Pepin, wishing to wed the fair Bertha of Brittany, sent his\nchief officers to bring her to his court. The steward, who had charge of\nthe escort, was not without ambitious views respecting his own daughter.\nHe ordered his servants to put Bertha to death on the way. But they,\ninstead of killing her, left her in a forest. Not long after\u2014O happy\nchance!\u2014King Pepin, overtaken by night while hunting, awaited the dawn in\na house where he was served by the most beautiful maid his eyes had ever\nbeheld. Of course it was Bertha with her great foot, which, we may be\nsure, she gracefully concealed beneath her flowing garments. And so they\nwere married. Old poems sing of her industry, and tell us she knew how to\nspin like the princesses of scriptural and Homeric days. She is\nrepresented, too, on old coins seated on a throne with a distaff in her\nhands. All writers speak of her as _Berthe au grand pied_, but as\notherwise beautiful and skilful in wielding the earliest implement of\nfeminine industry. We may safely imagine her as tapping the mighty\nCharlemagne, leader of peerless knights, while yet a boy, with her\nconvenient distaff; for her ascendency over him was such that he always\nregarded her with great reverence, even after his elevation to power!\n\nAnd Bertha was not the only princess that laid her hand hold of the\nspindle. When the tomb of Jeanne de Bourbon, wife of Charles V. of France,\nwas opened at St. Denis, among other things was found a distaff of gilded\nwood, but greatly decayed. And there is another in the H\u00f4tel de Cluny,\nonce used by some queen of France, we forget whom, on which is carven all\nthe notable women of the Old Testament.\n\nSo too the daughters of Edward the Elder of England, though carefully\neducated, were so celebrated for their achievements in spinning and\nweaving that the term spinster is said to be derived from them.\n\nAnd S. Walburga, the daughter of S. Richard, King of the Saxons, used to\nspin and weave among the royal and saintly maidens of Wimburn Minster. It\nwas a common custom in those days. The distaff and the spindle were\nconsidered \u201cthe arms of every virtuous woman.\u201d\n\nThe ancients held the use of them as such an accomplishment that Minerva\nis said to have come down to earth to teach the Greek women how to spin.\nVenus herself did not disdain to take upon herself the semblance of a\nspinner of fair wool when she appeared to Helen.\n\nAnd spinning was as universal an acquirement among the Jewish as the\nGrecian women. They used to spin by moonlight on the housetops and, true\nto the instinct of their sex, kept so faithful an eye on their neighbors\nin the meanwhile that the ancient spinsters\u2019 tongues were potent in the\nworld of gossip. There is a tradition that S. Ann spun the virginal robes\nof her immaculate child in the pure beams of the chaste Dian.\n\nOf the valiant woman in the Book of Proverbs it is said: \u201cHer fingers have\ntaken hold of the spindle.\u201d And in Exodus we read that \u201cthe skilful women\ngave such things as they spun, violet, purple, and scarlet, and fine linen\nand goats\u2019 hair, all of their own accord,\u201d for the tabernacle.\n\nWe are told that the Jewish maidens who devoted themselves to the service\nof the temple were employed, among other things, in spinning the fine\nlinen on their spindles of cedar, or ithel, a species of the oriental\nacacia, black as ebony and probably the same as the setim, or shittim\nwood, of the Holy Scriptures. According to tradition, the Blessed Virgin\nMary, who passed her early days in the temple, participated and excelled\nin all the pursuits then carried on. The _Protevangelion_ of S. James the\nLess relates that, when a new veil was to be made for the temple of our\nLord, the priests confided the work to seven virgins of the tribe of\nDavid. They cast lots to see \u201cwho should spin the gold thread, who the\nblue, who the scarlet, and who the true scarlet.\u201d It fell to Mary\u2019s lot to\nspin the purple. Leaving her work, one day, to draw water in her jar, the\nangel drew near with his _Ave Maria_.\n\nA distaff lies at Mary\u2019s feet in Raphael\u2019s \u201cAnnunciation,\u201d and in many\nother celebrated paintings she is represented with one. In a \u201cRiposa\u201d by\nAlbert D\u00fcrer she is depicted spinning from her distaff beside the Divine\nBabe who is sleeping in its cradle:\n\n\n    \u201cInter fila cantans orat\n    Blanda, veni somnuli.\u201d\n\n\nS. Bonaventura tells us that several of the early sacred writers speak of\nour Blessed Lady\u2019s industry in spinning and sewing for the support of her\nSon and S. Joseph in the land of Egypt. So reduced to poverty were they\nthat, according to him, she went from house to house to obtain work,\nprobably flax to spin as she sat watching the Holy Infant in the grove of\nsycamores of traditional renown. Her unrivalled skill in spinning the fine\nflax of Pelusium became a matter of tradition, and the name of _Virgin\u2019s\nThread_ has been given to that network of dazzling whiteness and almost\nvaporous texture that floats over the deep valleys in the damp mornings of\nautumn, says the Abb\u00e9 Orsini.\n\nIt is said the Church at Jerusalem preserved some of Mary\u2019s spindles among\nits treasures, which were afterwards sent to the Empress Pulcheria, who\nplaced them in one of the churches of Constantinople.\n\nOther nations, too, had their famous spinsters. Dante\u2019s ancestor in\nParadise, looking back to earth, tells him of a Florentine dame of an\nopulent family who,\n\n\n                \u201cWith her maidens drawing off\n    The tresses from the distaff, lectured them\n    Old tales of Troy, and Fiesole, and Rome.\u201d\n\n\nAnd a Spanish writer of past times says, speaking of the model woman:\n\u201cBehold this wife who purchases flax that she may spin with her maids. See\nher thus seated in the midst of her women.\u201d Thus did Andromache spin among\nher attendants.\n\nSo have we seen old nuns spinning in the cloisters of the remote provinces\nof France: the white wool on their distaffs diminishing slowly and calmly\nas their own even lives. They looked as if spinning out their own serene\ndestinies. Such a happy destiny is not reserved for all whose thread is\ndrawn out by Lachesis.\n\n\n    \u201cTwist ye, twine ye! even so\n      Mingle shades of joy and woe,\n    Hope and fear, and peace and strife,\n      In the thread of human life.\u201d\n\n\nAt Rome there are two white lambs blessed on S. Agnes\u2019 day (\u201cS. Agnes and\nher lambs unshorn,\u201d says Keats) in her church on the Nomentan road, and\nthen they are placed in a convent till they are shorn, when their wool is\nspun by the sacred hands of the nuns. Of this the pallium is made\u2014the\ndistinctive mark of a metropolitan.\n\nI have called the distaff the earliest implement of feminine industry.\nSuch is the old tradition. There is a pathetic miniature of the twelfth\ncentury depicting an angel giving Adam a spade and Eve a distaff previous\nto their expulsion from Paradise: and on the sarcophagus of Junius Bassus\nof the fourth century, Adam is represented with a sheaf of grain, for he\nwas to till the earth, and Eve with a lamb whose fleece she was to spin.\nAnd we have our old English rhyme:\n\n\n    \u201cWhen Adam delved and Eve span,\n    Where was then the gentleman?\u201d\n\n\nAnd so faithfully was the tradition handed down that the distaff has\nalways been regarded as a symbol of womanhood, which woman scorned to see\neven in the hands of a Hercules.\n\nIn these days, when even our rustic belles are overloaded with\naccomplishments, the piano takes the place of \u201cHygeia\u2019s harp\u201d on which the\nfair maidens of the olden time loved to discourse fair music, like the\ngentle Evangeline of Acadie, seated at her father\u2019s side,\n\n\n    \u201cSpinning flax for the loom that stood in the corner behind her,\u201d\n\n\nwho, I fear, would be regarded in these days of improvement, at least in\nour country, with nearly as much horror as those other indefatigable\nspinners are by the good housewife:\n\n\n    \u201cWeaving spiders, come not here;\n    Hence, you long\u2010legged spinners, hence!\u201d\n\n\nWhat charming pictures some of us retain in our memories of our gray\u2010\nhaired grandmothers of New England country life\u2014delicately nurtured,\ntoo\u2014sitting down in the afternoon by the huge fire\u2010place to spin flax on a\nlittle carved wheel! How many of us carefully preserve such a wheel in\nmemory of those by\u2010gone days, when we loved to linger and watch the\nmysterious process, and look at the face that always was so kindly, and\nlisten to the whirr whose music is now hushed for ever!\n\nBut though spinning by hand will soon become one of the lost arts, there\nis one who will spin on till time shall be no more\u2014one from whose distaff\nis drawn out the web of our lives\u2014the star\u2010crowned Clotho:\n\n\n    \u201cSpin, spin, Clotho, spin!\n      Lachesis, twist! and, Atropos, sever!\n    Life is short and beset by sin,\n      \u2019Tis only God endures for ever!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nA Martyr\u2019s Journey.\n\n\nFrom The French.\n\nIn the Beaujolais, the country _par excellence_ of beautiful women and\nbeautiful vines, a little village lies hidden among luxuriant arbors. Each\nhouse is clothed in green leaves, and the wine, though rare, is not so\nwonderful as the immense tuns that hold it. Yet Coigny, with its nectar,\nits beautiful sky, its coquettish habitations its robust sons and\nattractive daughters, had not a habitable church. Still it dreamed of one,\nand four worthy priests worked hard and hopefully for the realization of\nthe dream. One of them climbed well his ladder of orders, and has since\nbecome Bishop of Coutances; and if, as it is said, the zeal, piety, and\nlegitimate influence of four ecclesiastics will finish the Cathedral of\nCologne, notwithstanding the devil\u2019s theft of the plan, what might not be\nhoped for Coigny?\n\nSo nothing more need be told than that, from amidst the lovely, smiling\nverdure of the little town, there sprang an exquisite white marble church,\na temptation to pray in as well as to see, and the admiration of the\nentire province.\n\nMadame la Marquise de \u2014\u2014 gave all her inimitable guipures to ornament the\nhigh altar, and Monsieur le Comte de \u2014\u2014, a great amateur in pictures,\nplaced a true Mignard\u2014a Madonna with a lovely smile\u2014upon the walls, even\nbefore they dried.\n\nSo each and all offered homage in the new house of God.\n\nStill the beautiful little church lacked a patron, a saint under whose\ninvocation it might be placed, and the blessed one must be represented by\nhis own venerable ashes, a relic of the past, a protection for the future.\n\nThe village of Coigny, therefore, spared neither pains nor expense to be\nsatisfied in this regard, and the Holy Father was applied to to select the\npatron. The dear old man replied favorably to the little town he could\nscarcely find on the map, and which was more noted for bearing the cross\nthan ringing the bell; and a curious and grave ceremony took place.\n\nThey opened the Roman Catacombs, and they descended into the vaults of the\ncemetery of S. Cyriac, and there they chose the mortal remains of a\nChristian martyr buried for many centuries.\n\nThe stone that closed the cell bore a palm branch and the inscription,\n\n\n    Hilary At Rest,\n\n\nand indicated he had died for the faith in the early ages of Christianity.\nHis bones and the size of his head denoted only the adolescent, scarcely\nmore than a child; while the whole expressed the courage of the man united\nto the grace of the angel.\n\nThe account from which this is taken adds, this young soldier of Christ\nwas found sleeping peacefully at his post, extended on his granite bier,\nwith his forehead cleft asunder, his neck cut open, of which the little\nbottle by his side held the precious blood. The figure of the young martyr\nhad been covered with virgin wax, carefully enclosing the sacred bones,\nand, attired in silk and embroidery, he is holding the palm branch in his\nhand. The wounded head inclines as if bending to his murderers, his throat\nlies open in its deep sword\u2010wound, his hands and feet have bled, and the\npurple tide gushes from his wounds and trickles over his limbs; but his\nlips are shut with love, and his eyes are fixed, regarding with S. Stephen\nthe heavens opening to receive him.\n\nSo this child of eighteen hundred years ago, this soldier of the faith,\ntaken from the Roman Catacombs, was sent by the Pope to Coigny.\n\nCan we not imagine his reception? Did not the village ring out its festal\nbells, and scatter flowers on his path, and with thousands of candles in\nthe nave, and incense mounting far above the high altar, did not the\nlittle church welcome this contemporary of Nero, who had travelled\nsurrounded by glorious palms in his own carriage over the line from Italy?\n\nHe has come, and twenty priests bear him on their shoulders, and his final\nresting\u2010place is under the high altar.\n\nCoigny, the coquette, crowned by its green vine branches, bacchante\u2010like,\nthe pious Coigny, has its martyr in the vaults of its own dear church, no\nmore nor less than if it were a basilica.\n\nTrue, he was an almost forgotten saint, and anonymously canonized, but the\nScriptures told us long ago, \u201cGod knows how to recompense his own.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nOdd Stories: III. Peter The Powerful.\n\n\nLong and loud was the flourish of trumpets that greeted the day on which\nPhilip the Mighty was born to his father\u2019s dukedom; so rare was the\npromise of a babe. Need it be said that, nurtured under the eye of his\nstern sire, he grew in the strength of justice? To such a degree had he\ninherited the zeal of his ancestors, that while yet in his cradle he\nstrangled a wretched nurse for stealing his spoon; whereat there was\nanother flourish of trumpets. Subsequent reflections upon the loss of so\nuseful a servant taught him to restrain the exercise of his just powers;\nand hence, when his tutors failed to instruct him within a given time in\nthe arts, sciences, languages, and literatures, he merely broke their\nheads. We live to learn; and so it proved even to a prince as well endowed\nas Philip the Mighty. In these early acts we can see the foundations of\nthat character which was afterwards so great a monument among men.\n\nDuring the famous period in which our prince served his sire in the\nadministration of justice, the dungeons were never empty of thieves and\nwranglers, nor the axe long idle for want of miscreant heads. To a peasant\nwho once stole an apple, he said, \u201cHow now, varlet, dost confess?\u201d\nAnswered the trembling churl: \u201cNay, most puissant lord, I stole not the\nfruit.\u201d Then spoke Philip: \u201cBy my halidom, I\u2019ll mend thine honesty\u201d;\nwhereupon the fellow was put on the rack till he broke a blood\u2010vessel,\nstill not confessing, for it was death to steal an apple out of the duke\u2019s\ngarden. At night the peasant died in his bed of a hemorrhage, piously\nacknowledging in his last moments that he had committed the theft; whereat\nwas another flourish of trumpets. Life is a great lesson, however, and it\nmust not be supposed that our powerful hero could content himself with a\nfew exploits at court when he felt that he had a mission to reform the\nworld.\n\nTherefore it was that Philip the Mighty set out upon a knight\u2019s errand to\nslay all the witches, devils, malefactors, giants, goblins, and monsters\nthat came in his path. But one squire rode with him, bearing a golden\ntrumpet, which, when Peter had done to death a sour\u2010faced hag who shrieked\nat him on the mountain\u2010side, he blew right merrily. Now, the old witch had\nasked the valiant knight for justice against her lord at court. Life is a\nscience not to be mastered without blows; and Philip learned to slay and\nfear not in such stout earnest that soon he won the renown of being, as in\nfact he was called, the Champion Wrong\u2010killer of the age.\n\nWhen a foul, black\u2010hearted necromancer was tracked to his hiding\u2010place,\nwhat else should our good knight do but put him to the sword? When a five\u2010\neyed dwarf was accused of deviltry, who else should carve him for the\ncrows but our duke\u2019s son? When a grim ogre, breathing death and fury,\nbeset him whose arm was so mighty, when malefactors pestered the land,\nwhen monsters of all kind raged on every hand, who dealt them such\nlightning doom as the champion wrong\u2010killer? On every occasion did his\ntrusty squire blow the trumpet of gold right lustily, to the wonder of\nlords and people. Now, it was whispered that the slain sorcerers had\nhelped husbandmen and artisans with their strange inventions; that the\nmalefactors were slaughtered outright for the crimes of their fellows;\nthat the giants were amiable men, sometimes, but provoked beyond\nendurance; that dwarfs and witches were poor old people, seldom as bad as\nthey seemed to be. Nevertheless, the real monsters of the land increased\nday by day, in spite of the champion killer\u2019s sword and his squire\u2019s\ngolden trumpet.\n\nWeary with much slaughter of false knights and caitiff wretches and\nmonsters, the paladin Philip resolved to undertake the deliverance of the\npoor from the oppressions of the rich. Filled with this noble idea, he\nslew a yeoman who was chastising his servant without mercy. Seeing a\nnumber of slaves at work, he set them all free by killing their master. He\ndivided the estates of the rich among the poor. He distributed largesses\namong multitudes of the needy. He rescued honest damsels who were being\ncarried away by villain lords. Alas! for an ingrate world. \u2019Twas rumored\nthat the yeoman had left a widow and seven children to mourn him. The\nslaves became marauders; the poor quarrelled among themselves; the beggars\ngot drunk; and some of the honest damsels lamented their fallen lords.\nHowbeit, the faithful squire blew his trumpet louder than ever.\n\nMeanwhile had our good knight grown religious, and burned men at the\nstake; but the more the fuel, the greater the flame. The more lances he\nshattered for honor\u2019s sake, the more swords he blunted for justice\u2019s sake;\nthe more money he spent to give feasts to beggars, and the more land he\nparcelled among the poor, all the more honor, justice, bounty, estate,\nremained to be won and adjusted. His sharp judgments had, after all, won\nhim nothing but the sound of his trumpet. He had killed the innocent and\nrobbed the poor, when he intended to do otherwise, and, if he executed\nHeaven\u2019s judgments, it was by a kind of mistake. One thing he had not\nslain\u2014himself.\n\nAll the while, he who had killed so many monsters was growing in bulk and\nstature out of all proportion. As his legs and arms increased their\nstrength of muscle, his ears grew longer, and his eyes grew blinder. He\nscorned, nay, devoured the weak he once defended, and, at last, a monster\nhimself, was killed by a conspiracy of those whose champion he once was.\nFor Philip, though a champion wrong\u2010killer, was blind to his own wrong\u2010\ndoing; and, though a reformer, never allowed people to reform themselves;\nso he destroyed the wheat with the chaff and killed the good with the bad.\n\n\n\n\nNew Publications.\n\n\n    THE BOOK OF THE HOLY ROSARY. A Popular Doctrinal Exposition of its\n    Fifteen Mysteries, mainly Conveyed in Select Extracts from the\n    Fathers and Doctors of the Church. By the Rev. Henry Formby, of\n    the Third Order of St. Dominic. Embellished with thirty\u2010six full\u2010\n    page illustrations. New York: The Catholic Publication Society.\n    1872.\n\n\nThe devotion of the Holy Rosary is one of the most beautiful which the\nCatholic Church proposes to her children, and is also probably the one\nwhich has been received by them everywhere, without distinction of\nnationality or class, with the most sincere delight. Catholics, it is\ntrue, are for the most part familiar with the general history and\nsignificance of this devotional practice, which in itself forms a\ncompendium of popular theology. Most of the books, however, on this\nsubject, with which we are acquainted, are intended to excite Christians\nto the frequent and devout use of this form of prayer, rather than to give\nthem a full and clear understanding of its natural connection with the\ngreat and fundamental truths which form the basis of Christianity. The\nbook of F. Formby is both doctrinal and devotional; all the more\ndevotional because the piety which it inculcates is enlightened by true\nChristian science.\n\nThe work is divided into three parts corresponding with the three groups\nof mysteries of which the Rosary is composed. The author prefaces each of\nthese groups with an introduction, in which he carefully compares its\nmysteries with their corresponding types in the Old Testament. This\ncomparison is again instituted in a more particular manner as each mystery\nin turn presents itself for elucidation.\n\nIn treating of the different mysteries, he first quotes from Scripture\nthose passages upon which they are formed, and then adduces the\ncorresponding types from the Old Testament, still further illustrating the\nsubject by apposite quotations and allusions taken from the classics of\npagan literature. These are followed by extracts from the writings of the\ngreat Fathers and Doctors of the church, many of which will be new to the\nEnglish reader. Thus each chapter of the book forms a comprehensive\ntreatise, both doctrinal and devotional, of the particular mystery in the\nlife of our divine Saviour or that of his Blessed Mother to which it is\ndevoted.\n\nWithout going out of his way, F. Formby by the simple exposition of the\ndoctrine and practice of the church shows in the most conclusive manner\nhow utterly groundless are the objections of Protestants to Catholic\ndevotion to the Mother of Christ. We have not for a long time read a book\nwith which we are so perfectly pleased as with this of F. Formby. The\nclergy especially will find in it a rich mine from which to draw\ninstruction for the people. It may be read with profit, however, by all\nclasses of persons, as the plain and simple style in which it is written\ndoes not raise it above the comprehension of even uneducated minds. The\nbook is ornamented with thirty\u2010six full\u2010page woodcuts, unusually excellent\nboth in design and execution; which, added to the attractions of clear\ntypography and tasteful binding, make it a work of art as well as of\nreligion.\n\n\n    HENRY PERREYVE. By A. Gratry, Pr\u00eatre de l\u2019Oratoire, etc.\n    Translated by special permission. London: Rivingtons. 1872. (New\n    York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\n\nAfter a life of singular purity and great activity in the cause of truth,\nF. Gratry entered upon his rest on the 6th of February, 1872. His\nimpulsive and ardent nature hurried him for a moment, towards the close of\nhis life, into a controversy which, for a time, caused the greatest\nanxiety to his friends, and threatened to throw a cloud over an existence\notherwise so brilliant and precious. His heart, however, always remained\nloyal to the church and to truth, and, when he was made aware of his\nerror, he himself was the first to acknowledge it, and to do all in his\npower to atone for it. The writings of F. Gratry have always possessed for\nus a singular charm. He has in a high degree the gift of making his\nthoughts contagious. He throws the warmth and life of his whole heart into\nhis writings; his words breathe and palpitate and affect one like the\npresence of a noble and high\u2010wrought nature. In Henry Perreyve he found a\nsubject peculiarly fitted to call forth these qualities of his style. The\nhistory of the outer life of Henry Perreyve was uneventful and short.\nDesigned by his parents for the bar, disposed by his own vigorous and\nimpetuous nature to the military life, he was called of God to the\npriesthood. When he had once recognized the voice of God, he devoted to\nthis high vocation all the energies of a most gifted and courageous\nnature. At an early age he developed remarkable talents both for writing\nand speaking. He possessed the divine gift of eloquence, and Lacordaire,\nwho loved him more than any other man in the world, looked forward to the\nday when his own voice, having grown feeble by age, would be born again\nwith redoubled strength and warmth on the lips of Henry Perreyve. Alas,\nthat such hope should be delusive! He to whom Lacordaire wrote, \u201cYou live\nin my heart eternally as my son and my friend,\u201d was destined soon to\nfollow his great preceptor to the grave. He died in 1865, when but thirty\u2010\nfour years old. The story of his life, as told by F. Gratry, is a poem\nfull of the most exalted sentiment, and impressed with the highest form of\nbeauty. \u201cAll who knew him,\u201d says his biographer, \u201cagree on this point,\nthat the one characteristic which stamps his outward life and his inward\nsoul is only to be expressed by that word Beauty. All the inward beauty\nwherewith courage, intelligence, devotion, and goodness can invest a soul,\nand all the outward expression of beauty with which such a soul can stamp\nthe living man, were combined in him. Nature and grace had alike done\ntheir very best for him; he overflowed with their choicest gifts.\u201d Whoever\nwill read F. Gratry\u2019s sketch will be persuaded that these words are not\ntoo strong. The life of Henry Perreyve is another confirmation of the\ntruth that the ideal type of perfect manhood can be developed only in the\nCatholic Church. We especially recommend this book to the young men of our\ncountry. Even though it should not inspire them with the exalted ambition\nof consecrating their lives to God, it will at least teach them the\ntranscendent beauty of Christian courage, of self\u2010devotion, of nobility of\npurpose.\n\nHenry Perreyve was most ardent in urging his friends to aspire to the\npriesthood. In this connection F. Gratry remarks: \u201cTruly, I know no wiser\nenthusiasm than that which stimulates men to become laborers for God. We\nhave too few priests; we have far too many soldiers. No man becomes a\npriest whether he will or no; but on all sides the strong hand of the\npowers that be constrains men to be soldiers whether they will or no. Why\nis the priest\u2019s lot to be counted worse than the soldier\u2019s? He who chooses\nthe sacred toil of God\u2019s harvest\u2010field for his life\u2019s labor, chooses the\nbetter part. Surely his ambition is beyond all comparison the greatest,\nbest and noblest: his work the most fruitful, the most necessary. That is\nbut a sorry delusion by which the world would set the priesthood before\nmen as in the shadow of death, and other careers as in a glow of light and\nglory.\u201d\n\n\n    THE SPOKEN WORD; or, The Art of Extemporary Preaching: Its\n    Utility, its Danger, and its True Idea. With an easy and practical\n    Method for its Attainment. By Rev. Thomas J. Potter, Professor of\n    Sacred Eloquence in the Missionary College of All Hallows, Author\n    of \u201cSacred Eloquence,\u201d etc., etc. Boston: P. Donahoe. 1872.\n\n\nOne of the most favorable omens attending the great Catholic revival in\nthe English\u2010speaking world is the appearance of works bearing upon the\nvarious duties of the sacred ministry. In the earlier days of struggle in\nEngland and America, the missionary priest entered upon a life of toil\nwhich gave but scant opportunity for adding to the fund of learning that\nserved as its outfit. Hence, while the greatness of the Catholic\nchampions, who entered the arena armed _cap\u2010a\u2010pie_ by a long and thorough\ntraining, was brought into striking relief, the depression of minds less\ntrained and of less capacity among the clergy was marked by the absence of\na native literature suited to their class.\n\nWhen a priest rarely had a day free from harassing labors, and was barely\nable to run into debt for the brick, beams, and shingles of a nondescript\nbuilding wherein to assemble his flock, he certainly did well if, after\nreading his breviary and peeping into his moral theology, he kept himself\ninformed of current events. Such circumstances of poverty were not\nfavorable to literature or eloquence. Ecclesiastical art, with its\nintricate ceremonial and its peculiar music, was in a fair way to be lost;\nand the refinements of clerical education were rather sources of\ndiscouragement in the present than of bright anticipation for the future.\n\nBut this phase, having in some measure passed away in England, has lost\nmuch of its gloom for us in America. Pastors have more time to prepare\ninstructions for their people. Congregations by their magnitude and\nintelligence call forth the highest efforts of eloquence. The instincts of\nCatholic devotion require that God\u2019s house should be made a house of\nprayer, and demand, for their satisfaction and increase, the sacristy and\nchoir, which shall be \u201cfor a glory and a beauty.\u201d Meanwhile, increasing\nwealth furnishes means for fulfilling the requirements of the Roman\nRitual.\n\nThe work which we notice is one of many signs of the times, and also one\nof a series of similar efforts by its earnest and experienced author. It\nis written in a clear and flowing style, slightly marred, however, by the\nfrequent repetition of the adjective \u201cexpedite,\u201d as qualifying the noun\n\u201cknowledge,\u201d and the perpetual recurrence of \u201ca man who,\u201d or \u201cthe man\nwho.\u201d The general effect is nevertheless pleasing, and the book itself\nought to be read. The title contains a fair analysis of the work. It\nremains for us to say that the author is thorough in the treatment of his\nsubject. His hints and warnings are useful to those accustomed to preach\nextempore; while his suggestions for the composition of sermons are\nentirely applicable to those who perfect their oratorical preparations\nbefore ascending the pulpit.\n\nThe appearance of the book is also quite in its favor, and we might adduce\nit as a sign of the times in a department to which we have not yet\nalluded.\n\n\n    THE BELOVED DISCIPLE. By the Rev. Father Rawes, O.S.C. London:\n    Burns, Oates & Co. 1872. New York: Sold by The Catholic\n    Publication Society.\n\n\nThis is a beautiful sketch of the life of \u201cthe disciple whom Jesus loved.\u201d\nFather Rawes, in common with S. Jerome, S. Augustine, and S. Bernard, has\na great and special devotion to the Evangelist S. John. This little book\nis well written and is eminently devotional and instructive.\n\n\n    UNAWARES. By the Author of \u201cThe Rose Garden.\u201d Boston: Roberts\n    Bros. 1872.\n\n\nOne experiences a sense of rest and refreshment in reading this\nunpretending volume. It is a narrative of French life, not at all after\nthe sensational order, but beautifully wrought out, with enough of romance\nto sustain the interest and chain the attention of the reader, but not a\nline or word that one could wish unwritten. With a slight plot and few\nincidents, this pleasing story charms us with a delightfully artistic\ndescription of a quaint old town in France, where the grand cathedral\nstands, the central object of attraction\u2014solemn, steadfast, ever\nvarying\u2014severe or tender, as the case may be\u2014but always inconceivably\npeaceful.\n\nThe characters, drawn with a skilful hand and admirably sustained, the\nchaste beauty of the language and style, with the gems of thought worthy\nof life\u2010long remembrance scattered throughout the volume, lead us to\ndesire an acquaintance with other books this attractive author may have\nwritten.\n\n\n    THE VICAR\u2019S DAUGHTER. By George MacDonald. Boston: Roberts Bros.\n    1872.\n\n\nIf not to be sensational is a merit, this book certainly has that merit.\nThe Introduction, which in most books is apt to be dull, and often is\nskipped by the reader who wishes to plunge _in medias res_, is here the\nspiciest part, the sugar\u2010coating of the pill\u2014if it be not ill\u2010natured to\ncall this work a pill. A very mild one it is, and the patient, if none the\nbetter, will certainly be none the worse for taking it. Its object seems\nto be to promulgate some Presbyterian ideas concerning the means to be\nused for elevating the spiritual condition of the poor. The London poor is\nthe class considered, but the general rules laid down may be supposed good\nfor all poor. Some very queer ideas are broached; among others, that it is\nbetter to give a workman a gold watch than a leg of mutton, because by so\ndoing you will pay him a compliment for which he will be grateful, but\nthat he should have nothing given him \u201cwhich he ought to provide for\nhimself\u2014such as food, or clothing, or shelter.\u201d There is a Miss Clare who\nis possessed by such a missionary spirit and love for the poor, that we\ncannot help wishing she might find her proper sphere by becoming a\nCatholic \u201cLittle Sister of the Poor,\u201d or some other equally useful sister\nof charity. The church utilizes such women much more wisely than they\nmanage to find the best way alone. There is a chapter of Miss Clare\u2019s\nreading and discussing of the Gospel with some workmen, which, if not\npositively irreverent itself, will be very likely to make the reader, who\nhas any sense of humor, feel so in spite of his better instincts.\n\nThe Vicar\u2019s daughter, Mrs. Percivale, is a very sprightly and well\u2010drawn\ncharacter, whom we cannot help liking very much. She is the teller of the\nstory, and in this Dr. MacDonald has shown much skill. It is in some parts\nso like a woman\u2019s way of thinking and writing, that we can hardly believe\nit to be the work of a man, especially in Mrs. Percivale\u2019s thoughts after\nthe birth of her child. And in this the author approaches very nearly the\nCatholic ideal:\n\n\n    \u201cI had read somewhere\u2014and it clung to me although I did not\n    understand it\u2014that it was in laying hold of the heart of his\n    Mother that Jesus laid his first hold of the world to redeem it;\n    and now at length I began to understand it. What a divine way of\n    saving us it was\u2014to let her bear him, carry him in her bosom, wash\n    him and dress him and nurse him and sing him to sleep! ... Such a\n    love might well save a world in which were mothers enough.\u201d\n\n\nBut alas! he makes the vicar himself save his faith from shipwreck by\nmarrying the woman he wants\u2014a queer and new argument for the marriage of\nthe clergy, to be able to _believe_ through such means. Not that this is\nintended by the author for any such argument; he being a Presbyterian,\nmakes no question of the propriety and wisdom of the clergy marrying, but\nthat a clergyman should be taught _belief_ by getting the woman of his\nchoice _is_ \u201cpassing strange.\u201d He also prefers giving his daughter to a\nsceptic rather than to a \u201cthoroughly religious man,\u201d for fear the latter\nmight \u201c_confirm her in doubt_.\u201d To a Catholic, this seems a wonderful\nconclusion.\n\nThe chapter called \u201cChild Nonsense\u201d is nonsense indeed, and much below\n\u201cMother Goose\u201d in literary merit. We wonder it found a place in the\nvolume, which contains much genuine wit and good writing.\n\nThe illustrations to the book are clever, and the type and binding\nattractive.\n\n\n    AMBITION\u2019S CONTEST; or, Faith and Intellect. By \u201cChristine.\u201d\n    Boston: P. Donahoe. 1872.\n\n\nWe cannot, perhaps, give a better idea of the style and scope of this\nmodest volume than by a quotation from the Preface: \u201cIt would be\npresumptuous to say that I have attempted this little work in order to aid\nin preventing these numerous wrecks of the soul; for where other and\ngifted pens, essaying so much and so well in this direction, still find it\ndifficult to do all _they_ would, it would be folly to suppose that my\ncrude effort could accomplish anything. Still it is an effort made for the\npurpose of accomplishing _some_ good, and written under the auspices of\nher who has never yet failed to assist the weak, the ever\u2010glorious and\nBlessed Virgin\u2010Mother of God, it may perhaps add a mite to that which is\nnow being done for the proper training of our Catholic youth.\u201d\n\n\n    GARDENING BY MYSELF. By Anna Warner. New York: A. D. F. Randolph.\n    1872.\n\n\nWe cannot imagine a pleasanter way of studying horticulture than by\nadopting Miss Warner\u2019s volume as a text\u2010book. We can overlook the little\nattempts at moralizing, after the evangelical fashion, as she goes along,\nin view of the dismal theological efforts made by her sister (if we\nmistake not) a few years since. We advise our lady readers who have space\nfor cultivating flowers to consult this little manual, assured that the\noccupation of which it discourses, and its results, will bring them a\nlarge store of unalloyed enjoyment.\n\nTHE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY has in press, and will publish early in\nNovember, _The Life and Times of Sixtus the Fifth_, by Baron Hubner.\nTranslated from the original French by James F. Meline.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD. VOL. XVI., NO. 92.\u2014NOVEMBER, 1872.\n\n\n\n\nCentres Of Thought In The Past. Second Article. The Universities.\n\n\nThe change from the monastic to the scholastic era was one of which we can\nhardly form an idea. As radical as that brought about in politics by the\ntempest of 1793, it was less sudden, and, though to the full as dangerous\nas the unhappy \u201cReformation,\u201d it was fortunately shorn of its heretical\nperils by the vigorous and successful hand laid upon it by the church.\nInstead of producing an organized system of antagonism to revealed truth,\nwhich it seemed at one time on the very verge of doing, it became so\nthoroughly absorbed into the church\u2019s system that to many minds\n\u201cscholasticism\u201d is synonymous with \u201cbigotry.\u201d Yet how opposite was the\nreality to the idea which it conveys to the modern mind! The real temper\nof the church, the temper which will be hers eternally in heaven, is the\ntemper of Mary; the contemplative, monastic ideal of perfect peace. In the\nXIIIth century (we say the XIIIth typically, for the change was gradually\nworking some time before, and only grew to its maturity in that age), a\ngiant intellectual convulsion took place, and the church was rudely\nwakened out of her placid ecstasy, to find herself assailed by brilliant\nand popular fallacies, urged by men of dazzling talent and fearless powers\nof questioning. It was as if some holy monk, who from childhood to ripe\nold age had spent his life on his knees before the silent tabernacle of a\nhuge and perfect abbey\u2010church, were suddenly to be startled into action by\nthe rude attack of a sacrilegious band on the very altar at whose steps he\nhad worshipped so long. See him spring to his feet, and with unexpected\nstrength throw himself before the priceless treasure, quell by his eagle\nglance the bewildered assailers of his peace, and convert by his heaven\u2010\ndictated eloquence those very men into saints, those enemies into friends,\nthose proud opponents into fellow\u2010watchers at the same hallowed shrine. So\nsprang the church to the defence of those doctrines which hitherto it had\nbeen mainly her duty to _guard_, and the struggle, distasteful as it must\nhave been at first, nevertheless ended by producing a new harvest of\nsaints, and increasing the human prestige as well as the spiritual armory\nof the church. The reader will no doubt be pleased to see what the writers\nalready quoted have to say of this mighty intellectual revolution, and we\ngladly yield to them the field of description. \u201cIt will suffice to\nreconcile us to the temporary necessity of the change,\u201d says the author of\n_Christian Schools and Scholars_, \u201cthat it was accepted by the church, and\nthat she set her seal to the due and legitimate use of those studies which\nwere to develop the human intellect to its full\u2010grown strength. Nay, more,\nshe absorbed into herself an intellectual movement which, had she opposed\nit, would have been directed against her authority, and so to a great\nextent she neutralized its powers of mischief. The scholastic philosophy\nwhich, without her direction, would have expanded into an infidel\nrationalism, was woven into her theology itself, and made to do duty in\nher defence, and that wondrous spectacle was exhibited, so common in the\nhistory of the church, when the dark and threatening thunder\u2010cloud, which\nseemed about to send out its lightning\u2010bolts, only distils in fertilizing\nrain.\u201d Speaking of S. Dominic, Prior Vaughan, in his _Life of S. Thomas of\nAquin_, says: \u201cHe felt that a single man was but a drop in the ocean in\nthe midst of such a vast and organized corruption. Man may be met by man,\nbut a system only can oppose a system. A religious institution, combining\nthe poverty of the first disciples of Christ with eloquence and learning,\nwould alone stand a chance of success in working a regeneration.\u201d He tells\nus further on that Albertus Magnus, the master of S. Thomas, saw that\n\u201cAristotle must be christianized, and that faith itself must be thrown\ninto the form of a vast _scientific_ organism, through the application of\nchristianized philosophy to the _dogmata_ of revealed religion.\u201d The state\nof men\u2019s minds is thus pithily described by the same author: \u201cFor,\nespecially at this period, theory speedily resolved itself into practice;\nwhat to\u2010day was a speculation of the schools, to\u2010morrow became a fact; men\nlived quickly, thought quickly, and acted quickly in the days of William\nof Champeaux and Abelard.\u201d Still, in summing up the character of those\nstrange, contradictory times, so eminently \u201cages of faith\u201d when contrasted\nwith our day, yet ages of jarring contention when compared with the\nprevious centuries, Prior Vaughan gives us the brighter side of the\npicture also: \u201cMen were not startled in those days by the unusual deeds\nand privileges of chosen men. They took God\u2019s word for granted. They\nbelieved what they saw; they did not pry and test and examine their souls.\nThey got nearer the truth than we do. Their minds were not corroded by\nfalse science.\u201d And in a footnote he adds, speaking of the great\ndifference between heresy in the middle ages and heresy now: \u201cIn this (the\nreverence for authority) is seated the great distinction between the\ndarkness of those days and the darkness of the present. Then, men fell\naway in detail, they denied this or that truth, or fanatically set up as\nteachers of novel doctrines, or were cruel, or superstitious, or fond of\ndress, or of excitement, or self\u2010display. But they held to the master\u2010\nprinciple of order and of salvation, they did not reject the authority of\nthe teaching church, or presume to call in question the directive power\nand controlling office of the sovereign pontiff.\u201d\n\nNow, let us at the outset anticipate one question our readers may very\nnaturally ask themselves: Have we undertaken a sketch of the history of\nthe church, or that of human thought and progress? The latter,\nundoubtedly. Then, how is it that \u201cthe church\u201d runs through the whole,\nlike the ground melody of the system? How is it that, even in the\nemancipating times on which we have now come, the doctors and masters of\nthe schools are all monks and clerics, the theses chosen from Scripture\ntexts, the disputes all turning on points of doctrine, and those, too,\nuncompromisingly of _Catholic_ doctrine? We can only answer that such are\nthe facts; secular learning hardly existed, and what there was of it was\nso tinged with religion that it was hardly distinguishable from that of\ntheologians. Take Dante, for instance, an accomplished scholar, a patriot,\na politician, and a keen philosopher. Who would not think him a priest and\na theologian, from the way he has cast his grand and unrivalled poem? It\nis a summary of Catholic doctrine and tradition, a poetical version of S.\nThomas\u2019 _Summa_, without some knowledge of which it is absolutely\nimpossible to read the third part, the _Paradiso_, and _understand_ it. We\ncannot help it if we seem to be sketching ecclesiastical, while we are\nengaged on intellectual, history. Never before the \u201cReformation\u201d were they\ndivorced, and no better proof than this could be adduced of the\nessentially teaching mission of the church.\n\nThe proximate cause of the greatness of the University of Paris may be\ntraced through four or five generations of scholars up to our Saxon master\nAlcuin. His pupil Rabanus, the great Abbot of Fulda, formed Lupus of\nFerri\u00e8res in his own mould; he in turn instructed Henry of Auxerre, the\n_scholasticus_ or master of the Auxerre school, where he found Remigius,\ndestined to become the re\u2010establisher of sacred studies at Rheims, the\nCanterbury of France. From Rheims this Remigius removed to Paris (in the\nXth century), and from his time the schools of that city continued to\nincrease in reputation and importance till they developed into the great\nuniversity. He it was \u201cwho opened the first public school which we know\nwith any certainty to have been established in Paris.\u201d(81) The first\nrudiments of the laws governing the greatest corporate institution of\nscholastic times seem to have sprung from the very disorders occasioned by\nthe immense numbers and pugnacious national characteristics of the rival\nstudents of all nations who flocked to Paris. In 1195, we find a certain\nJohn, Abbot of S. Alban\u2019s, associated with the _body of elect\nmasters_,(82) and the year previous Pope Celestine III. ruled that the\nstudents should be subject to ecclesiastical tribunals only, and should be\nexempt from all civic interference in their affairs on the part of the\ntown authorities.(83) In 1200, the university is acknowledged by Philip\nAugustus as a corporate body, governed by a head who shall not be\nresponsible for his acts to any civil tribunal whatsoever. And now begins\nin good earnest a system the like of which was never seen, and for\nbrilliancy as for license will never be surpassed. It is like plunging\ninto the seething cauldron of a \u201cwitches\u2019 Sabbath\u201d to read of the\nmarvellous and feverish state of things in the Paris of the XIIIth\ncentury, and even of that of earlier days. For a vivid description of the\nturbulent city we can refer our readers to the recent work of the\nBenedictine, Prior Vaughan, and to the no less graphic pen of Victor Hugo\nin his _Notre Dame de Paris_. A grotesqueness wholly French pervades the\nlatter work, but gives perhaps a truer picture of the reality than any\nless fastidious language could convey. In the Paris of old, as in our own\nday, things seem to have been inextricably mingled: the sage and the\nbuffoon are elbowing each other in the streets; students who have come for\nfashion\u2019s sake flaunt their vulgar splendor and their disgusting\nshamelessness in vice in the face of the poor scholar who sits attentive\nand eager on the _straw_\u2010covered floor of the lecture\u2010room; midnight\norgies that seldom end in less than murder take place within a few feet of\nthe oases of monastic life, where the canonical hours are still faithfully\nrepeated and _the rule_ still silently kept up. Vanity and frivolity are\nthere, and the arrogance of wealthy dunces. Witness the young man whose\nfather sent him to Paris with an annual allowance of a hundred _livres_.\n\u201cWhat does he do?\u201d asks a chronicler of that time, Odofied. \u201cWhy, he has\nhis books bound and ornamented with gold initials and strange monsters,\nand has a new pair of boots every Saturday.\u201d This was at the time that\npointed shoes were the \u201crage,\u201d and the university even passed a decree\nagainst them as follies unbecoming a scholar.(84) \u201cWe read of starving,\nfriendless lads with their unkempt heads and tattered suits, who walked\nthe streets, hungering for bread and famishing for knowledge, and\nhankering after a sight of some of those famous doctors of whom they had\nheard so much when far away in the woods of Germany or the fields of\nFrance.\u201d(85) Many had to share their miserable garments with their\ncompanions, and take it by turns to wear their _one_ tunic so as to make a\ndecent appearance in the lecture\u2010hall, while the rest stayed at home.\nOthers spent all they had on parchment, and were in need of oil for their\nlamps to study at nights. Long before the collegiate system became\ngeneral, the lay\u2010students were huddled together in unhealthy tenements,\nover the shops of the burghers, with whom they had many an affray on the\nscore of extortion and injustice. While the rich students employed their\nmany servants and the tradesmen they patronized as instruments in their\nshameful intrigues, the poor scholars struggled on, some selling books at\nruinously low prices, others absolutely begging their food in the streets\nor at the doors of the rich shopkeepers, while others again, more\nmiserable because less determined, took refuge in the taverns, and drank\naway the little remains of vitality left in them, or as often were\ndespatched in the unseemly brawls which tavern\u2010life was sure to foster.\nThen, as the brighter side of the picture, there were the monasteries,\nespecially that of the Dominicans of S. James, where eager scholars\nstudied in peace and order; the cloisters of Notre Dame, where venerable\northodoxy was long entrenched; the Sorbonne, destined to be for ages the\nmost celebrated school of theology in Europe, and to hold its own long\nafter the medi\u00e6val university had decayed. Disputed cases were sent to the\nSorbonne for decision, popes took the advice of its doctors on important\necclesiastical matters, and its students possessed even greater personal\nimmunities than their fellows of other colleges. Then, if we are to take\nthe personal representatives of this wonderful university into account,\nwhat a forest of illustrious names starts up before our bewildered vision!\nIn the XIth century, quite at the latter end, we are introduced to the\ngifted Abelard, who during the first half of the XIIth century gathered\ntogether all the stormy elements of the age, and centred upon himself the\nattention of the intellectual world. \u201cHe appears to have possessed,\u201d says\nPrior Vaughan, \u201cthe special gift of rendering articulate the cravings of\nthe age in which he lived.... One day he took into his hands Ezechiel the\nProphet, and boasted that next morning he would deliver a lecture on the\nProphecy. With bitter irony some of his companions implored him to take a\n_little_ longer time to prepare; he replied with disdain, \u2018My road is not\nthe road of custom, but the road of genius.\u2019 He was true to his word, and\nmockery was speedily turned to amazement when his companions, overcome\nwith his eloquence, followed him verse after verse as he unfolded the\nhidden sense of the obscurest of prophecies, with a facility of diction\nand clearness of exposition and a readiness of resource which subdued the\nmind and captivated the imagination.\u201d Success was his idol, pride his\nnatural temper. He thought no question above his understanding, no truth\nbeyond his apprehension; he threw down the glove in the face of a system\nmore for the sake of routing its exponent than of impugning its truth, and\nwhen all eyes were upon him, and the populace of Paris rushed madly out on\nits door\u2010steps and house\u2010tops to cheer him as he passed, his end was won\nand his dearest wish fulfilled. One by one all his opponents were\nsilenced; from school to school he rose, till at last the chair of Notre\nDame was his; his name eclipsed that of all the masters of Paris, and\ndrove from men\u2019s minds even the fame of the doctors of the church.... And\nthen what was the climax? It is told in three words\u2014H\u00e9lo\u00efse, Soissons, and\nSens. True, there was a long interval between the two misfortunes\nrepresented by the first two names, and that galling one which at last\nproved his salvation at Sens, and during the interval his fame revived,\nand again at Paris, though at S. Genevi\u00e8ve and no longer at Notre Dame,\nhis _prestige_ broke down all prejudice and his victorious career began\nafresh. Then see the last drama of his stormy, eventful life. He meets S.\nBernard at Sens before a court of bishops, monks, and princes, his own\ndisciples crowding triumphantly around him, a huge concourse of people\nheaving before him, he \u201cthe spokesman of thousands, from whose midst he\nwould, as it were, advance and proclaim the creed of human reason.\u201d(86)\nOpposed to him stands one whose cheeks are furrowed with tears, and who\nhas made no preparation to meet the irrefragable dialectician, the prince\nof debate, but who, \u201cthough in appearance but an emaciated mystic from the\nsolitude of his cell, would represent as many thousands more who saw\nbeyond the range of human vision, and judged the highest natural gifts of\nGod from the elevation of a life of faith.\u201d(87) History gives us the\nthrilling _denouement_ in startlingly simple form. When summoned to\ndefend, deny, or explain the heretical propositions drawn from his\nbrilliant works, Abelard turns in sudden contempt from the august\nassembly, and answers thus: \u201cI appeal to the Sovereign Pontiff.\u201d But all\nfelt that this was defeat, the blow had been struck, the heresy was dead.\nAnd the heretic? Let many who have tried to\u2010day to walk in the dizzy path\nhis footsteps have marked out, strive rather to imitate the end of his\nlife; let them follow him to the solitary Benedictine Abbey where his\ngentle friend Peter the Venerable led him like a little child, and where\nhis earnest, passionate nature, that could do nothing by halves, soon\ntransformed him into a saint. And let the world which knows him chiefly\nthrough his sin and early shame fix its eyes upon him as one who, having\nabdicated honors greater than those of the greatest throne, having\nsorrowed with more than David\u2019s sorrow, and taught with more than\nSolomon\u2019s wisdom, at last found peace and justification in a narrow cell\nand in his daily avocations of instructing a small and obscure community\non \u201cdivine humility and the nothingness of human things.\u201d(88) Among the\nother great names that stand out in the tumult of Paris as stars of\nlearning and holiness are William of Champeaux, Abelard\u2019s chief adversary,\nand the founder of that saintly school of S. Victor which gathered in one\nthe spirit of the old cloisters with that of the new scholastic teachers,\nand led the way through its famous doctor\u2010saints, Hugh and Richard, to the\nfinal welding together of the new form of theology, the incomparable\n_Summa_ of S. Thomas. Then, too, we have the preacher Fulk of Neuilly, who\nbecame a scholar at a ripe age, and soon surpassed the young students\nwhose aim was display rather than knowledge\u2014the man who preached the fifth\ncrusade at the tournament of Count Thibault de Champagne,(89) and was\nfollowed by such crowds that, to rid himself of them and their\ninconvenient homage (shown by cutting pieces out of his habit), he called\nout, \u201cMy habit is not blessed, but I will bless the cloak of yonder man,\nand you can take what you please.\u201d(90) John of St. Quentin, also, a famous\ndoctor, who, preaching on holy poverty and the vanity of all learning, all\nriches, and all honors, suddenly stops, descends the pulpit\u2010stairs, kneels\nat the feet of the astonished prior of the Dominicans, and will not rise\nbefore the latter has thrown around him his own black cloak and enrolled\nhim in the army of that holy poverty he had just praised with so much\nzeal. Then Albert the Great, whose followers were so numerous that he had\nto leave the schools and speak in the open air, so that the square where\nhe delivered his lectures was called _Place du ma\u00eetre Albert_, which name\nlater on became corrupted into the form it still bears, Place Maubert.\nAlbert brings before us the school of Cologne, inferior of course to the\nmighty university, but yet a centre, at least for Germany. There S. Thomas\nof Aquin first studied, and now and then astonished his undiscerning\ncompanions by the \u201cbellowings of the great dumb Sicilian ox,\u201d until he was\nfinally sent to Paris, the scene of his matchless and altogether spiritual\ntriumph. In him, the heir of the old Benedictine school of _quies_,\nsanctity worked that marvellous union of the old spirit and the new which\nended by harmonizing the truths of the church with the clamoring\naspirations of a new and venturesome age. But, inseparably connected\nthough he be with the crisis of the XIIIth century, when passion was at\nits hottest, and the intoxication of world\u2010wide success made Paris reel\nlike a drunken man, we feel nothing but peace in the life of the Angel of\nthe Schools, the greatest scholar of the European university. A divine\ncalm seems to curtain off his soul from the contentions in which his mind\nand body are engaged; his lessons seem rather to be given from a holy of\nholies than from a professor\u2019s chair, and, while we see in him the\ngreatest thinker of the age, we feel that above all he was its greatest\nsaint. One might say of him, with all due reverence, that he was the only\nman of that turbulent and questioning day who had looked upon the face of\nGod and lived. Beside him was his gentle friend, Bonaventure, of whom,\nthough a professor also, we hear but little intellectually, but whom the\nhighest authority on earth has sealed as a doctor of the church, a burning\nseraph of love.\n\nAnd here we must leave that greatest of centres, Paris, whose prosperity\nat that time seemed so unalterable, and take a glance, necessarily a\ncursory one, at the other continental universities. Bologna undoubtedly\nclaims the first place. It was called the \u201cMater Studiorum\u201d of Italy, and\nvied more successfully with Paris than any other of the universities. The\ngreat Countess Mathilda of Tuscany, the liberal patroness of learning and\nprotectress of the Holy See, was connected with its foundation, and by the\nend of the XIth century it was celebrated as the first law school in\nEurope.(91) This characteristic it always retained, while in the XIIth\ncentury canon law began to be equally studied there. Connected with\nBologna was the publication of the _Decretals of Gratian_, a summary of\nthe decrees of the popes, of a hundred and fifty councils, of selections\nfrom various royal codes, and of extracts from the fathers and other\necclesiastical writers.(92) The few errors in this gigantic work have\noften served as a peg whereon to hang many calumnies against the church;\nbut the whole scope of the undertaking, so bold in its conception, so\nlucid in its exposition\u2014has it ever been sufficiently examined outside the\nchurch? And will the world be astonished to know who was its compiler and\nwho spent twenty\u2010five years of his hidden life upon it? A simple\nBenedictine monk of Chiusi, of whom nothing is known but his immortal\nwork.\n\nM. de Maistre has cleverly said, \u201c_Grattez le Russe et vous trouverez le\nTartare_,\u201d and we might adapt the pithy saying thus: Raise but the\nthinnest crust of what we call civilization, and you will find beneath the\nsolid structure, the immovable foundation of monasticism.\n\nIn 1138, Frederic Barbarossa consulted the Bolognese doctors as to the\nframing of a code of laws for his Germano\u2010Italian Empire, and in return\nfor their help gave them the _Habita_, or series of protective ordinances\nwhich raised the Italian university almost to the level of that of Paris.\nAlexander III., formerly a theologian in its schools, also favored\nBologna, and a tide of scholars from all parts of Europe began to flow\ntowards the Apennines. Among these we find S. Thomas of Canterbury, who,\nas we know, made such brave use of the legal science he acquired there.\nBologna was the second centre of the Dominican Order, the teaching order\nof the church\u2014the instrument raised up in the warm\u2010hearted but intemperate\nmiddle ages to guide aright those lava\u2010streams of misdirected enthusiasm\nwhich at one time threatened to rationalize or fanaticize the intellectual\nworld. It is at Bologna that we read of the miracles of the gentle and\nbright S. Dominic, and of the angels that constantly followed him to do\nthe bidding of him who through opposition and misunderstanding was always\ndoing God\u2019s bidding. Here, too, S. Thomas of Aquin came once, and, being\nunknown to the procurator of the convent, was required to carry the basket\nwhile his companion collected the friars\u2019 daily pittance through the\nstreets. A true monk, he gladly obeyed, and was pained and confused when\nsome of the passers\u2010by told the procurator of the mistake he had made.\n\nItaly was fruitful in universities, for, to mention only prominent names,\nthere were Padua, Pavia, Salerno, and Naples, besides Rome, where the\ntradition of learning, especially sacred learning, was never quite broken.\nPadua was an offshoot from Bologna, and became famous in the XIIIth\ncentury for its devotion to classic literature and the liberal arts. At\nthe time of the \u201cRenaissance\u201d it had become, however, a notorious focus of\natheism.(93) Salerno was a school of medicine, and Pavia a brilliant and\nwicked resort of every intellectual aberration. We remember reading an\nexcellent description of its vices, its dangers, and its attractions, in\nthe life of a Venetian, a poet and child of genius, the friend and\nlibrettist of Mozart, whose name we cannot, however, recall. Even in those\ndays of moral decadence the picture seemed appalling, and at Pavia as at\nParis, as at Oxford in old times and our own day, there appears to have\nbeen no lack of brainless young profligates whose college career was a\ndisgrace to their early education, and must have been a remorse prepared\nfor their more sober conscience in later life.\n\nThe University of Naples, as we learn from Prior Vaughan, was the creation\nof Frederick II., the Sybarite emperor whose splendid barbaric physique\nknew how to make all Eastern luxury of body and Greek luxury of mind\nminister to his sovereign pleasure. The description of his harem, his\nkiosks, his palaces, his gardens at Naples, reads like a page from the\n_Arabian Nights_, and rival the impossible tales that are told of Bagdad\u2019s\nlavish magnificence under the caliphs. Utterly pagan the university seems\nto have avowedly been. It had no being of its own, but was a royal\nappurtenance, as the other institutions of Frederick II. Learning was a\nluxury, and it behooved the emperor to have all luxuries at his feet.\nStudents from all parts of his kingdom of Naples were compelled by\narbitrary enactments to study nowhere else but in the exotic university;\nthe professors were all paid from the public treasury, and among them,\nwith characteristic pride and contemptuous eclecticism, the imperial\npatron had canonists, theologians, and monks. Astrology and the wildest\ntheories were broached, Michael Scott, the pretended seer and alchemist,\nwas conspicuous for his brilliant talents and pagan tendencies, the\nexistence of the soul was freely questioned, materialism openly professed,\nand many _literati_ ostentatiously paraded their preference of the\nphilosophy of Epicurus or Pythagoras over the religion of Jesus Christ. A\nsecret society is also alluded to in a popular poem of the day, its\nexpress purpose being the _expunging of Christianity and the introducing\nof the exploded obscenities of paganism in its place_.(94) This reminds us\nof Disraeli\u2019s _Lothair_, in which such prominence is given to a secret\nsociety called _Madre Natura_, framed for the identical purpose we have\njust mentioned. It is said to have existed ever since the time of Julian\nthe Apostate, and always with the same intent. The materialistic theories\nof the artist Ph\u0153bus concerning the absolute necessity of \u201cbeauty worship\u201d\nand the superiority of the Aryan over the Semitic races (or principles)\nare only modern echoes of this pestilential teaching of the deification of\nmaterialism. Whether Disraeli, descended from that high race whose history\nand laws are a standing protest, and have been for ages a bulwark, against\nthe \u201cconcupiscence of the flesh,\u201d believes in these theories, is more than\nwe can tell; he has at any rate clothed them with suspiciously gratuitous\nbeauty in his recent work, and has, moreover, tried to fix upon the Anglo\u2010\nSaxon race the stigma of practically adopting them as her own. The\nmonastic history of the countrymen of Bede and Wilfrid tells a very\ndifferent tale, and nevertheless does not omit to mention the love of\nsport and athletic exercises peculiar to Englishmen. How far, however, is\nthe character of the young race\u2010riders(95) and fox\u2010hunters(96) of monastic\nEngland from that of the voluptuous Oriental and sensuous Greek!\n\nGermany, Poland, Bohemia, Spain, and Flanders likewise had their own\ncentres, more local, however, than those of Italy, all of them under the\nnew form of universities, and all more or less emancipated from the\nstrictly monastic spirit of the older centres of learning. Vienna, Erfurt,\nHeidelberg, and Wittenberg were the foremost in Germany; Cracow was\nfounded by a saint, the holy Hedwige of Poland; and Prague, which gave so\nmuch trouble and anxiety to the church in former times and hardly less in\nour own day, owes much of its glory to the holy women of the middle ages.\nThus Dombrowka, a princess of Bohemia, married to a Polish chief, and\nHedwige, the great queen and patron saint of Poland, established colleges\nthere and endowed them liberally. Salamanca had a wider reputation, and\nfell heir to all the brilliant learning of the Arabian and Jewish schools,\nwhose influence on Christian thought in the days of S. Thomas of Aquin had\nbeen so dangerous. All the scientific knowledge of the East thus became\nits natural property, while the intensely Catholic mind of the Spaniards\nheld them aloof from what was poisonous in Eastern philosophy. And here\nlet us stop to remark that Spain, ranked as it has always been among the\nLatin nations, nevertheless owes its first Christian traditions, and, no\ndoubt, also its imperial notions of universal sway, to the vigorous Gothic\nraces, mingled with the Frankish and Burgundian blood brought in by\nintermarriage with the Merovingian princes of France. There is something\nin Spanish history, in Spanish perseverance, we might almost say in\nSpanish toughness, that reveals the Visigoth, the man of the northern\nforests, with his indomitable energy and insatiable thirst for the sole\nrule of land and sea. Alcala, the creation of Cardinal Ximenes, and\nCoimbra, besides twenty\u2010four colleges dignified by the name of\nuniversities, make up the quota contributed by Spain to the intellectual\nprogress of Europe. We wish we had more space and time to devote to them.\n\nFlanders, the home of art in the middle ages, and the model of dignified\nand successful civic government, was not fated to be behind\u2010hand in the\nworld of letters. As early as 1360, a gay scholar of the University of\nParis, and a native of Deventer, returned to his birthplace with the halo\nof success and worldly fame about him. After a few years of vain display,\nGerard of Deventer suddenly, through the agency of a holy companion,\nbecame an altered and converted man. Having fitted himself for a spiritual\ncareer by a three years\u2019 seclusion among the Carthusians, he returned to\nhis native city and instituted a congregation of Canons Regular, whom he\nentrusted to a disciple of his, a former canon of Utrecht. He himself died\nsoon after, but under his successor, Florentius, the school grew in\nimportance and renown till, in 1393, a scholar entered its cloisters, by\nname Thomas Hammerlein, now known to the Christian world as Thomas \u00e0\nKempis, the reputed author of _The Following of Christ_. His life is too\nentirely spiritual to be mentioned here, but of the institute in which he\nwas reared the same rule will not apply. Although the aim of the Deventer\nschool was to revive the old monastic ideal, and although its spirit seems\nforcibly to remind us of Bede and Rabanus of Fulda, still it gave forth\nscholars like the \u201cIllustrious Nicholas of Cusa, the son of a poor\nfisherman, who won his doctor\u2019s cap at Padua, and became renowned for his\nGreek, Hebrew, and mathematical learning.\u201d(97) It is also told of the\nDeventer brethren that they \u201cdisplayed extraordinary zeal in promoting the\nnew art of printing, and that one of the earliest Flemish presses was set\nup in their college.\u201d(98) The famous Erasmus passed his first years of\nstudy at Deventer in the latter end of the XVth century, and drew from his\nmasters the prediction that he would \u201cone day be the light of his age.\u201d\nThe later Flemish University of Louvain, founded in 1425, by Duke John of\nBrabant, was eminently an orthodox institution, and became, in the XVIth\ncentury, \u201cone of the soundest nurseries of the faith,\u201d as well as the\nchief seat of learning in Flanders. Even Erasmus owned in his letters that\nthe schools of Louvain were considered second only to those of Paris.\nHere, as usual, the Dominicans were foremost in the breach, and enjoyed\ngreat privileges, while their influence made itself powerfully felt\nthroughout the university. S. Thomas of Aquin was, of course, the\nrecognized authority followed by the whole university in matters of\ntheology.\n\nIreland was not so fortunate during the scholastic as during the monastic\nera of intellectual development, but what benefits she had she owed them\nagain to the same institution which had educated her sons in olden days.\nThe first University of Dublin was founded in 1320, and had for its first\nmaster a Dominican friar. It soon decayed for want of funds and in\nconsequence of the troubles of the times, but the Dominicans would not let\nlearning perish, if they could help it. In 1428, a century later, they\nopened a free \u201chigh school\u201d on Usher\u2019s Island, where they taught\n_gratuitously_ all branches of knowledge, from grammar to theology, and\nadmitted all students, lay and ecclesiastical. Between this college and\ntheir convent in the city they built a stone bridge, the only erection of\nsuch solid material known in Dublin for two centuries afterwards, and,\nsays Mr. Wyse in a speech on Education delivered at Cork in 1844, \u201cit is\nan interesting fact in the history of education in Ireland that the only\nstone bridge in the capital of the kingdom was built by one of the\nmonastic orders as a communication between a convent and its college, a\nthoroughfare thrown across a dangerous river for teachers and scholars to\nfrequent halls of learning where the whole range of the sciences of the\nday was taught gratuitously.\u201d(99) A few years later, the four Mendicant\norders, headed by the Dominicans, obtained from Pope Sixtus IV. a brief\nconstituting their Dublin schools one university, with the same\necclesiastical rights and privileges enjoyed by the great University of\nOxford, and this body corporate is mentioned as in active exercise of its\npowers just before the \u201cReformation.\u201d It showed the general destruction\nbrought by the apostasy of England on all monastic bodies, but such as it\nwas it was the church\u2019s creation, and a fitting successor to those centres\nof rare learning, the Columbanian monasteries of the VIIth and VIIIth\ncenturies.\n\nThe Scotch universities of Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Aberdeen have been\npurposely left out, as we have no records of them at hand; of the latter,\nthe remains of which we happened to visit some years ago, it will suffice\nto say that it possesses a library, the germs of which are due to Catholic\ncollectors, and still has some very fine specimens of illuminated\nmanuscripts. The wood carvings of the choir stalls and screen, of Flemish\nworkmanship, are very beautiful, and the collegiate chapel, still\nexisting, bears marks of the harmony and symmetry natural to the grand\nworship it once typified.\n\nWe have left Oxford to the last, since its history is perhaps almost\nunique. No university of its day can match it; its vitality has outlasted\nthe \u201cReformation\u201d itself, and its spirit and statutes remain to this\nmoment as obstinately Catholic as in the days of Bacon and Duns Scotus.\nTrue, infidelity has not respected it, but no more did it respect the\nUniversity of Paris in the XIIIth century, and far more vigorous than its\ngreat medi\u00e6val rival, Oxford still epitomizes the genius of a nation,\nwhile Paris has lost every vestige of its former academical sway. Its\nbeginnings are lost in the ages of fable, for tradition asserts that long\nbefore Alfred there were schools and disputations there. The schools of\nOsney Abbey, and the Benedictine school in connection with Winchcomb\nAbbey, are among the earliest foundations, but as yet (in 1175) there were\nno buildings of any architectural pretensions. About that time a great\nfire destroyed the greater part of the city, and for a long while very\nlittle order prevailed among its motley inhabitants. Robert Pulleyn, an\nEnglish scholar from Paris, who had set up a school in 1133 and in 1142,\nwent to Rome, was made cardinal there, and obtained many ecclesiastical\nprivileges for the Oxford scholars. Law already began to be studied in\nthis century, but a historian of the time complains bitterly that \u201cpurity\nof speech had decayed, philosophy was neglected, and nothing but Parisian\nquirks prevailed. Had the monastic schools retained their ascendency,\u201d he\nsays, \u201cpolite letters would never have fallen into such neglect.\u201d(100) In\nthe XIIIth century there were 30,000 students at Oxford, though many among\nthem were \u201ca set of varlets who pretended to be scholars,\u201d and passed\ntheir time in thieving and villany. The brawls of these said \u201cvarlets\u201d\nwere to the full as violent as those of the Rue Coupegueule, and much of\nthe same kind of license disgraced Oxford as it did Paris. Nationality\nseems to have been a common pretext for fights, and S. George\u2019s, S.\nPatrick\u2019s, and S. David\u2019s days were, instead of peaceful festivals, days\nof bloodshed and plunder. At last every demonstration on these days had to\nbe forbidden under pain of excommunication. \u201cTown and gown\u201d fights too\nwere frequent, and even _internecine_ battles took place among the\nscholars themselves over a false quantity in pronunciation or a disputed\naxiom in philosophy. The fare in those days seems to have been scanty;\nhere for instance is a collegiate _menu_: \u201cAt ten of the clock they go to\ndinner, whereat they be content with a penny piece of beef among four,\nhaving a few pottage made of the broth of the said beef, with salt and\noatmeal and nothing else.\u201d When they went to bed, \u201cthey were fain to run\nup and down half an hour to get a heat on their feet,\u201d and what the _beds_\nwere may be surmised from the fact of the students lodging where they\ncould, generally in lofts over the burghers\u2019 shops, as at Paris.\n\nIn the earlier part of the XIIIth century Cambridge was founded, and Peter\nof Blois, the continuator of Ingulphus, tells us that from this \u201clittle\nfountain (the first lectures given successively in the same barn, on\nvarious subjects, by three or four monks of Croyland) of Cottenham, the\nabbot\u2019s manor near Cambridge, which has swelled to a great river, we now\nbehold the whole city of God made glad, and teachers issuing from\nCambridge, after the likeness of the Holy Paradise.\u201d Cambridge seems to\nhave cultivated the Anglo\u2010Saxon tongue, as Tavistock also did, a monastic\nschool where the language was regularly taught \u201cto assist the monks in\ndeciphering their own ancient charters.\u201d\n\n\u201cOld Oxford\u201d was not the imposing pile of ecclesiastical buildings its\nlater representative is now. Osney and S. Frideswide stood like castles in\nits surrounding meadows, but the main body of the university consisted in\nstraw\u2010thatched houses and timber schools. There were pilgrimage wells\nwhere, on Rogation Days, various blessings were invoked on the fruits of\nthe earth, and these were called by our forefathers \u201cGospel places.\u201d It\nwas a sort of religious \u201cMaying,\u201d the students carrying poles adorned with\nflowers and singing the _Benedicite_. The streets bore singular\nnames\u2014\u201cSchool Street,\u201d \u201cLogic Lane,\u201d \u201cStreet of the Seven Deadly Sins.\u201d\nHere is the \u201cSchedesyerde,\u201d where abode the sellers of parchment, the\n_schedes_ or sheets of which gave their name to the locality. The schools\ncan be distinguished by pithy inscriptions over dingy\u2010looking doors\u2014_Ama\nscientiam_, _Impostu ras fuge_, _Litteras disce_\u2014but you will look in vain\nfor public schools or collegiate piles. In these humble schools many great\nscholars were reared: S. Edmund of Canterbury, who, for instance, unless\nhe chanced to spend it in relieving the distress of some poor scholar or\nlittle orphan child, left the money his pupils paid him lying loose on the\nwindow\u2010sill, where he would strew it with ashes, saying, \u201cAshes to ashes,\ndust to dust\u201d; or, again, S. Richard, Edmund\u2019s friend, and afterwards his\nchancellor at Canterbury, who while at Oxford was so poor that he could\nseldom allow himself the luxury of _mutton_, then reckoned as ordinary\nscholar\u2019s fare, and who lodged with two companions, of whom we hear the\nParisian tale of the single gown worn alternately at lecture by each,\nwhile the others remained at home; Robert Grosset\u00eale, the Franciscan, a\nuniversal genius and a most holy man, a zealous lover of natural science,\nand so well versed in the Scriptures that one of his modern biographers\nhas candidly admitted that his \u201cwonderful knowledge of them might probably\nbe worth remark in our day, though in its own _not more than was possessed\nby all theological students_\u201d; Roger Bacon, the greatest natural\nphilosopher who appeared in England before the time of Newton; and\nAlexander of Hales, \u201cthe Irrefragable Doctor,\u201d who also taught in the\nFranciscan schools of Paris\u2014were among prominent Oxford scholars of the\nmiddle ages. Then the marvellous Duns Scotus a scholar of Merton and\nafterwards a Franciscan monk, an Abelard in brilliancy, versatility, and\nkeenness of argument, who, disputing one day before the doctors of the\nSorbonne (to whom he was personally unknown), was interrupted by one of\nthem with this exclamation, \u201cThis must be either an angel from heaven, a\ndemon from hell, or Duns Scotus from Oxford!\u201d A similar legend is told of\nAlanus de Insulis, a Paris doctor, who, having left the schools and become\na lay\u2010brother at Citeaux, accompanied the abbot to Rome to take charge of\nhis horses. Being allowed to sit at the abbot\u2019s feet during the council\nagainst the Albigenses, and finding the scales inclining in favor of the\nheretics, he rose, and, begging the abbot\u2019s blessing, suddenly poured\nforth his irresistible arguments and defeated the sophistry of the\nAlbigenses, who, baffled and furious, exclaimed, \u201cThis must be either the\ndevil himself or Alanus.\u201d\n\nThomas of Cantilupe, the son of the Earl of Pembroke, was another\nrepresentative Oxford scholar. Of noble birth and great intellectual\npowers, he rose to the highest dignities of the realm, and, though Oxford\nwas still a scene of violent disorders, he preserved his purity and\ncalmness through all its dangers. The collegiate system soon came to put\nan end to this state of things, and Merton was the first college, properly\nso\u2010called, where moral order and architectural proportions received some\nattention. The aspect of the university now rapidly changed. Lollardism\nseriously affected the great seat of learning, and at first its doctrines\nwere much upheld by the jealous secular teachers, who saw in his calumnies\na weapon to be used against the saintly and successful friars; the tone of\nthe university declined, and literature was wofully neglected for a time.\nHowever, as Lollardism faded from men\u2019s minds, a revival of letters took\nplace, and in the XVIth century Erasmus, who was very kindly entertained\nand welcomed at Oxford, pays the following tribute to its literary\nproficiency: \u201cI have found here classic erudition, and that not trite and\nshallow, but profound and accurate, both Latin and Greek, so that I no\nlonger sigh for Italy.\u201d(101) And again: \u201cI think, from my very soul, there\nis no country where abound so many men skilled in every kind of learning\nas there are here\u201d(102) (in England). His own Greek learning was chiefly\nacquired at Oxford, for, previous to his coming hither, his knowledge of\nthat language was very superficial.\n\nWe have lingered over the history of medi\u00e6val Oxford longer than our\nreaders may be inclined to think reasonable, and we must confess that our\ninterest in the only institution of the middle ages which stands yet\nunimpaired in glory, influence, and renown, has led us beyond the limits\nwe had honestly proposed to ourselves.\n\nLittle now remains to be said. We have come upon the uninviting times when\nreason broke away from faith and carried desolation in its headlong course\nthrough the field of the human intellect. A literary and philosophical\nmadness settled on men\u2019s minds, and Babel seemed to have come again,\nexcept where the calm round of old studies was pursued with the old spirit\nof _quies_ within the sphere of the ancient faith. All beyond was\nconfusion and hurry; every one set up as a teacher before having been a\ndisciple; each man dictated and no one listened; each would be the\noriginator of a system which his first follower was sure to alter, with\nthe perspective of having _his_ alterations remodelled again by his first\npupil, and so on _ad libitum_, till systems came to be called by men\u2019s\nnames, and to vary in meaning according to the particular temper of each\none that undertook to explain them.\n\nWith all its turbulence and occasional excesses contrasted with the\ncynical refinement and polite indifferentism of to\u2010day, was not the older\nsystem the better one?\n\n\n\n\nFleurange.\n\n\nBy Mrs. Craven, Author Of \u201cA Sister\u2019s Story.\u201d\n\nTranslated From The French, With Permission.\n\nPart Third.\n\nThe Banks Of The Neckar.\n\n\n\nXXXIX.\n\n\nAbout a fortnight after Christmas, Clement was returning to his lodgings a\nlittle sooner than usual, when he met Wilhelm M\u00fcller at the door.\n\n\u201cAh! you have come at the right moment,\u201d said he. \u201cLet me tell you why. A\ncourier from St. Petersburg arrived this morning with important news,\nwhich will have a serious effect on our business.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you referring to the death of the Emperor Alexander? I knew that\nyesterday. What else is there?\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite another affair, indeed. Constantine has been set aside, and the\nGrand Duke Nicholas is to succeed his brother.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you sure?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. But that is not all; we knew that yesterday. The news the courier\nbrought this morning is more serious. It seems a conspiracy has broken\nout\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cA conspiracy! Where?\u201d\n\n\u201cAt St. Petersburg. The courier left the twenty\u2010fourth of December. They\nwere then fighting on the square before the palace, and the emperor was in\nthe midst of the fight.\u201d\n\n\u201cConstantine?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, indeed; his brother.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Grand Duke Nicholas? Is he at the head of the plot?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; on the contrary, it seems to be Constantine, and yet it is not he\neither.\u2014In fact, no one knows anything about it, the report is so very\nconfused. But come and help me, if you will. We have despatches to send in\nevery direction. We shall certainly have further news this evening. I dare\nsay Waltheim (the chief member of the firm of which they were the\nprincipal clerks) is this very moment beside himself.\u201d\n\nThe two friends set off together. They had hardly gone two steps before\nthey came upon quite a group standing around the doorway of a fine house\nalmost opposite M\u00fcller\u2019s. It was the residence of the Russian legation.\nThey were told in reply to their questions that a courier had just arrived\non horseback, covered with dust and half\u2010dead with fatigue. He left St.\nPetersburg on the twenty\u2010sixth, and had been ten days on the way.\n\n\u201cDoes anybody know what news he has brought?\u201d asked M\u00fcller of the man who\ngave him this information.\n\n\u201cNothing definite, of course. And we shall learn nothing there,\u201d pointing\nto the diplomatic residence, \u201cexcept what they please to tell us.\u201d\n\nM\u00fcller and Clement stopped no longer.\n\n\u201cThe twenty\u2010sixth!\u201d said M\u00fcller. \u201cI should like to know the contents of\nthe despatch.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe other legations must soon have news of as late a date, to say nothing\nof our own correspondent, who will give us the earliest information\npossible. But, now I think of it, one of the attach\u00e9s of the French\nlegation is somewhat of a friend of mine; what if I go and ask him for the\ndetails?\u201d\n\nM\u00fcller thought this a capital idea, and Clement left him at once to go to\nthe residence of the French legation. M\u00fcller kept on to his office at\nWaltheim\u2019s, where he would wait for him.\n\nThe young attach\u00e9 referred to was the Vicomte de Noisy. He had been\npresent at one of the public assemblies in which Clement distinguished\nhimself as a speaker, and conceived a fancy for him from that time. They\nfrequently made excursions together on foot or horseback, and the vicomte\nsought every opportunity of meeting Clement with an eagerness the latter\nsometimes reproached himself for not responding to with more warmth. He\nrelied, therefore, on a cordial reception, and, in fact, as soon as he was\nannounced, he was taken into a small room next the _chancellerie_, where\nM. de Noisy passed the greater part of his time. He found him seated at a\ntable covered with papers. Before Clement had time to utter a word, the\nyoung attach\u00e9 exclaimed, without leaving his place:\n\n\u201cHave you come with news? or to get some?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a question! You know well our commercial agents are never able to\nrival the speed of the bearers of political despatches.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet it happens sometimes.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut not this time, unfortunately. The Russian legation has just received\na despatch from St. Petersburg dated the twenty\u2010sixth.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo we have just heard. It came in an incredibly short time. I fear ours\nwill not do as well. And yet the French embassy at St. Petersburg is not\noften caught napping.\u201d\n\nSome one rang furiously. A hussar opened the door and made a sign to the\nvicomte, who sprang forward.\n\n\u201cThe courier!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cBravo! Vive l\u2019ambassadeur! To be only one\nhour behind the Russian courier is wonderful! Here, _mon cher_, are some\ncigars. Take the arm\u2010chair and wait till I return. I shall soon be back,\nand will bring you the news.\u201d\n\nClement threw himself into the arm\u2010chair, lit a cigar, took up a\nnewspaper, and patiently awaited the young attach\u00e9\u2019s return beside a good\nfire, which, without prejudice to the large stove at one end of the room,\ndid not give out too much heat at this rigorous season. At the end of an\nhour, however, he was beginning to feel he was losing his time, when the\nVicomte de Noisy reappeared with his hands full of letters, which he threw\non the table.\n\n\u201cThere,\u201d he said. \u201cTo decipher and read these is not all: they are to be\nanswered, and I do not know when I shall be able to leave the\n_chancellerie_.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould it be indiscreet for you to tell me the nature of your despatches?\u201d\n\n\u201cBy no means. We have good news. It is all over. The struggle was severe,\nbut short. The new emperor conducted admirably. The regiments in revolt\nhave returned to their duty, all the leaders of the insurrection have been\ntaken. The only serious thing is that among the latter are several\nbelonging to the _noblesse_, and a great many gentlemen of social standing\nare compromised. This interests me more than anything else, because I was\nconnected with the embassy at St. Petersburg before I came here, and know\nthem all.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave they given any of the leader\u2019s names?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! yes: Troubetzko\u00ef, Rilieff, Mouravieff, Wolkonsky, and a host of\nothers. But among all these names there is one I am amazed at finding. Who\nwould ever have thought Walden would be drawn into such a row?\u201d\n\nClement\u2019s heart gave a leap. \u201cWalden, did you say? What, the Count George\nde Walden?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe very person. Do you happen to know him?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I know him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, can you conceive of a man of his ability and distinction being\nmixed up in such a plot? It was an atrocious conspiracy to assassinate the\nemperor, and a foolish attempt to establish a republic. Constantine\u2019s name\nwas only made use of as a pretext.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd is Count George seriously compromised?\u201d asked Clement.\n\n\u201cHe could not be more so. He is classed among those who have no other\nalternative but Siberia or death.\u2014But excuse me, Dornthal, I am forced to\nleave you. I dare say we shall have to work all night. Here,\u201d said he,\nsearching in his pocket, \u201chere is a letter I have received from St.\nPetersburg by the courier. You may find in it some additional details that\nwill interest you.\u201d\n\nThe attach\u00e9 hurried off through the door of the _chancellerie_, and\nClement left the house. It was not till he found himself in the street\nthat he began to recover from the stupefaction caused by the news he had\njust heard. He turned mechanically towards the office, where M\u00fcller was\nwaiting for him, and gave him an account of what he had just learned, with\nthe exception of the one fact of this political event of infinitely more\nimportance to him than all the rest. He remained some time at his post,\nmaking an almost superhuman effort to control his bewildered mind and keep\nit on the work he had to do. At last he took leave of M\u00fcller and went back\nto his lodgings. Without stopping, as he usually did, to see the family,\nhe went directly up\u2010stairs, and shut himself up in his room. He wished to\nbe alone, that he might decide at leisure upon the course to pursue in\nconsequence of so unforeseen and serious an event.\n\nGabrielle!\u2014He thought of her\u2014and her alone. How would she support such a\nblow? How was she to be informed of it?\n\nHe remained a long time buried in these reflections without thinking of\nthe letter in his pocket. At length he bethought himself of it, and with\nthe hope of getting some light began to read it attentively. After some\npreamble, which he ran over hastily, he came to what follows:\n\n\u201cThis conspiracy, which broke out with the suddenness of a thunderbolt,\nand appeared to be only the spontaneous result of the prevailing doubt at\nthe beginning of the present reign as to which of the two brothers was the\nreal emperor, was really arranged a long time before, it seems. It is said\nto have had deep and extensive ramifications, and they who fomented and\ndirected the plot only availed themselves of the circumstances that\nfollowed Alexander\u2019s death as a pretext. It is said their plans were to\nhave been executed in the spring, if the deceased emperor\u2019s life had been\nprolonged till that time. But what seems equally certain is that a great\nnumber of those who are now seriously compromised had only a very\nimperfect idea of what was going on. Among these, I cannot doubt, is our\npoor friend George de Walden. You know he has always been dreaming of\npossible or impossible reforms. As evil would have it, he met in Italy\nduring the past year a certain man named Lasko\u2014very intelligent and\ncapable, but an intriguer ready for anything, and mixed up with all the\nplots that have agitated Italy and Germany the past ten years. Imprisoned,\nthen released, Heaven knows how, assuming a thousand names, in a word, one\nof those evil\u2010minded persons who are docile instruments in the hands of\nthe real leaders of the great plots of the day, George was accidentally\nbrought in contact with him, and once, only once, was persuaded to attend\none of their meetings through mere curiosity. There by a still more\nunfortunate accident he happened to meet one of the leaders just referred\nto. The latter at once saw the influence to be derived from George\u2019s name,\nposition, enthusiasm, and even his ignorance of the extent of their\nschemes. He persuaded him to repair to St. Petersburg at a given time, and\nhold himself in readiness to second a combined movement, secretly\narranged, but too extensive to be suppressed. This movement, he said, was\nto bring about the realization of some of George\u2019s theories. I had these\ndetails from the Marquis Adelardi, the genial Milanais who spent a winter\nhere three years ago, and is, you know, George\u2019s intimate friend. The\nmarquis, uneasy about the count\u2019s sudden departure from Florence, and\nstill more so when three months passed away without his return, came here\nto join him. He arrived only three days before the fatal twenty\u2010fourth. It\nappears George was certainly on the square that day and in the foremost\nranks of the insurgents. Adelardi declares he went there sincerely\nconvinced, by the representations of those who were desirous of leading\nhim on, that Constantine\u2019s renunciation was a pretence, and his rights\nought to be maintained in the interests of their projects, which that\nprince, they declared, was ready to second. However that may be, it is\nonly too certain that close beside him on the square was this same Lasko,\nwho was killed at the very moment of firing at the Grand Duke Michael. One\nwitness\u2014and but one, for it requires some courage to testify in favor of a\nman in his situation\u2014has stated it was George who turned his deadly weapon\naside (thus saving the grand duke\u2019s life) before the aide\u2010de\u2010camp of the\nlatter shot the assassin. But there is so strong a feeling against him,\nboth at court and in the city, that no one dares insist how much this\ncircumstance is in his favor. He himself obstinately refuses to take\nadvantage of it, and his haughty attitude since his arrest is by no means\nfavorable to his interests. What makes his case more complicated, his\nsecretary was an Italian most intimately connected with Lasko. This man,\nFabiano Dini by name, was also on the square the day of the insurrection,\nand was severely wounded.\u201d\n\nHere Clement stopped. These last lines increased his agitation to the\nhighest pitch. All their vague fears were thus confirmed\u2014his cousin\u2019s\nfatal destiny pursued him to the end! Unfortunate himself and a source of\nmisfortune to others! Yes, that was Felix: capable of realizing his\ndisgrace, but not of repairing it; seeking the post of danger and the\nopportunity of displaying his courage, reluctant to leave the obscurity in\nwhich he had hidden his life, he became one of those secret agitators who\nwere then, perhaps even more than now, silently undermining Europe. He\nsoon became their agent, and his talents, contempt of danger and death,\nmade him a useful one. In this way he speedily came to an end that was\ninevitable.\n\nClement paced up and down his chamber a long time unable to calm his\nconfused mind, but, after much reflection, came to the conclusion George\u2019s\ntrial would probably be prolonged, and might terminate less tragically\nthan was to be feared from this letter. At all events, he ought to spare\nFleurange all the anguish of this uncertainty as long as possible. This\nwould not be difficult at Rosenheim, for the professor was not allowed to\nread the newspapers, and therefore none were left about the rooms occupied\nby the family. Hansfelt alone read them and communicated the news. Clement\nhastened to write his sister Hilda a few lines, confiding to her all he\nhad just learned, and recommending her, as well as Hansfelt, to withhold\nfrom Gabrielle all information on the subject. \u201cI shall be at Rosenheim in\na week,\u201d said he at the close, \u201cand we will consult together, dear sister,\nabout what will then be advisable. Meanwhile, I rely on your prudence and\naffection for her.\u201d\n\nClement and his sister had never discussed the subject now referred to,\nbut they had long read one another\u2019s thoughts. They were now of the same\nmind, and Fleurange would have remained a long time ignorant of what they\nwished to conceal from her, had not an unforeseen circumstance overthrown,\na few days after, all the plans laid by their prudence and affection.\n\n\n\nXL.\n\n\nThe poor you always have with you. This is our Saviour\u2019s declaration, and\nit accords with human experience. We find the poor everywhere, unless we\nwilfully turn away our eyes with culpable indifference. Mademoiselle\nJosephine, we are well aware, was not of the number of these blind or\ninsensible persons. She therefore found quite as much work on her hands at\nHeidelberg as at Paris, with this difference, which was a keen\nmortification\u2014she was unable to hold any communication with the objects of\nher bounty, except by gestures rarely expressive enough on either side to\nbe understood. This forced her to dispense with what had always been the\nmost pleasant feature of charity\u2014kind words, and sometimes long chats with\nthe poor on whom she bestowed alms.\n\n\u201cI only wish they understood a little French,\u201d she said. \u201cIt seems as if\nit might be easy enough for them, whereas it is utterly impossible for me\nto learn German.\u201d In a word, not to know French and to understand German\nseemed to Mademoiselle Josephine among the mysteries of nature.\nNevertheless, as the poor people persisted in using only their own\nlanguage, and resentment must not be carried so far as to refuse aiding\nthem, mademoiselle was very glad to accept Fleurange as her interpreter\nand the agent of her charity. The young girl came every day at the same\nhour, either to accompany her or receive her orders and make the daily\nround in her stead.\n\nShe generally found mademoiselle in her laboratory, that is, in a room on\nthe ground\u2010floor, in which the principal piece of furniture was an immense\n_armoire_, containing all kinds of things to be distributed among her\nactual or anticipated _prot\u00e9g\u00e9s_. She liked to have a good supply on hand,\nand it was seldom a poor person found her without the means of aiding them\nat once.\n\n\u201cHere, Gabrielle,\u201d said she one morning, when Fleurange appeared as usual,\nbasket in hand, to get the charitable supplies for the day. \u201cSee,\neverything is ready.\u201d And she pointed towards the things on the table,\nwhich, with the large _armoire_ and two chairs, comprised all the\nfurniture in the room. Everything was indeed arranged in fine order: on\none side were two pairs of stockings and a woollen skirt; on the other, a\ncovered tureen of broth, a small quantity of sugar, a bottle of wine, some\ntobacco, and two or three newspapers. To all these things she added a\nsmall vial, the contents of which required some explanation.\n\n\u201cThe stockings and skirt,\u201d said mademoiselle, \u201care for the mother of the\nlittle girl to whom you carried clothes yesterday. The broth and sugar are\nfor our poor old woman, as well as this little vial of _eau de m\u00e9lisse_ of\nmy own preparation, and not the worse for that. And the wine and tobacco\nare for the invalid soldier, the old carpenter whom you visited last week.\nHis daughter succeeded in making me understand yesterday that nothing\nwould give this poor man more pleasure than to lend him a newspaper\noccasionally. You can give him these which I procured for him this\nmorning. Ah!\u2014apropos, your cousin Clement left two nice cigars for him\nwhich I forgot. While I am gone for them, you can put all these things in\nyour basket.\u201d\n\nThe kind woman left the room to get the cigars. They were up\u2010stairs, but\nshe never thought of counting her steps when it was a question of doing a\nkind act, however insignificant, for another. Only, she did not ascend the\nstairs quite as nimbly as she once did, and on this occasion it took her\nabout fifteen minutes to go and return.\n\nDuring this time Fleurange, standing at the table, proceeded to stow away\nall the things in her basket, and last of all was about to put in the\nnewspapers when her eye fell on a paragraph in one of them that gave her a\nstart. She seized the paper, opened it, and began to read with ardent\ncuriosity. All at once she uttered a feeble cry, the journal dropped from\nher trembling hands, a mist came over her eyes, and, when her old friend\nreturned, she found her lying on the floor, pale, cold, and senseless.\n\nFortunately, Mademoiselle Josephine did not lack presence of mind or\nexperience. She flew to Fleurange, knelt beside her, raised her head, and\nsupported her in her arms. Then she drew a smelling\u2010bottle from her pocket\nto revive her, and while showing her these attentions she racked her\nbrains to guess what could have caused one so robust and generally so calm\nto faint in this mysterious way. All at once she noticed the newspaper,\nwhich had fallen at the young girl\u2019s feet. \u201cAh!\u201d she said, \u201cshe read\nsomething in that medley, perhaps some bad news; but, merciful heavens!\nwhat could it have been to produce such an effect?\u2014Dear child,\u201d she\ncontinued, looking tenderly at the pale and lovely face resting on her\nshoulders, \u201cshe said yesterday she never fainted but once in her life, and\nthat was at our house in Paris two years ago when she was overcome by\nweakness and hunger.\u201d\n\nPoor Mademoiselle Josephine! compassion, and the remembrances thus\nawakened, doubly affected her, and her eyes were still filled with tears\nwhen Fleurange opened hers with an expression of surprise soon followed by\nan indistinct recollection. She rose slowly up, but, before mademoiselle\ncould aid her, she threw her arms around her old friend\u2019s neck.\n\n\u201cO dear mademoiselle!\u201d she murmured, \u201cdid you know it?\u2014did you know it?\u201d\n\nPoor Josephine had never been so embarrassed. To say she was totally\nignorant of the point was to invite a confidence quite unsuitable at such\na moment, and a contrary reply would also have its inconveniences. She\ntherefore took refuge in an innocent subterfuge.\n\n\u201cWell, well, my poor child, what use is there in speaking of it now? Be\ncalm, and do not say anything at present. We will talk about it another\ntime. Be easy,\u201d she added at a venture, \u201ceverything will be arranged if\nyou take what I am going to give you.\u201d\n\nThen aiding Fleurange to rise, and placing her in a chair, she ran for a\nglass of water, into which she poured a few drops of _eau de m\u00e9lisse_\u2014a\ngenuine panacea in her estimation\u2014which she held to the young girl\u2019s lips.\nFleurange drank it all, and then gave a long sigh.\n\n\u201cWhat happened to me?\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cNothing. You were only faint. That is all.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is strange, for I never faint.\u201d And she passed her hand over her\nforehead.\n\n\u201cO my God! I remember it all now,\u201d she suddenly exclaimed. \u201cBut is it\ntrue? May not this be false\u2014a mere idle tale?\u201d\n\n\u201cWho can tell?\u201d replied mademoiselle vaguely. \u201cThat is quite possible.\nThey say so many things.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut tell me all you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, not now, Gabrielle, not now. You are not able to hear it. Do as I\nsay, and we will talk about it at another time.\u201d\n\nFleurange made no reply. A moment after, she rose. \u201cI am well now,\u201d she\nsaid; \u201cI feel revived.\u201d\n\nShe gathered up her long hair, which had fallen around her shoulders, took\nthe journal and put it in her pocket, then put on the little velvet hat\ntrimmed with fur which she generally wore in winter, and said: \u201cThanks,\ndear mademoiselle, and pardon me. I have quite recovered, but do not feel\nequal, however, to the visits you expected me to make to\u2010day.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, indeed, of course not.\u201d\n\n\u201cI must go home at once.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, certainly, I am going with you. You must go to bed. You are\ngenerally pale, but now your cheeks are as red as those curtains,\u201d\npointing to the bright cotton curtains at the window.\n\n\u201cNo, no, I am not ill,\u201d said Fleurange, her eyes aflame. \u201cThe air will do\nme good. Do not feel uneasy. You see my faintness has entirely passed\noff.\u201d\n\nAs mademoiselle had not the least idea of the cause of this sudden\nindisposition, and the young girl really seemed quite recovered, she did\nnot oppose her wish to go home alone and on foot. The distance was not\nfar. Fleurange came every day without any escort, she allowed her\ntherefore to go, merely accompanying her as far as the gate of her little\nyard, where they separated, bidding each other good\u2010by till evening.\n\n\n\nXLI.\n\n\nThe thermometer was down to five or six degrees. The little hat Fleurange\nwore protected her forehead, but showed the tresses of her thick hair\nbehind. She drew up her hood when she wished to guard more effectually\nagainst the severity of the weather. But now she did not take this\nprecaution. She only drew the folds of her thick cloak around her form,\nand set off with rapid steps. The keen, frosty air was refreshing to her\nburning cheeks and revived her strength, and, with the exception of an\nunusual glow in her complexion and in her eyes, there was no trace of her\nrecent faintness when she reached home. As soon as she entered, without\nstopping an instant, she went directly upstairs, and, giving a slight\nknock at the door, entered the chamber between her own and Hilda\u2019s, which\nHansfelt had used as a study since his arrival at Rosenheim. When\nFleurange entered, she found him and his young wife together. They started\nwith surprise at seeing her, and stopped talking, with a certain\nembarrassment which did not escape Fleurange.\n\n\u201cI can guess the subject of your conversation,\u201d she said with emotion, but\nwithout hesitation, \u201cand it is what I wish to speak to you about.\u201d\n\nHer cousin looked at her, uncertain what reply she ought to make.\n\n\u201cHilda,\u201d said Fleurange, \u201cyou agreed never to mention Count George\u2019s name\nto me till I should speak of him first. Well, I have now come to speak of\nhim, and beg you both to tell me all you know about him. Here,\u201d continued\nshe, throwing the newspaper she had brought on the table, \u201cread that, and\nthen tell me all I am still ignorant of.\u201d\n\nWhat could they say? She stood before them so calm, resolute, and decided,\nthat any reticence seemed useless. Hansfelt ran over the journal. He saw\nthe article Fleurange referred to did not contain any details, but only a\nlist of the accused, followed by some very clear comments on the fate\nwhich awaited them. Count George\u2019s name figured among the first on the\nlist.\n\n\u201cWhat is he accused of? What is the crime in question?\u201d asked she in a\ndecided tone.\n\nHansfelt still hesitated. But his wife knew better than he the character\nof her who was questioning them. \u201cKarl,\u201d said she, \u201cyou can tell her, and\nought to do so. We must conceal nothing more from Gabrielle.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why have you done so hitherto?\u201d said Fleurange. \u201cAh! yes, I\nunderstand\u201d\u2014and a slight blush mounted to her forehead\u2014\u201cthe secret I\nthought so well hidden has been discovered by you all!\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d cried Hilda, \u201conly by me\u2014and you know I can conceal nothing from\nKarl\u2014by me and Clement.\u201d\n\n\u201cClement also?\u201d said Fleurange, with a start of surprise and a confusion\nwhich deepened her blush. \u201cBut, after all, what difference does it make?\u201d\nshe continued. \u201cI shall conceal nothing more from any one, and I wish\nnothing to be kept from me either. Come, Karl, I assure you earnestly I do\nnot lack fortitude, and hereafter you must not try to spare me. Surprise\nalone overpowered me for an instant. Now I am prepared for the worst, and\nready to hear what you have to tell.\u201d\n\nBut in spite of these words, when Hansfelt at last decided, after some\nfurther hesitation, to satisfy her, while he was giving her a\ncircumstantial account of all Count George had done to forfeit his life,\nthe color produced by the keen air, her walking so fast, and her\nagitation, vanished completely from the young girl\u2019s face, and she became\nas pale as death.\n\n\u201cSiberia or death!\u201d she repeated two or three times in a low tone, as if\nit were as difficult to understand as to utter such terrible words.\n\n\u201cAs to the worst of these two sentences, it is to be hoped he will\nescape,\u201d said Hansfelt.\n\nFleurange shuddered. Was it really of him\u2014_him!_\u2014they were talking in this\nway? \u201cBut tell me, Karl, is there no other alternative? May he not be\ncondemned to prison or expatriation? They are also great and fearful\npunishments. Why speak only of two sentences, one almost as horrible as\nthe other?\u201d\n\nHansfelt shook his head. \u201cHis name, his rank, the benefits the government\nhad conferred on his family, the favors so many times offered him, will\nall aggravate his crime in the eyes of his judges. His life, I trust, will\nbe spared, but\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cBut\u2014the mines, fetters, and fearful rigors of Siberia\u2014do you think he\nwill be condemned to suffer all these penalties without any alleviation?\u201d\n\nHansfelt was silent. Hilda pressed Fleurange\u2019s hands and tenderly kissed\nher colorless cheeks.\n\n\u201cI have said enough, and too much,\u201d said Hansfelt. \u201cWhy will you ask me\nsuch questions, Gabrielle? And why do you tell me to answer her, Hilda?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause I wish to know everything,\u201d said Fleurange, raising her head,\nwhich she had rested a moment on her cousin\u2019s shoulder, and recovering her\nfirmness of voice. After a moment\u2019s hesitation she continued: \u201cThen\nnothing can save him?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou wished for the truth without any disguise, Gabrielle, and I have not\nconcealed it from you. According to all human probability, nothing can\nsave Count George from the fate that awaits him: that is beyond doubt. But\nit sometimes happens in Russia that sudden caprice on the part of the\nsovereign arrests the hand of justice. Nevertheless, it would be deceiving\nyou if I did not add that there is nothing to lead us to hope he will be\nsuch an object of clemency. On the contrary, all the reports agree in\nstating that the irritation against him is extreme, and surpasses that\nagainst all the other conspirators.\u201d\n\nFleurange remained a long time absorbed in thought. \u201cThank you, Karl,\u201d\nsaid she at length. \u201cYou will hereafter tell me all you learn, will you\nnot?\u201d\n\nAfter receiving the promise asked for, she turned to leave the chamber.\n\u201cOne more question,\u201d said she. \u201cMy head must be very much confused, or I\nshould have asked you before in what way his poor mother learned the news,\nand how she bears it.\u201d\n\n\u201cClement heard she was at Florence, as usual at this season, but on\nlearning the news started at once for St. Petersburg.\u201d\n\n\u201cSt. Petersburg! at this time of year! The poor woman will die on the\nway.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can tell you nothing more. Clement will be here this evening. He may\nhave additional news.\u201d\n\nBut when Clement arrived that night, Fleurange, prostrated by the anxiety\nand excitement of the day, was unable to leave her chamber. Her aunt, who\nremained with her, declared she should see no one else till the next day,\nand the interview she hoped to have with Clement was deferred. Meanwhile\nthe latter was steeling himself for the new phase in the trial before him\nby listening to all the details of what had occurred. Mademoiselle\nJosephine informed them of what had happened to Fleurange at her house,\nand in return learned with interest mingled with profound astonishment the\nreal cause of her fainting. Of all the sufferings in the world, those\ncaused by love were the most unintelligible to her. If she had been\nsuddenly informed that her dear Gabrielle had lost her mind, or was going\ninto a consumption, she would not have been more surprised and disturbed.\nPerhaps less so, for the terror mystery lends to distress, and a complete\nignorance of the suitable remedies for such a case, added powerlessness to\nanxiety. She, who had so many remedies of all kinds for every occasion,\ncould absolutely think of nothing suitable for this. How this unknown\nperson, whose name she had never heard until to\u2010day, could all at once\nbecome so essential to the happiness of this dear child, who was\nsurrounded by so much affection from others and had always seemed so\nhappy, was in her eyes a still greater phenomenon than knowing German. As\nfor that language, she now resolved to study it, thinking the day might\nagain arrive when there would be something within her comprehension and\npower to do for her. \u201cI will endeavor to acquire it, that I may not lose\nan opportunity of profiting by it,\u201d said she. This vague hope consoled her\nfor her present incompetency, and satisfied, for the time, the devotedness\nof her kind heart, now quite out of its latitude.\n\n\n\nXLII.\n\n\nThe following morning Fleurange, quite recovered from the physical effects\nof her agitation, was up at her usual hour, that is, at daybreak. She put\non her thick cloak, her little fur\u2010trimmed hat, and started off to church\nfor the first Mass, which she daily attended at this season. At her\narrival she threw back her hood, and knelt as near the altar as possible.\nThe church was so dark that each one brought a lantern, a bit of candle,\nor some other portable light to read by. These lamps and tapers,\nincreasing with the number of worshippers, at last diffused sufficient\nlight throughout the church to enable one to distinguish the people and\nobjects in it. Fleurange did not bring a candle and needed none, for she\nhad no prayer\u2010book, but she was not the less profoundly recollected. Pale\nand motionless, her hands clasped, her head raised, her eyes fastened on\nthe altar, the delicate and regular outline of her face distinctly visible\nby a neighboring taper, she resembled a statue of white marble wrapped in\nsombre drapery. She prayed with fervor, but without agitation, without\ntears, and even without moving her lips. Her whole soul seemed centred in\nher eyes. Her look at once expressed the faith that implores and hopes,\nsubmission to God\u2019s will, and courage to fulfil it. It was a prayer that\nmust prevail, or leave the heart submissive and strengthened.\n\nThe Mass ended, all the lights were extinguished one after the other, but\nthe faint glimmering in the east soon increased to such a degree that,\nwhen Fleurange rose after the church was nearly empty, she recognized\nClement only a few steps off. He followed her to the door, she took the\nholy water from his hand, and they went out together.\n\nIt was now broad daylight, but the sky was veiled with gray clouds, a\nviolent wind swept before it the snow that covered the ground, and when\nthey issued into the street they were met by a perfect whirlwind of\ndriving snow which Fleurange was scarcely able to withstand. Clement\nsupported her, then retained her arm, and they walked on for some time\nwithout speaking. He had dreaded this interview in spite of himself, and\nnow rallied all his strength to listen calmly to what she was about to\nsay. But, at last, as she remained silent, he spoke first:\n\n\u201cYou were ill last evening, Gabrielle. I was far from expecting to find\nyou at church so early in such severe weather.\u201d\n\n\u201cIll?\u201d replied Fleurange. \u201cNo; I was not ill, but suffering from a great\nshock, as you know, do you not, Clement?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Gabrielle, I know it.\u201d\n\nThese few words broke down the barrier. What had haunted Clement\u2019s\nthoughts now proved to be an actual reality; but energetic natures prefer\nthe most terrible realities to vague apprehensions, and even to vague\nhopes, and he felt his courage rise in proportion as self\u2010abnegation\nbecame more completely rooted in his soul. After a moment\u2019s silence, he\nsaid:\n\n\u201cGabrielle, why have you not treated me of late with the same confidence\nyou once showed me?\u201d\n\nShe replied without any hesitation: \u201cBecause I made a resolution never to\nmention _him_\u2014I made it,\u201d she continued, without noticing the slight start\nClement was unable to repress, \u201cbecause I wished to forget him. It was\ntherefore better for me to be reserved even with Hilda\u2014even with you,\nClement. But now,\u201d continued she, with a kind of exaltation in which grief\nand joy were confounded, \u201cnow I think of that no longer. It seems as if a\nnew life had commenced for him and for me. And yet we are separated, as it\nwere, by death. But death breaks down barriers, and reunites, too. What\nshall I say, Clement? I seem nearer to him to\u2010day than yesterday, and in\nspite of myself (for I am well aware it is an illusion) I feel I shall be\nable to serve him in some way or other. At all events, I no longer have\nany motive for concealing my feelings, and to throw off this restraint is\nin itself a comfort.\u201d\n\nClement listened without interrupting her. Each word gave him a sharp\npang, but he steeled himself, somewhat as one does to the clash of arms\nand the firing of cannon till there is not even a movement of the eyelids\nto betray the fear of death or the possibility of being wounded. As to the\nillusion she spoke of, it was the last dream of sorrow and love. He would\nnot try to dispel it.\n\n\u201cLet us hope, my dear cousin,\u201d said he in a calm tone. \u201cSo many unforeseen\ncircumstances may occur during a trial like that about to commence! There\nis no reason to despair.\u2014Whatever may happen,\u201d added he, as they\napproached the house, \u201cpromise me, Gabrielle, from this time forth, to\nshow the same confidence in me you once did\u2014a confidence which will induce\nyou to tell me everything, and rely on me under all circumstances. You\nonce made me such a promise: have you forgotten it?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Clement, and I now renew it. You are my best friend, as I once told\nyou. My opinion has not changed.\u201d\n\nYes, she had said so. He had forgotten neither the day nor the spot, and\nhis heart throbbed at the remembrance! Though he was but little more than\ntwenty years of age, and the honeysuckle he still preserved in memory of\nthat hour was scarcely withered, a long life seemed to have intervened\nsince they exchanged nearly the same words.\n\nBut when they separated with a pressure of the hand at the end of the\nconversation, on that gloomy winter morning, Clement was left with a less\npainful impression than that which came over him on the banks of the\nNeckar, when, in the pale light of the moon, he had so sudden and fatal a\nrevelation from the expression of her eyes and the tone of her voice. She\nhad told him nothing to\u2010day he did not know before. Instead of happiness,\na vague perspective of devotedness opened before him. But even this was\nsomething to live for.\n\nThe following days passed without any new incident. The necessity of\nconcealing their preoccupation from the professor obliged them all to make\nan effort which was beneficial especially to Fleurange, who remained\nfaithful to her ordinary duties, passing as much time as usual beside her\nuncle\u2019s arm\u2010chair, and with Mademoiselle Josephine and her poor\n_prot\u00e9g\u00e9es_. But a feverish anxiety was sometimes apparent in her\nmovements and in the troubled expression of her eyes when she went daily\nat the regular hour to ask Hansfelt what was in the newspapers. For more\nthan a week, however, there was nothing new either to comfort her or to\nincrease her sorrow. Clement had returned to Frankfort, and the days\ndragged along with deep and silent anguish. One morning, when least looked\nfor, he suddenly appeared with unexpected news: the Princess Catherine was\nat Frankfort, and would be at Heidelberg the following day!\n\nFleurange trembled.\u2014The Princess Catherine!\u2014All the remembrances connected\nwith that name revived with an intensity that for a moment overpowered\nher. She felt incapable of uttering a word.\u2014\u201cComing here?\u201d she said at\nlength. \u201cTo Heidelberg? What for? What can bring her here? How do you\nknow? Who told you? Oh! tell me everything, and at once, Clement!\u201d\n\nClement implored her to be calm, and she became so by degrees while he\nrelated what he had learned the night before from the Princess Catherine\nherself. At her arrival at Frankfort, she was informed by M. Waldheim, her\nbanker, that young Dornthal was in the city, and she begged him to call on\nher. Clement complied, but not without emotion, with the wish of Count\nGeorge\u2019s mother, and found her fearfully prostrated with grief and\nillness. He had, however, a long conversation with her, the substance of\nwhich was that, leaving Florence as soon as she learned the fatal news,\nshe travelled night and day till she reached Paris, where she fell ill.\nAfter four days, however, she resumed her journey, but when she arrived at\nFrankfort the physician declared her utterly incapable of continuing it,\nand especially of enduring the increasing severity of the weather in\nproportion as she approached St. Petersburg. Able to go no further, she\nresolved at least to keep on as far as Heidelberg, hoping the care of a\nyoung physician of that city, since and even then very celebrated, would\nspeedily enable her to resume her sad journey.\n\n\u201cI shall make the effort,\u201d said the princess, \u201cfor I wish to live. I wish\nto go to him, if possible. I long to behold him once more! I hope much\nfrom Dr. Ch\u2014\u2014\u2019s attendance, as well as your cousin Gabrielle\u2019s. I depend\non her, tell her so. Tell her,\u201d added she, weeping, \u201cthat I long to see\nher again, and beg her to come to me as soon as I arrive at Heidelberg.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd she will be here to\u2010morrow?\u201d said Fleurange, much affected.\n\n\u201cYes, towards night. I am going to notify the physician, and have the best\napartments in the city prepared for her. Though she did not say so, I am\nsure, Gabrielle, she expects to meet you at her arrival.\u201d\n\nFleurange merely replied she would be there, but her heart beat with a joy\nshe thought she could never feel again. To behold George\u2019s mother once\nmore, and at such a time! Was it not like catching a glimpse of him? She\nwould be sure of constantly hearing his name\u2014of constant and direct news\nrespecting him\u2014in a word, this was the realization of a secret wish she\nhad not dared utter.\n\nThe next day, a long time before the appointed hour, Fleurange was in the\nroom prepared for the princess, arranging the furniture in the way she\nknew would suit her, trying to give everything a cheerful aspect, to\nlessen the sadness of the poor traveller, who, towards the close of this\nlong day, at length arrived exhausted with fatigue, and fell sobbing into\nthe young girl\u2019s arms.\n\nThe time when she feared no other danger for her son than Gabrielle\u2019s\npresence was forgotten. The impressions of the moment always overruled all\nothers, and her present troubles were, besides, well calculated to absorb\nevery thought. Therefore, in meeting her young _prot\u00e9g\u00e9e_ she only thought\nof the pleasure of seeing her again, of the comfort to be derived from her\ncare and presence at a time when they were most needed, and everything\nexcept her first fancy for Fleurange seemed to be effaced from her memory.\n\n\n\nXLIII.\n\n\nA subdued light veiled every object. A bright fire sparkled in the small\nfireplace, only intended to be ornamental, as the room was otherwise\nheated by a stove. The princess was, as we have already seen her,\nreclining on a _canap\u00e9_ sheltered by a large screen. Her elbow rested on a\nsmall table loaded with the various objects she always carried with her;\nher feet were covered with a large shawl, and near her sat Fleurange on a\nstool in the old familiar attitude.\n\nThere was a great change, however. They no longer resorted to reading as\nthey once did, or followed the lead of the princess\u2019 thoughts, generally\nmore or less frivolous. One subject alone absorbed every faculty\u2014a subject\nwhich she who listened with such ardent interest was still less weary of\nthan herself.\n\nTo this the afflicted mother continually came back, sometimes with\nagitation, sometimes with a dull despair, but always with profound grief,\nheart\u2010rending to her whose sorrow equalled her own.\n\nIt was the first time the Princess Catherine had ever been subdued by\nmisfortune. Subdued, but not changed, she not only instinctively retained\nall her elegant habits, but her passionate nature was unchanged, and burst\nforth into recriminations against all whom she thought implicated in her\nson\u2019s misfortunes. This enabled her to pity, without blaming, him. It was\none of these occasions Fleurange heard her exclaim that \u201cFabiano Dini was\nhis evil genius!\u201d and she shuddered in recalling her presentiment, so soon\nand so fatally justified.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the princess during one of their conversations, \u201cit was he\u2014it\nwas that Fabiano Dini who brought him in contact with that reprobate of a\nLasko!\u201d\n\nAnd then she told the young girl about that person whose tragical end did\nnot seem to have sufficiently expiated all the evil he had done her\nson\u2014about his arrival at Florence, the ascendency he acquired over George,\nand the skill and promptness with which he took advantage of all his weak\npoints. She had been incredulous at first, notwithstanding Adelardi\u2019s\nwarnings\u2014alas! too long, too foolishly incredulous! But her fears once\nroused, how much had she not suffered! What efforts had she not made!\nAlas! but in vain!\n\n\u201cHe was always so\u2014that dear, unfortunate child! No prudence, no fear of\ndanger, ever stopped him on the very brink where his inclinations led him.\nOh! those wretches! they soon discovered his imprudence, his generosity,\nand his courage! And now,\u201d she exclaimed, rising from her pillow, while\nher thick but somewhat gray hair fell over her shoulders in unusual\ndisorder, \u201ccan he possibly be confounded with them? Oh! if I could only\nget well, only strong enough to start, to make the journey, to see the\nyoung empress even but once, I should obtain his pardon, I am sure!\u201d\n\nThen she fell back exhausted, murmuring as she wrung her hands: \u201cAnd\nVera!\u2014Vera absent from St. Petersburg at such a time! She was expected\nthere, but who knows if she may not arrive too late? And above all, who\nknows but she will be his worst enemy, and if he has not foolishly\npoisoned the very source whence he might now derive safety?\u201d\n\nThese words, which perhaps might have caused fresh trouble, were not heard\nby her to whom they were addressed. Fleurange had softly left the\nprincess\u2019 side as she laid her weary head on her pillow, and was at the\nother end of the room preparing a soothing draught which the poor invalid\nmechanically took from her hand from hour to hour without obtaining the\nrelief of a moment\u2019s sleep. This overpowering excitement, which resisted\nevery remedy, was somewhat soothed at the arrival of one of the Marquis\nAdelardi\u2019s frequent letters. He was still at St. Petersburg, and kept her\naccurately informed of all that happened, sometimes reviving her hopes,\nand again confirming her fears. But hitherto he had not succeeded in\nlearning anything certain as to the fate reserved for his friend.\nSometimes, therefore, after eagerly reading these letters, she threw them\ninto the fire with despair.\n\nSo much agitation at length brought on a high fever, and the princess had\nbeen confined to her bed several days, when one morning another letter\narrived from St. Petersburg. Fleurange softly approached the bedside, and\nperceived the invalid was fast asleep. It was important this brief moment\nof repose should not be disturbed, and, besides, the physician had\nrequested, some days previous, that no letter should be given her till it\nhad been read, for fear she might learn some distressing news before she\nwas prepared\u2014as it was easy to foresee might happen. Fleurange promised to\nread the letters first, and with the less scruple that for more than a\nweek she had been obliged to read them to the princess, who was too worn\nout to do so herself.\n\nShe now left her to the care of the faithful Barbara, and went into the\nsalon, where, carefully closing the door, she broke the seal of the letter\nin her hands, which was also from the Marquis Adelardi. \u201cAt last,\u201d he\nwrote, \u201cI think I can certainly reassure you as to the most terrible of\nthe events that seemed possible. The extreme rigor of the law will only be\nenforced against the acknowledged leaders of the conspiracy\u2014four or five\nin number. All the others, among whom is George, will incur, alas! a\nterrible penalty, but we must be thankful not to look forward to one more\nfrightful\u2014I say we, my dear unfortunate friend, for, as to him, I fear\nthis sentence will produce a contrary effect. I am persuaded he will\nconsider it a thousand times more dreadful than the other.\n\n\u201cSince I last wrote you, through the intervention of one of the\nambassadors, I have been allowed the privilege of entering the fortress\nwhere George is confined, and having a private interview with him. Pardon\nhas been offered him if he will reveal the names of some of his\naccomplices. You will not be surprised at his refusing. But the numerous\nproofs of their criminal projects, which have been set before him in order\nto wrest some acknowledgment from him, have convinced him of the nature of\nthe enterprise in which he risked his honor and life. The effect of this\ndiscovery has been to plunge him in the deepest dejection, and his only\nfear now is that his life may be spared.\n\n\u201c \u2018I merit death for my folly, Adelardi,\u2019 said he: \u2018you were right in\nwarning me there would be no consolation in such a reflection at the\nextremity I am now in. But I shall submit to my fate without weakness, as\nyou do me the honor to believe, I hope. I do not wish, however, to appear\nmore courageous than I am, and if, instead of death, I am sentenced to\ndrag out the life of a criminal in Siberia, I do not know what my despair\nmight lead me to do.\u2019\n\n\u201cAs much precaution therefore must be taken in informing him of the\nmitigation of his punishment, as in announcing to others the severity of\ntheirs. Before that time, I hope to obtain entrance again.\n\n\u201cMeanwhile I have learned with as much admiration as surprise that several\nwho are doomed to the same punishment as he are to have an unexpected and\nunparalleled consolation. Their wives\u2014their admirable and heroic\nwives\u2014have begged to be allowed to share their fate, and at this very\nmoment several ladies whom you know, young, beautiful, and accomplished,\nare preparing to follow their husbands to Siberia by inuring themselves to\nthe rigor of the season. These unfortunate men, degraded from the\nnobility, deprived of their wealth, and stripped of everything in the\nworld, cannot be deprived of the affection of these self\u2010sacrificing\ncreatures whose noble devotedness nothing daunts. I confess this amazes\nand confuses me, for I never before realized, or even suspected, how much\nheroism and generosity there is in the heart of a woman!\u201d\u2014\n\nFleurange\u2019s own heart throbbed so violently she was unable to continue the\nletter. With overflowing eyes she was still dwelling on the page she had\njust finished\u2014reading it over and over\u2014when she was told the princess was\nawake, and wished to know if there was a letter for her. For some days her\nmind had been so full of terrible anticipations about the final result as\nsometimes to produce fits of delirium. When, therefore, the contents of\nthis letter were communicated to her, she felt an unexpected\u2014an unhoped\u2010\nfor relief. His life\u2014George\u2019s life!\u2014would be spared! There was yet time\nfor her to effect something. She began to hope everything from the future,\nand became calmer than she had been for a long time. She was even to get\nup in the evening. She conversed, she spoke eagerly of her plans, her\nhopes, all she would do to soften her son\u2019s exile, and the efforts she\nwould make to abridge it; but what was extraordinary, Fleurange seemed\nabsent\u2010minded and made scarcely any reply.\n\nAbout nine o\u2019clock Julian or Clement always came to accompany her back to\nRosenheim\u2014a half\u2010hour\u2019s walk from the princess\u2019 house, which was at the\nother end of the city. On this occasion, when she was sent for, she was so\nabsorbed in her own thoughts that she did not notice which of the two was\nwith her. It was starlight, but very cold, and her hair was blown about by\nthe wind from beneath her little velvet hat.\n\n\u201cDraw your hood up, Gabrielle; it has not been so cold this winter.\u201d\n\nIt was Clement\u2019s voice which suddenly roused her from her reverie.\n\n\u201cIs it you, Clement?\u2014Excuse me, I did not know whether I was with you or\nJulian.\u201d\n\nHe gently attempted to raise her hood.\n\n\u201cNo, no!\u201d she said earnestly. \u201cLet me breathe the air. Though it is\nscarcely more than two years since I saw snow for the first time in my\nlife, I am not afraid of the cold. I could if necessary endure far more\nsevere weather than this.\u2014There!\u201d And she took off her hat and walked some\nsteps with her head completely exposed to the frosty night air. \u201cYou\nknow,\u201d she continued, with an animation that singularly contrasted with\nher previous silence\u2014\u201cyou know, during the Russian campaign, those who\nendured the cold best were the Neapolitan soldiers. Well, like them, I\nhave brought a supply of sunshine from the South which much harder frosts\nthan this could not exhaust!\u201d\n\nNevertheless, at Clement\u2019s renewed entreaties, she laughingly put on her\nhat, and they walked quickly along, leaving scarcely a trace of their\nsteps on the hard snow, deep as it was.\n\nHer liveliness that evening was strange! Clement noticed it without\ncomprehending the cause. Her cheerful tone and charming smile, instead of\ndelighting him as usual, now made him inexpressibly uneasy, and sadder\nthan ever!\n\n\n\nXLIV.\n\n\nAs is often the case with people of violent and impressionable natures,\nthe Princess Catherine seldom saw things long in the same light. Though\nher thoughts were sorrowfully fastened on one subject in consequence of\nthe tragical events that so suddenly threw a dark, ominous veil over a\nlife hitherto so smiling, she found means of giving a thousand different\nshades to her misfortune, and it was not always easy to follow her in the\nfitful turns of her grief. What consoled her one day was a source of\nirritation the next: what she affirmed in the morning, she vehemently\ndenied in the evening. Sometimes she expressed her fears on purpose that\nthey might be opposed; at other times, she burst into tears at the\nslightest contradiction, and, if they endeavored to reassure her, she\naccused them of cruelty and indifference to her troubles.\n\nIn consequence of one of these sudden fluctuations, the day following the\narrival of the Marquis Adelardi\u2019s letter which had seemed so consoling,\nFleurange, at the hour of her usual visit, found her abandoned to the\ndeepest dejection. Everything had assumed a new aspect, or perhaps it\nwould be more just to say that everything now wore the terrible aspect of\ntruth. And was it really enough that her idolized son was delivered from\ndeath? Was not the prospect she now dwelt on almost as fearful to bear?\nHe\u2014George!\u2014her son!\u2014in her eyes the perfect model of manly beauty,\nelegance, and nobleness of character, clad in the frightful garb of a\ncriminal!\u2014and going alone amid that wretched crowd to that dreary region,\nwhere the hardest and most humiliating labor awaited him, without even the\nconsoling voice of a friend to encourage him, to take him by the hand, to\nlove him, and to tell him so!\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d she exclaimed, in that accent which is as different from every\nother, as the grief of a mother differs from every other grief\u2014\u201coh!\nfeeble, ill, and exhausted as I am, why cannot I accompany him? It really\nseems to me, Gabrielle, if I were allowed, I should find strength, I\nshould have the courage to go. I would start, I would go and share his\nwretched existence, I would participate in all the severities of so\nfrightful a life, and by dint of affection I would make it endurable for\nhim!\u201d\n\nThis energetic cry of disinterested affection\u2014its evident sincerity\u2014was so\nrare a thing with the princess that it was the more affecting. Pale,\nsilent, and motionless before her, Fleurange listened with an emotion that\nprevented her uttering the words that hung on her trembling lips. The poor\nprincess was sobbing aloud, with both hands to her face, apparently\nexhausted by her own vehemence, when Fleurange, suddenly kneeling beside\nher, said in a low tone:\n\n\u201cDo you remember, princess, the promise you exacted from your son, one\nevening?\u201d\n\nThe princess raised her head with surprise and a shade of resentment:\n\u201cWhat do you mean? Do you wish to reproach me at such a time? The moment\nis well chosen, but such a thing from you, Gabrielle, surprises me!\u201d\n\n\u201cReproach you!\u201d cried Fleurange. \u201cNo, I did not think of such a thing. It\nwas a request, a petition, or, rather, it was a question I wished to ask\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cA question!\u201d The princess looked at Fleurange. She was struck by the\nexpression of her countenance, and interest, mingled with surprise, roused\nher from her dejection. What request was she going to make in so\nextraordinary a manner? And why did she look so determined, and speak in\nso supplicating a tone?\n\n\u201cGo on, speak, ask whatever you wish, Gabrielle.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, first let me tell you this: The eve of my departure from Florence,\nwhile descending from San Miniato with him\u2014with Count George, he asked if\nI would be his wife, adding he was sure of obtaining your consent.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy recall all these remembrances, Gabrielle? I thought you generous, but\nyou are without mercy!\u201d\n\nFleurange went on as if she did not hear: \u201cI replied that I would never\nlisten to him, unless, by some unforeseen circumstance impossible to\nconceive, his mother\u2014you, princess\u2014would gladly consent to receive me as a\ndaughter.\u201d She stopped a moment, as if too agitated to continue.\n\n\u201cWhat are you aiming at?\u201d said the princess.\n\n\u201cI beg you to listen to me, princess. Here is my question: When this\nterrible sentence is pronounced, when Count George de Walden is degraded\nfrom his rank, deprived of his wealth, and even of his name (you shudder,\nalas! and I also at the thought)\u2014but to return\u2014when that day comes, if he\nasks the consent he promised you to wait for, will you grant it?\u201d\n\nThe princess looked at her with astonishment, without appearing to\ncomprehend her.\n\n\u201cWill you allow me to tell him you have consented? Will you on that day\ntell me you are willing I should become your daughter?\u201d\n\nThe princess began to catch at her meaning, but she was too stupefied to\nreply.\n\n\u201cAh! say the word, princess,\u201d continued Fleurange, her face expressing\nboth angelic tenderness and a more than feminine courage, \u201csay it, and I\nwill start. I will be at St. Petersburg before his sentence is pronounced,\nand when he comes out of his dungeon I will be there, and before he\ndeparts for the place of his exile a tie shall unite us that will permit\nme to accompany him and share all its severity!\u201d\u2014She continued in\nfaltering tones: \u201cAnd if ever the tenderness of a mother, the care of a\nsister, or the love of a wife, were able to alleviate misfortune, my heart\nshall have the combined power of these various affections.\u201d\n\nWe are aware that, when certain chords were touched in the princess\u2019\nheart, they vibrated strongly, and made her for a moment forget herself.\nBut never, under any circumstances of her life, had she felt an emotion\nequal to that now caused by Fleurange\u2019s words and accents. She looked at\nher a moment in silence while great tears rolled down her cheeks, then,\nopening her arms and pressing the young girl passionately to her heart,\nshe covered her forehead and eyes with kisses, repeating at intervals with\na voice broken by sobs: \u201cYes, yes, Gabrielle, be my daughter: I consent\nwith joy\u2014with gratitude. I give you now my consent and a mother\u2019s\nblessing!\u201d\u2014\n\nTo Be Continued.\n\n\n\n\nThe Poor Ploughman.\n\n\n    A true worker and a good was he,\n    Living in peace and perfect charity;\n    God loved he, best, and that with alle his herte,\n    At alle times, were it gain or smart;\n    And then his neighbour right as himselve.\n    He wolde thresh, and thereto dyke and delve\n    For Christe\u2019s sake, for every poor wight\n    Withouten hire, if it lay in his might.\n    His tithes paid he full fair and well,\n    Both of his proper work, and his cattel.\u2014_S. Anselm._\n\n\n\n\nA Dark Chapter In English History.(103)\n\n\nOne of the most gratifying features of the literature of the present, and\none that in some measure compensates us for the evils produced by the many\nworthless books that are still allowed to issue from the press, is its\ntendency by close investigation and collation to vindicate the truth of\nmodern history, and especially of that portion of it directly or\nindirectly relating to the XVIth century. Gradually, but most effectually,\nthe inventions and gross calumnies of the post\u2010Reformation writers are\nbeing dissipated, and the meretricious grandeur with which the characters\nand acts of the anti\u2010Catholic sovereigns, statesmen, and generals of that\neventful period were designedly clothed, has been stripped off, revealing\nto their descendants the deformity and impiety of the heroes of the\nReformation. Whether we turn to England or Germany, Edinburgh or Geneva,\nwe find the men and women who in our own school\u2010boy days we were urged to\nregard as patterns of patriotism and morality, become under the scrutiny\nof living historiographers the veriest counterfeits\u2014the prey of passion\nand the untiring enemies of every principle of government and religion\nwhich we are bound to respect. Yet this is what, logically, we might have\nanticipated. A bad cause needs to be sustained by vicious instruments; but\nso closely and consistently has the web of falsehood been woven around the\ntrue designs and actions of the reformers that it required the labor of\nmany skilful and patient hands to undo the meshes and reduce the fabric,\nso dexterously spun, to its original elements. This is peculiarly\ndifficult with the works of English historians and biographers of the past\nthree centuries, whose unanimity in magnifying the virtues and screening\nthe crimes of their public men is so remarkable as to utterly destroy the\nvalue of their works as authorities among people of other nations. The\nbeastly vices of the eighth Henry were, of course, so glaring that they\ncould neither be denied nor extenuated; but who would expect to find that\nhis worthy daughter Elizabeth, the \u201cvirgin queen\u201d and _Gloriana_, before\nwhose benign altar even Shakespeare offered the incense of his flattery,\nshould at this remote period be discovered to be: as a woman ugly, ill\u2010\ntempered, and unchaste, and as a ruler fickle, cruel, cold\u2010blooded, and\nthoroughly despotic. James I., the head of a long line of gallant princes,\nto whom his pliant prelates attributed \u201cdivine illumination,\u201d and\nsubsequent historians praised for his learning and wit, we at length know\nto have been a miser and a charlatan, as deformed in mind as he was\nuncouth in person. \u201cHis cowardice,\u201d says his compatriot and co\u2010religionist\nMacaulay, \u201chis childishness, his pedantry, his ungainly person and\nmanners, his provincial accent, made him an object of derision\u201d to his\nEnglish subjects. The unscrupulous Northampton and the subtle Cecil, the\ntrusted ministers of both sovereigns, who had long been regarded as the\nunswerving champions of English independence and the bulwark of Protestant\nascendency, are now proved to have been all along the paid tools of\nCatholic Spain, with whose ill\u2010gotten gold their lofty palaces were built\nand their luxurious wants regularly supplied.(104) The chivalrous and\nromantic Raleigh of other days, examined by the inexorable scrutiny of the\nXIXth century, turns out a spy in the pay of a foreign and by no means\nfriendly power; the philosophic Bacon, a common peculator; and Coke, the\nfather of English common law, a falsifier of sworn evidence and a\nconcocter of legal conspiracies against the liberties of his countrymen.\nYet these were the leading personages, who, with many others equally\ncorrupt, in their day and generation swayed the destinies of England,\ndesolated the church of God, originated or abetted plots and schemes, at\nhome and abroad, for the spoliation and extermination of the professors of\nthe ancient faith.\n\nThis tardy measure of historical justice is partly due to the appearance\nin different parts of Europe of important public and private documents and\ncorrespondence, which have shamed British Protestant authors into\nsomething like truthfulness, but principally to the revival of Catholicity\nin England, which has been the means of drawing out a mass of original and\nreliable information, that had long been allowed to slumber in the dark\nclosets of a few noble families or in inaccessible libraries during the\ngloomy era of persecution and proscription. Our readers are already\nfamiliar with the articles which formerly appeared in these columns on the\nlong\u2010unsettled and vexed question of the character of Mary, Queen of\nScots, and the justice or injustice of her treatment by\nElizabeth\u2014contributions to current literature which in their collective\nform have found their way among the _literati_ of all nations, and, from\ntheir admirable cogency of argument and conscientious appeals to\ncontemporary authorities, have at length cleared away from the character\nof that ill\u2010starred lady the foul aspersions and unexampled obloquy heaped\non it by the minions of the English sovereign.\n\nSome more recent publications have thrown additional light on the tragic\nincidents of her reign and of that of her successor James, which, as far\nas they relate to the Catholics of Great Britain, are full of freshness\nand interest. Chief among them is the _Life of Father John Gerard_, for\nmany years a Jesuit missionary in England under both rulers, with his\naccount of the celebrated Gunpowder Plot, written soon after the failure\nof that conspiracy. Many of the participants in the plot were personally\nknown to him, and he himself was accused of having taken an active part in\nits formation; but, though his name has been frequently mentioned in\nconnection with it and his manuscript narrative more or less correctly\nquoted, it remained for a member of his Order, the Rev. John Morris, the\nable editor of the book before us, to present to the world for the first\ntime the only complete and accurate history of an event which has been the\nfruitful subject of misrepresentation and comment by every writer on\nEnglish history for the last two hundred years.\n\nFew incidents of modern times can be said to have provoked more hostility\nto the church and the Jesuit Order than the Gunpowder Plot, few have been\nso dexterously used by the enemies of Catholicity to poison the public\nmind against the priesthood, and none the details of which are so little\nunderstood even at the present day by friends and foes. The 5th of\nNovember, the anniversary of its discovery, has long been a gala\u2010day with\nthe more ignorant of the British populace; Protestant writers, divines,\nand politicians of the lower sort are not yet tired of alluding to the\ntime when, as they are wont to allege, the Catholics by one fell swoop\nattempted to destroy king, lords, and commons; and even Lingard and\nTiernay, with the very best intentions and after considerable examination\nof authorities, give a partial assent to the old popular conviction that,\nin some way or another, the Jesuits were at the bottom of the diabolical\nscheme, which in reality was the creation of a handful of desperate\nlaymen. In fact, the former, with a penetration totally at variance with\nhis general character, alludes to the taking of the oath of secrecy by\nCatesby and his companions in terms that would lead any superficial reader\nto adopt this absurd hypothesis. \u201cAll five,\u201d he says, \u201chaving previously\nsworn each other to secrecy, received in confirmation of their oath the\nsacrament at the hands of the Jesuit missionary Father Gerard.\u201d(105) It is\ntrue that in a subsequent edition of his _History_ he endeavored to\nexplain away, but in a very unsatisfactory manner, the implication of\nguilty knowledge on the part of Gerard; but, whether from an imperfect\nacquaintance with the writings of that priest, then unpublished, or from\nthat spirit of timidity which too often characterized the conduct of the\nEnglish Catholics of the last generation, his refutation is not of that\nfull and hearty nature which might be expected from so clear and critical\na scholar.\n\nWhat Dr. Lingard was unwilling or unable to undertake may now, in view of\nmore complete evidence, be accomplished by persons of lesser erudition,\nwho, untrammelled by national partiality, are not alarmed at popular\nclamor or unwilling to disturb time\u2010honored but unfounded historical\nfallacies. We design, therefore, in this article to prove:\n\n1. That the Gunpowder Plot was formed and carried out to its disastrous\nend by not more than a dozen desperate men, the victims of unrelenting\npersecution for conscience\u2019 sake.\n\n2. That the Catholic body in England, lay and clerical, till its\ndiscovery, neither were aware of its existence, approved of its aims, nor\nrendered any assistance to its projectors.\n\n3. That no priest, Jesuit or other, was concerned in its formation, or\nafforded it any encouragement at any time; and that of all the seculars\nand regulars in the kingdom but two were ever aware of its existence, and\nthat to them the knowledge came under the seal of confession and could not\nbe revealed.\n\n4. That those two used every possible effort to dissuade the conspirators\nfrom their design, and denounced on every occasion all violent attempts to\nredress the wrongs under which the Catholics suffered.\n\nThe state of England at the beginning of the XVIIth century, when James of\nScotland was called upon to ascend the throne of his mother\u2019s murderer,\nwas deplorable in the extreme. Less than half a century had sufficed to\nchange entirely the whole face of the country socially and morally, and\nthe once \u201cmerrie\u201d people were divided into two hostile camps, one the army\nof plunder and persecution, the other the cowering, dissatisfied, and\nimpoverished masses. Many were yet alive who recollected with sorrow the\ntime when the cross gleamed on the spires of a thousand churches, when the\nsolemn sacrifice was offered up on myriads of altars, when the poor and\nafflicted easily found food and shelter at the numerous convents and\nabbeys that dotted the land of S. Augustine, and the young and the aged,\nthe weak woman and the strong man, together bowed their knees in reverence\nbefore the statues of the \u201cblessed among women\u201d and other saints. Now all\nwas reformed away\u2014changed not with the consent of the people nor by the\nargument or eloquence of the preacher, but by the brute force and cunning\nfraud of a corrupt sovereign, a dissolute and avaricious court, and,\npartially at least, by a venal and cowardly episcopate. The churches no\nlonger resounded from morning till night with the solemn sacred chants,\nthe monasteries were in ruins or the scenes of impious revelry, the\nfestivals of the church were abolished, and the peasantry, formerly\naccustomed to look forward to them as days of rest from hard toil and\noccasions of innocent enjoyment, were sullen and discontented. Those who\nhad shared in the ecclesiastical plunder spent their time in the\nmetropolis in wild extravagance, while the gentry, most of whom still\nadhered secretly to the faith, remained at home, the prey of anxiety and\nthe tax\u2010gatherer. The masses were fast degenerating into that state of\nstolid ignorance and unbelief from which all subsequent legislation has\nfailed to raise them. The laws of Elizabeth aimed at the suppression of\nall outward manifestation of Catholicity and the ultimate protestantizing\nof the nation; those of James, at the utter extirpation of the Catholics\nthemselves.\n\nAs early as A.D. 1559, the first year of Elizabeth\u2019s reign, a law was\npassed compelling every person holding office, either temporal or\nspiritual, under the crown, to take an oath of allegiance declaring the\nqueen the supreme head of the church. The penalty for refusing this oath\nwas forfeiture of goods and imprisonment, and a persistence in such\nrefusal, _death_. Whoever affirmed the spiritual supremacy of the pope was\ndeclared guilty of treason; penalty, confiscation and _death_. Attendance\nat Mass was to be punished by perpetual imprisonment, and non\u2010attendance\nat Protestant service by a weekly fine. In the fifth year of her reign,\nany aider or abettor of such offenders was for the first offence to be\nfined and imprisoned for life, for the second to suffer _death_. Any\nclergyman celebrating Mass or refusing to observe the regulations of the\n_Book of Common Prayer_ forfeited offices, goods, and liberty. In the\nthirteenth year, introducing into the kingdom a bull or other instrument\nof the pope was treason, penalty _death_; abetting the same, _death_;\nacting under such authority, _death_; introducing, wearing, or having in\nhis or her possession an _Agnus Dei_, cross, etc., confiscation and\nperpetual imprisonment; and for leaving the kingdom without permission,\nforfeiture of lands and personal estate. In the twenty\u2010third year, any\nperson granting absolution from sin in the name of the \u201cRoman Church,\u201d or\nreceiving the same, their aiders, etc., was declared guilty of treason,\npenalty _death_; and for not disclosing knowledge of such offenders,\nconfiscation and imprisonment. In the twenty\u2010ninth year, the tax for non\u2010\nattendance at Protestant service was increased to \u00a320 per lunar month, or\nforfeiture of two\u2010thirds of all lands and goods; and for keeping a\nschoolmaster or tutor, other than a Protestant, a fine of \u00a310 per month\nwas imposed, together with imprisonment at pleasure. By the statutes of\nthe 21st, 27th, and 28th Elizabeth, every priest, Jesuit, or other\necclesiastic ordained out of the realm was obliged forthwith to leave the\nkingdom, and in case of his return he was to suffer _death_; those who\nreceived or harbored him were subject to a like punishment. Those being\neducated abroad were required to return home, and after neglect to do so,\nupon their being found in the kingdom, were to be put to _death_. For\ncontributing money for colleges abroad and for sending students there,\nfine and imprisonment for life were considered adequate punishments; but\nby the 25th chapter of Elizabeth, all who persisted in refusing attendance\non Protestant worship were liable to be transported for life, and if they\nevaded the statute they were liable to suffer _death_.(106)\n\nWe see, therefore, by this comprehensive penal code that every office\nunder the crown was reserved as a bribe to recreant Catholics; that\nprivate tutors were commanded to teach nothing but the new heresy in\nCatholic families, while those who objected to such method of instruction\ncould neither send their children abroad nor contribute to the support of\nthose already there. All priests were obliged to take the oath of\nsupremacy and observe the _Book of Common Prayer_; such as did not were to\nbe banished, and if they returned were to be executed forthwith. No priest\ncould, of course, be ordained at home, and if ordained abroad he was to be\nhanged whenever caught, without delay. If one of the laity attended Mass\nor wore the image of his crucified Redeemer, he was to be imprisoned for\nlife; if he did not attend Protestant service, he was to be fined\nenormously; if he had no money to pay the fine, he might be banished for\never from his home and country, and if he endeavored to conceal himself at\nhome his career was to be ended by the hangman.\n\nNor must it to be supposed that these sanguinary statutes, affecting the\nrights and liberties of at least one\u2010half of the population, were nothing\nbut the splenetic fits of a jealous and tyrannical bigot or mere idle\nthreats to frighten a half\u2010civilized horde. On the contrary, we have\nabundant facts to prove that they were thoroughly and cruelly enforced,\nand that the sufferers were principally the better class of the community.\nIn 1573, the Rev. Thomas Woodhouse was drawn, half\u2010hanged, and then\nquartered alive in the usual way at Tyburn, for having denied the queen\u2019s\nsupremacy. Two years later, Father Cuthbert Mayne was executed with\nsimilar barbarity in Cornwall for having in his possession a copy of a\nJubilee and for saying Mass in the house of a Mr. Teagian; the latter,\nwith fifteen others, for being present on the occasion, was imprisoned for\nlife. In 1577, Mr. Jenks was tried and convicted at Oxford for exposing\nsome Catholic books for sale, and about this time we are informed the\nprisons were so full of \u201crecusants\u201d that a pestilence broke out and large\nnumbers of the inmates perished. Among the sufferers in 1578 we find the\nnames of Father Nelson and a Mr. Sherwood, who were hanged and quartered\nsolely for being recusants. In 1582, Fathers Campion (the celebrated\nJesuit missionary), Sherwin, and Briant, after the mockery of a trial,\nwere executed in London, and in May of the year following no less than\nseven other priests suffered death at Tyburn. Thus nearly every year\nsupplied its quota to the martyrology of the church in England, not to\nspeak of the nameless thousands who died in confinement by the quick but\nsilent process of torture and pestilence, or abroad, broken\u2010hearted and\nneglected. During the fourteen years succeeding the dispersion of the\nSpanish Armada, when fanaticism was rampant and bigotry held full sway in\nthe councils of Elizabeth, sixty\u2010one clergymen, forty\u2010seven laymen, and\ntwo gentlewomen expiated their offence of being Catholics by a horrible\nand ignominious public death; while, according to the records still\nextant, the total number of the \u201cgood Queen Bess\u2019\u201d ecclesiastical victims\namounted to the handsome number of one hundred and twenty\u2010three, including\none hundred and thirteen seculars, eight Jesuits, one friar, and one monk,\nbesides innumerable laymen in whose veins flowed the best blood of the\nland.\n\nThe rack and the thumb\u2010screw almost invariably preceded the half\u2010hanging\nand disembowelling, so that many looked upon the gallows as a welcome\nrelief from worse sufferings. Priests were tortured to compel them to\ndisclose the names of their penitents, and laymen to force them into the\nbetrayal of their pastors. Father Campion was four times racked, and then\nsecretly brought before the queen to discuss theology with that model\nSupreme Head of the Church; while others like Nichols found it more\nconvenient to swear to all their tormentors required, for, as that\nrecreant shepherd na\u00efvely says in his _Apology_, \u201cit is not, I assure you,\na pleasant thing to be stretched on the rack till the body becomes almost\ntwo feet longer than nature made it.\u201d Father Gerard, who speaks from\npersonal experience, has left us in his Memoirs the following account of\nthis most effectual method of extorting confessions in the glorious reign\nof that queen to which so many of our modern writers refer with pride and\ncongratulation:\n\n\n    \u201cThen they led me to a great upright beam, or pillar of wood,\n    which was one of the supports of this vast crypt. At the summit of\n    this column were fixed certain iron staples for supporting\n    weights. Here they placed on my wrists manacles of iron, and\n    ordered me to mount upon two or three wicker steps; then raising\n    my arms they inserted an iron bar through the rings of the\n    manacles, and then through the staples in the pillar, putting a\n    pin through the bar so that it could not slip. My arms being thus\n    fixed above my head, they withdrew those wicker steps I spoke of,\n    one by one, from my feet, so that I hung by my hands and arms. The\n    tips of my toes, however, still touched the ground; so they dug\n    away the ground beneath, as they could not raise me higher, for\n    they had suspended me from the topmost staples in the pillar. Thus\n    hanging by my wrists I began to pray, while those gentlemen\n    standing around me asked again if I was willing to confess. I\n    replied, \u2018I neither can nor will.\u2019 But so terrible a pain began to\n    oppress me that I was scarcely able to speak the words. The worst\n    pain was in my breast and belly, my arms and hands. It seemed to\n    me that all the blood in my body rushed up my arms into my hands,\n    and I was under the impression at the time that the blood actually\n    burst forth from my fingers and the back of my hands. This was,\n    however, a mistake, the sensation was caused by the swelling of\n    the flesh over the iron that bound it.... I had hung this way till\n    after one of the clock, as I think, when I fainted.\u201d(107)\n\n\nIt must not be supposed, however, that the zeal of the queen\u2019s ministers\nwas satisfied with these harsh measures against the clergy and the more\nprominent delinquents. All Catholics were put beyond the pale of the law.\nThe country swarmed with spies and informers. Lists were accurately made\nout and carefully preserved of the recusants who owned property of any\nsort, and every possible method of espionage was adopted to detect them in\nthe slightest infraction of the bloody code. Domiciliary visits became the\norder of the day, or rather of the night, for that was the time usually\nchosen by the pursuivants. Doors were broken open, closets ransacked,\nbedrooms of women and invalids invaded without ceremony; and frequently,\nthe previous movements having been properly concerted, whole families were\nsimultaneously borne off to prison, there to be detained without the least\nwarrant of law for months and years. The tax of \u00a3260 annually, equal to at\nleast five thousand dollars at the present day, was not only vigorously\nenforced, but upon the faintest rumor of a foreign invasion or domestic\nbroil, special imposts were laid on the remaining property of the\nCatholics, and the owners were carried to the nearest dungeon till the\naffair blew over, when they were as unceremoniously dismissed until the\nnext occasion arose for plunder and personal revenge.\n\nThus was the work of reformation and evangelization urged briskly forward\nin free England, and she was fast becoming converted and enlightened.\nTorture, death, and confiscation dogged the steps of the unhappy recusant\nwho dare to profess, even in the privacy of his house, the faith of his\nfathers for ten centuries\u2014that religion which had raised his ancestors\nfrom barbarism, freed him from the thraldom of feudalism, and given him\n_Magna Charta_, trial by jury, and representative government. The crown\nlawyers, like Coke, Stanhope, and Bacon, laid the plans, pious bishops\nlike those of London, Ely, and Winchester, leaving their flocks to the\ndevouring Puritan wolves, constituted themselves a sort of episcopal\nsheriffalty, and vied with each other in their ardor for the spread of the\nGospel and their love for the spoils of the Papists. Their leader in all\nthis was a vulgar wretch named Topcliffe, whose audacity, profanity, and\nlewdness made him the terror of men and the abhorrence of women, but whose\nusefulness was so apparent that he was constantly the object of government\nfavors and clerical eulogy.\n\nBut human hate and diabolical ingenuity, it was thought, could not last\nfor ever. On the 24th of March, A.D. 1603, Elizabeth died, to the last the\nprey of vain desires and unsatisfied ambition. For weeks before her\ndecease she was haunted by the phantoms of her innumerable crimes, and so\nterrified at the approach of death that she refused to lie in her bed or\nto receive any sustenance from her usual attendants. The courts of Europe,\nto which she had ever been an object of dislike and fear, could ill\nconceal their pleasure at the event, but millions of her subjects, the\nimpoverished, the widowed, and the orphaned, made desolate by her despotic\ncruelty, in silence execrated her memory.\n\nThe Catholics generally found consolation in the thought of her successor,\nand, with that unqualified confidence in the house of Stuart, which now\nseems like fatality, they began to hope for better days under his sway.\nWas he not, they asked each other, the son of Elizabeth\u2019s royal victim,\nand could he be unmindful of the affection with which the Catholics of the\nthree kingdoms ever regarded his mother? Had he not before he ever put\nfoot in England authorized Father Watson to promise in his name justice\nand protection, and did not Percy, the agent and kinsman of the great Duke\nof Northumberland, assure his friends, on the strength of the royal word\nsolemnly pledged, that the days of persecution were at an end? Poor\ndeluded people, they little knew how much deceit lay in the heart of him\nwhom the Protestant lord primate rather blasphemously averred \u201cthe like\nhad not been since the time of Christ.\u201d He had scarcely put on the crown\nwhen the Catholics discovered that they had neither mercy nor justice to\nexpect from him. Once secure in the support of the Protestant party, he\nturned a deaf ear to their complaints, and even had the mendacity to deny\nhis own word of honor, giving as a reason \u201cthat, since Protestants had so\ngenerally received and proclaimed him king, he had now no need of\nPapists.\u201d Being by nature intolerant, he oppressed the Puritans, by whom\nhe had been trained, to please the Episcopalians, and to gratify both he\nground the Catholics into dust; arrests for recusancy multiplied, illegal\nvisitations became more frequent, and if possible more annoying, the\narrears of the monthly tax which he at first pretended to remit were\ndemanded, and the amount, already enormous, was even increased so as to\nsatisfy the ever\u2010increasing rapacity of his pauper courtiers who had\nfollowed him into England. In place and out of it, he made the most\nviolent attacks on the faith of his dead mother and of at least one\u2010half\nof his English subjects, and his remarks were taken up and repeated from\nevery Protestant pulpit and in every conventicle throughout the length and\nbreadth of the land, till the hopes of the Catholics grew fainter and\nfainter, and finally expired. Unlike Elizabeth, he was not only expected\nto live a long life, but his progeny would succeed him, the heirs of his\nauthority and cruelty; and being constitutionally a coward and an\nintriguer, he was bent on making peace with foreign powers, and thus\ncutting off all sympathy which the Catholic sovereigns might have felt it\ntheir interest to express for their suffering co\u2010religionists in Great\nBritain.\n\nThough the principles of reciprocal protection and allegiance were not as\nwell defined at that period as, they have since been, the Catholics of\nEngland would have been more or less than human if they could have\nregarded James\u2019 government with any feeling other than detestation, and\nthe wonder is not that a plot was laid to destroy it, but that so very few\nof the persecuted multitude could be found to embark in it,\nnotwithstanding the manifold reasons afforded by the king and parliament\nfor their destruction. It was an age of conspiracies and counterplots,\nwhen the highest and most trusted in every land endeavored by force or\nfraud to accomplish political and personal ends, success being the only\ncriterion of merit. The history of Europe from the middle of the preceding\ncentury is full of dark schemes and secret contrivances, in which nobles\nand princes figure alternately as the bribers or the bribed, the patrons\nor the victims of the assassin, now devoted patriots and anon double\u2010dyed\ntraitors. The long civil wars, the vicious legacy of the Lutheran attempt\nto unsettle the faith of Christendom, had nearly ceased from sheer\nexhaustion, and unemployed soldiers of desperate fortunes but undoubted\ncourage were to be easily had for any enterprise, no matter how dangerous.\n\nOf this character was Guy or Guido Fawkes, whose name, though not himself\nthe originator of the Gunpowder Plot, is most intimately associated with\nit in popular tradition. The real authors were Robert Catesby, Thomas\nPercy, Thomas Winter, and John Wright; all of whom were country gentlemen\nof good family and education, but, except Catesby, very much reduced in\ncircumstances owing to the unjust and repeated exactions of the penal\nlaws, which had not only robbed them of their property and shut them out\nfrom all public employment, but had branded them with the stigma of\ntraitors to their country and enemies to their sovereign; for, having in\nthe early part of their lives conformed to Protestantism, they had\nsubsequently returned to the church into which they had been baptized\u2014an\noffence in the eyes of the rulers of that day of the deepest dye.\n\nIn the early part of 1604, the five conspirators met in London, and,\nhaving taken a solemn oath of secrecy, determined on their future schemes\nfor the total destruction of the government. Wishing, however, it seems,\nto exhaust all milder remedies, they sent agents to Spain and other\nforeign powers friendly to the Catholic cause, to induce them to use their\ngood offices in mitigating the sufferings of the English recusants. The\nanswers were generally favorable, but non\u2010committal, and the practical\nresult nothing. They then determined to depend on themselves alone, and in\nthe autumn rented a building adjoining the Palace of Westminster, the old\nHouse of Parliament, and commenced to undermine the dividing wall. This,\nsome three yards thick of solid masonry, they found a work of difficulty,\nand from the paucity of their numbers and their inexperience in manual\nlabor, advanced slowly. A circumstance soon occurred to modify their\nplans. A portion of the cellar immediately under the prince\u2019s chamber,\nwhich had been used by a coal dealer, was vacated by the tenant, and Percy\nrented it, ostensibly for storage purposes. The mine was abandoned, and\nthirty\u2010two barrels of powder, which had been stored previously at Lambeth,\nwere introduced in the night\u2010time, and covered from observation by wood,\nfurniture, etc. All that was now required to complete the conspiracy was a\nproper moment for the application of the match. This work had brought them\ninto the spring of 1605, and, as parliament was not to assemble for some\nmonths, they resolved to separate, some going into the country to see\ntheir relatives, and others to the Continent to enlist the assistance of\nsuch adventurers as could be found willing to take service under the\nanticipated new _r\u00e9gime_. Meanwhile eight more persons were admitted into\nthe plot, the principal of whom were Rokewood, Grant, Tresham, and Sir\nEverard Digby, all young men of family and fortune, whose proud spirits\nchafed continually under the social and political ostracism to which all\nrecusants of the period were doomed.\n\nThe opening of parliament, expected in September, was, however, postponed\ntill the 5th of November, but, to the secret satisfaction of Catesby and\nhis fellows, the penal laws continued to be rigidly enforced, and\nadditional measures of persecution were devised by the king\u2019s council for\nthe adoption by the legislature when it should meet. As that time\napproached and everything augured success, the parts of the leading actors\nin the bloody drama were distributed. Fawkes was to fire the powder which\nwas to blow the king, his oldest son Henry, and the lords and commons into\neternity; Prince Charles, the next in succession, having been seized by\nPercy, was to be proclaimed king at Charing Cross by Catesby; while\nTresham, Grant, and Digby were to gain possession of the person of the\ninfant princess Elizabeth, at Lord Harrington\u2019s country\u2010seat. After the\nexplosion, Fawkes was to sail for Flanders to bring over reinforcements,\nand the others, a protector for the royal children having been appointed,\nwere to rendezvous at Digby\u2019s residence and raise the country in favor of\nthe new government. There was a method in the madness of these men, and\nthe first part of their programme would undoubtedly have been carried out\nbut for one important fact upon which it seems they did not reckon: Cecil\nwas fully cognizant of all their movements, and for his own good reasons,\nas we shall hereafter see, allowed them to proceed unchecked to the very\nlast moment.\n\nThat moment expired soon after midnight on the night of the 4th\u20105th of\nNovember, only a few hours before the expected catastrophe. As Fawkes was\nentering the cellar to assure himself that all was in readiness, he was\nseized by a body of soldiers under the command of Sir Thomas Knevett. His\ndress denoted that he was prepared for a journey, arms and matches were\nfound upon his person, a dark\u2010lantern was discovered in a corner, and the\nremoval of the _d\u00e9bris_ that was piled in the vault revealed the powder\narranged ready for explosion.\n\nThe scene that ensued was highly dramatic, and did great credit to the\nhistrionic genius of the secretary. The lords of the council were hastily\nsummoned to the king\u2019s bed\u2010chamber, the prisoner was brought up for\nexamination by torch\u2010light, and the royal pedant sat on the side of his\ncouch in his night\u2010clothes for several hours, questioning and cross\u2010\nquestioning the would\u2010be murderer. But Guy was made of stern stuff, and,\nwhile he freely admitted that his intention had been \u201cto blow the Scotch\nbeggars back to their native mountains,\u201d he obstinately refused to\ndisclose the names of his associates. The news spread with rapidity, and\nLondon at daylight was in the wildest commotion. The other conspirators in\nthe city, with the exception of Tresham, fled to Digby\u2019s house near\nDunchurch, where a hunting party had assembled, but upon the disclosure of\nthe treason and its failure the guests rapidly dispersed, two or three\nonly, from friendship or other causes, resolving to remain with the\nconspirators and share the fate which now seemed certain to overtake them.\nOne of these was Stephen Littleton, who resided at Holbeach in\nStaffordshire, a strongly Catholic county, and thither the whole party,\nnumbering between forty and fifty, including grooms and other servants,\nproceeded through Warwick and Worcester, vainly endeavoring on their road\nto excite the people to join them. At Holbeach they resolved to make a\nstand, but an accident destroyed whatever little chance might have\nremained of a successful resistance. Their ammunition, which had been wet\nduring their hurried journey, exploded while being dried, and not only\nseriously injured Catesby and three others, but afforded an excuse for\ntheir handful of followers to forsake them. In this condition they were\nsoon surrounded by the forces of Sir Richard Walsh, who, after summoning\nthem to surrender and receiving a defiant negative, ordered his men to\nfire. The brothers Wright, Percy, and Catesby, fell mortally wounded;\nRokewood, Winter, Morgan, and Grant were wounded and taken prisoners, and\nDigby and the two others were soon after captured. They were immediately\ntaken to London, tried, and with Fawkes executed on the 30th of the\nfollowing January.\n\nUnder ordinary circumstances, this insane conspiracy of a dozen desperate\nmen would have ended here, and the plot itself have become lost in the\nthousand\u2010and\u2010one concerted crimes against authority which disfigure the\nannals of European monarchy in the middle ages; but the Puritan party in\nEngland, the more insatiable enemies of the Catholics, who saw in it an\nexcellent opportunity for wholesale spoliation of what yet remained to the\npersecuted, endeavored to involve the millions in the treasonable guilt of\nthe few, and Cecil, who had so long nursed the designs of the traitors,\nhad his own deep schemes to subserve by endorsing this foul calumny. But\nJames, bigot as he was, could not, in the face of such palpable facts to\nthe contrary, go to this extreme length. \u201cFor though it cannot be denied,\u201d\nhe said in his speech to parliament recounting the discovery and origin of\nthe plot, \u201cthat it was only the blind superstition of their errors in\nreligion that led them to this desperate device, yet doth it not follow\nthat all professing that Romish religion were guilty of the same.\u201d Yet the\nPuritan party, who hungered for the spoils, by constant repetition\nsucceeded in fastening the imputation of guilt on the entire Catholic body\nin England, and for a long time it was partially believed abroad, and re\u2010\nechoed without hesitation by subsequent historians. The author of _Her\nMajesty\u2019s Tower_, to whom Catholicity owes little else, has, we are happy\nto say, had the manhood to set the matter in its true light in his recent\npublication. He says:\n\n\n    \u201cThe news of this plot was heard by the old English Catholics with\n    more astonishment than rage, though the expression of their anger\n    was both loud and deep. The priests were still more prompt to\n    denounce it than their flocks. The venerable Archpriest, George\n    Blackwell, took up his pen before a single man had yet been killed\n    or captured in the shires, and in a brief address to the Catholic\n    clergy stigmatized the plot as a detestable contrivance in which\n    no true Catholic could have a share\u2014as an abominable thing,\n    contrary to Holy Writ, to the councils, and to the instructions of\n    the spiritual guides. Blackwell told his clergy to exhort their\n    flocks to peace and obedience, and to avoid falling into snares.\u201d\n\n\nBut it was necessary for the purpose of affording a decent pretext for\nfurther penal legislation, long since agreed upon in the council, as well\nas to destroy the sympathy still felt at foreign courts for the persecuted\nEnglish, that the blame of the foul conspiracy should be laid not on the\ninhuman laws which had driven gallant and loyal men into deadly conflict\nwith the government, but on the church. As it was impossible to implicate\nany considerable number of the laity or the secular clergy, it was\nresolved to single out the few Jesuits then in the country, and through\nthem the entire Order, as fitting objects of national hatred and universal\nobloquy. The trick was not new even then, though since much practised and\nrefined. Its execution was consonant also with the parliamentary design of\nexterminating Catholicity in the three kingdoms. The old clergy, or, as\nthey were called, \u201cQueen Mary\u2019s priests,\u201d were few, aged, and sure soon to\ndie out in the course of nature, while the authorities had taken good care\nthat they should leave no successors of native education. The Jesuits, on\nthe contrary, were young men, generally scions of noble houses, gentle in\nbreeding, and, from their continental training, thorough linguists, acute\nreasoners, and polished gentlemen. Their erudition made them feared by the\nhalf\u2010taught sophists of the reformed prelacy, their refined manners\nsecured their admission into the best families, and their noble enthusiasm\ndefied the utmost severity of the Puritan and Episcopal magistrates. Their\nknowledge of the country was accurate, and, though they were accused by\nsuch hired defamers as Coke of using many _aliases_, the odium was not\ntheirs, but the law\u2019s, that made their very presence in their native land\ntreason. No religious community, it is well known, is the church, nor is\nshe responsible for the conduct of each particular member, but the orders\nmay be regarded as the _vedettes_ of her grand army, and before it can be\nsuccessfully attacked they must be driven in or captured.\n\nAccordingly, one of the first steps taken by the king\u2019s advisers after the\ntrial of the conspirators was to issue a proclamation for the arrest of\nFathers Gerard, Greenway, and Garnett, three of the four Jesuit\nmissionaries then known to be in England. In this official document it was\nalleged \u201cto be plain and evident from the examinations that all three had\nbeen peculiarly practisers in the plot.\u201d Now, let us examine for a moment\nupon what those grave accusations were based. Simply on confessions of the\nprisoners, for it has never been alleged that the slightest proof,\ndocumentary or oral, other than those and the admission of Father Garnett,\nthe provincial, were ever produced to connect the priests with the\nconspiracy. The examinations were conducted with the most exquisite\ntortures, taken down by the creatures of the government, and afterwards\nmutilated and altered by the attorney\u2010general to suit his own views.\nFawkes, by special command of his majesty, was so frequently racked that\nhe could not use a pen to sign his name, much less could he read what had\nbeen written for him, and Nicholas Owen, a lay\u2010brother, was so stretched\nthat his bowels protruded and he expired in the hands of his tormentors.\nOf Father Gerard, mention was made by two of the original plotters, Fawkes\nand Winter, in allusion to the oath of secrecy. The latter said that \u201cthe\nfive administered the oath to each other in a chamber _in which no other\nbody was_,\u201d which the latter confirms more in detail.\n\n\n    \u201cThe five,\u201d he says, \u201cdid meet at a house in the field, beyond S.\n    Clement\u2019s Inn, where they did confer and agree upon the plot, and\n    there they took a solemn oath and vows by all their force and\n    power to execute the same, and of secrecy not to reveal it to any\n    of their fellows, but to such as should be thought fit persons to\n    enter into that action; and in the same house they did receive the\n    sacrament of Gerard the Jesuit, to perform their vow and oath of\n    secrecy aforesaid. _But that Gerard was not acquainted with their\n    purpose._\u201d(108)\n\n\nThis last sentence was by order of Coke underlined with red, notated\n_hucusque_, and was carefully suppressed in the reading of the examination\non the trial! The original document is still preserved in the Public\nRecord Office, and how such an indefatigable student as Mr. Dixon could\nhave overlooked this part of it is, to say the least, very suspicious. His\nversion of the affair is as follows:\n\n\n    \u201cAn upper room of Widow Herbert\u2019s house was turned into a chapel;\n    and when the priest was ready for his part, Catesby, Percy, Tom\n    Winter, Jack Wright, and Fawkes assembled in the house\u2014a quaint\n    old Tudor pile at the corner of Clement\u2019s Lane\u2014first in the lower\n    room, where they swore each other upon the Primer, and then in the\n    upper room, where they heard Father Gerard say Mass, and took from\n    his hand the sacrament on that oath. Each of the five conspirators\n    was sworn upon his knees, with his hand on the Primer, that he\n    would keep the secret, that he would be true to his fellows, that\n    he would be constant in the plot.\u201d\n\n\nIs this perversion of the facts of history accidental, or a piece of\ndownright dishonesty? At first, overlooking the writer\u2019s known hostility\nto the Jesuits, and his insinuation about the priest being \u201cready for his\npart,\u201d we concluded that the sentence describing how the conspirators were\nsworn was intended to commence after the word \u201cPrimer,\u201d to preserve the\nunity of the action, but by inadvertence was put after the mention of the\ntaking of the sacrament, thus conveying the false idea that the\nconspirators swore also _after_ or during Mass; but, having had occasion\nto refer to the index, we find that we had done Mr. Dixon\u2019s dexterity\ninjustice at the expense of his veracity. In seeking for the page of his\nbook upon which this opaque statement appears, we find the following words\nin the index under the head \u201cGerard\u201d\u2014\u201cadministers the oath of secrecy to\nthe Powder Plot conspirators in a house in Butcher\u2019s Row, p. 95.\u201d Thus the\nauthor of _Her Majesty\u2019s Tower_, who, we presume, occupies a decent\nposition among men of letters in his own country, not only cannot discover\nafter the \u201coccasional labor of twenty years\u201d a most essential point of\ntestimony bearing on the very subject to which his book is mainly devoted,\nbut to make out a case against the much\u2010hated Jesuits actually falsifies\nand perverts facts already known and admitted; doing in the year of grace\n1869 gratuitously, what Coke in 1606 did for hire. Can the force of malice\ngo further? Digby, who, it will be remembered, was subsequently admitted\ninto the plot, on his trial went even further than the originators of it;\nand, in exculpating the Jesuit Order, was most emphatic in denying any\nknowledge of the conspiracy on the part of Gerard, either in its progress\nor, as far as he knew, at its inception. So much for Father Gerard\u2019s\ninnocence as proved by others; the following is his own statement, made\nyears after the occurrence when he was beyond the reach of English law,\nand subsequently affirmed in substance on his solemn oath:\n\n\n    \u201cI have stated in the other treatise of which I spoke, that a\n    proclamation was issued against those Jesuit fathers, of whom I am\n    one; and, though the most unworthy, I was named first in the\n    proclamation, whereas I was the subject of one and far inferior in\n    all respects to the other. All this, however, I solemnly protest\n    was utterly groundless; for I knew absolutely nothing of the plot\n    from any one whatsoever, not even under the seal of confession, as\n    the other two did; nor had I the slightest notion that any such\n    scheme was entertained by any Catholic gentleman, until by public\n    rumor news was brought us of its discovery, as it was to all\n    others dwelling in that part of the country.\u201d(109)\n\n\nThe treatise referred to in this extract is his _Narrative_, and in it\nGerard takes frequent occasion to reiterate in the most positive manner,\nspeaking in the third person, all knowledge of the conspiracy, even to\nsaying Mass on the occasion alluded to by Fawkes. The house in Clement\u2019s\nInn, he fully acknowledges, was used by him and his friends, among whom\nthere were at least two priests during his absence; and we can well\nbelieve that the two prisoners were mistaken in his identity, as we have\nno evidence that they were familiar with his appearance or personally\nacquainted with him. However, this does not signify. Some priest\nundoubtedly celebrated Mass, and the question is, Did he administer the\noath, or knowingly administer the sacrament in confirmation of it? Winter\nand Fawkes declare he did not; Digby, who was most intimate with Father\nGerard, denied in open court that that Jesuit knew anything about the\nplot; and Gerard himself repeatedly, under the strictest forms known in\nhis Order, asserts his entire innocence, and it has never even been hinted\nthat any other priest was concerned in the early stages of the conspiracy.\nThis matter may therefore be considered closed.\n\nNow, it is equally certain that Fathers Garnett and Tesimond, _alias_\nGreenway, did become acquainted with the plot during its progress; but the\ninformation came to them under the seal of confession, and _could not be\nrevealed_. It is unnecessary to support this proposition by argument, as\nits wisdom is now generally recognized by the civil law even in Protestant\ncountries. Confidential communications to priest, doctor, or lawyer are at\nlast held sacred. What was the extent of their knowledge, and what was\ntheir conduct on receiving the same? In Thomas Winter\u2019s public dying\ndeclaration, communicated by an eye\u2010witness to the author of the\n_Narrative_, he said: \u201cThat whereas divers of the fathers of the society\nwere accused of counselling and furthering them in this treason, he could\nclear them all, and particularly Father Tesimond, from all fault and\nparticipation therein.\u201d \u201cAnd indeed Mr. Thomas Winter might best clear\nthat good father, with whom he was best acquainted,\u201d adds Father Gerard,\n\u201cand knew very well how far he was from counselling or plotting that\nbusiness. For himself, having first told the father of it (as I have\nheard) long after the thing was ready, and that in such secret as he might\nnot utter it, but with his leave, unto his superior only, the father, both\nthen and after, did so earnestly persuade him, and by him the rest, to\nleave off that course (as his duty was), that Mr. Winter might well find\nhimself in conscience to clear this father from his wrongful accusation of\nbeing a counsellor and furtherer of the plot.\u201d(110)\n\nThis statement was also repeatedly confirmed by Father Tesimond, both in\nhis writings and in his account of the matter soon after his escape,\npublished by Joannes in his _Apologia_.\n\nGerard and Tesimond having fled the country to avoid the popular tumult,\n\u201cwhich,\u201d says Mr. Dixon, \u201ctook no note of the difference between the\nchildren of S. Edward and the pupils of S. Ignatius,\u201d the only remaining\nvictim was the provincial Father Garnett. Him the government spies soon\nhunted down, and in company with Father Ouldcorne arrested at Hendlip\nHouse and lodged in the tower. This capture occurred on the 28th of\nFebruary, and his trial took place on the 28th of March; the intervening\nmonth having been spent by the officers of the crown in procuring evidence\nof his guilt, but with so little success that an attempt was made to\nprocure his condemnation by parliament, without the intervention of a\njury, by inserting surreptitiously a clause in the bill of attainder\nintroduced against the families of Digby and others. Cajolery was first\nresorted to, next torture, then the subterfuge of allowing him speech with\nhis fellow\u2010prisoner Ouldcorne, overheard unknown to them by persons\nsecretly hidden for the purpose, and again torture, but all to no effect.\nHe at first refused to admit any knowledge of the conspiracy, but finally\nconfessed that he had heard of it from Father Tesimond (Greenway) under\nthe seal of confession, and that he had reprimanded that priest for ever\nso communicating it to him, and had admonished him to use all efforts to\ndissuade the conspirators from their rash designs. This was all that could\nbe proved against him at his trial, but he was of course condemned, not\nhowever for treason, but for misprision of treason, and two months after\nexecuted, declaring his entire innocence most solemnly. Father Ouldcorne,\nwho was also found guilty of knowledge after the fact, on no better\nevidence, suffered with him.\n\nThe provincial was examined no less than twenty\u2010three times before his\ntrial, and much stress was laid during its progress and long afterwards on\nhis equivocations in answer to the various searching queries touching the\nguilt of himself and others. The question of the morality of such evasion\nof the truth under the peculiar circumstances has, however, no practical\nvalue for us, as now by the well\u2010recognized policy of law in all civilized\ncountries no person is bound to criminate himself either as a principal or\na witness, and every individual is allowed to be the judge of his own case\nin this respect. No one has a right to entrap a prisoner into a confession\nof guilt, much less compel disclosures by foul means or torture.\n\nLet us inquire for a moment how far Father Garnett\u2019s statements in prison\nwere borne out by his previous conduct. Several letters of his are still\nextant addressed to Father Persons, the English superior at Rome, on the\nstate of the Catholics in England previous to the explosion of the plot,\nin which he intimates his suspicions that something desperate was about to\nbe attempted against the government, and begs the superior to influence\nthe Holy Father to interfere. On the 29th of August, 1604, he wrote: \u201cIf\nthe affair of toleration go not well, Catholics will no more be quiet.\nWhat shall we do? Jesuits cannot hinder it. Let Pope forbid all Catholics\nto stir.\u201d In May following he says: \u201cAll are desperate, divers Catholics\nare offended with Jesuits; they say that Jesuits do impugn and hinder all\nforcible enterprises.\u201d On the 24th of July, after reviewing the\nthreatening state of affairs in the kingdom, he repeats his request for\npontifical assistance in keeping the people quiet. He then wrote:\n\n\n    \u201cWherefore, in my judgment, two things are necessary; first, that\n    his holiness should prescribe what in any case is to be done; and\n    then that he should forbid any force of arms to the Catholics\n    under censures, and by brief publicly promulgated, an occasion for\n    which can be taken from the disturbance lately raised in Wales,\n    which has at length come to nothing.\u201d(111)\n\n\nHis public acts were consistent with his views thus confidentially\nexpressed. It is acknowledged that he was mainly instrumental in defeating\nthe Grey conspiracy, in which Father Watson and many Catholics were\ninvolved, and, when Catesby and the other conspirators approached him on\nthe subject of forcible resistance to James\u2019 government, he denounced all\nsuch attempts in the most positive manner. \u201cIt is to you and such as you,\u201d\nsaid that desperate plotter to the provincial, \u201cthat we owe our present\ncalamities. This doctrine of non\u2010resistance makes us slaves. No authority\nof priest or pontiff can deprive a man of his right to repel injustice.\u201d\nWhen it became apparent that such men as Catesby could not be stayed by\nordinary means, he recommended that before any forcible measures were\nadopted an agent should be sent to Rome, and in the meantime took steps to\nprocure the co\u2010operation of the sovereign pontiff himself to suppress all\nattempts at insurrection. In fact, his whole life was divided between his\nduty to God and his efforts to teach peace and longanimity to his\npersecuted countrymen, but the very fact that he was a Jesuit and a\nCatholic missionary was enough to condemn him in the eyes of the judges of\nthat day. Let us hope that posterity will do him fuller justice.\n\nThe general accusation against the Order was grounded on the fact that\nmany of the conspirators were converts and pupils of the Jesuits, and\n_therefore_ they were their agents and instruments. This is plausible, and\nmight be worthy of attention if true, but it lacks the essential element\nof reliability. Some were Catholics from their birth, others had only for\nthe time being or during their minority outwardly conformed to\nProtestantism, and were simply reclaimed from their vicious habits by the\nJesuits. But even if they had all been converts it would not strengthen\ntheir opponents\u2019 position. So were many hundreds, nay, thousands of\nEnglishmen who took no act or part in the conspiracy. Besides the Jesuits\nthat had suffered in the preceding reign, the four fathers we have just\nmentioned had spent each over eighteen years in the country, laboring with\na zeal and success seldom equalled, and it was this very success in\ngaining souls to Christ that furnished the greatest incentive for their\ndestruction. Their intimacy with the conspirators was simply that of\npastors with their penitents; the assertions of Bates, the servant of\nCatesby, to the contrary notwithstanding. That poor wretch was tortured\nand tampered with to induce him to make some accusation against the\nmissionaries, and then hanged, but not before he retracted on the scaffold\nevery sentence uttered by him when a hope of pardon had been held out as\nthe reward of his perjury. Further, Mr. Dixon\u2019s wild attempts to throw\ndiscredit on the English Jesuits abroad rest on no foundation whatever,\nnor has he a single impartial authority to support him in his broad\nassertions and elaborate reports of what are said to have been strictly\nprivate interviews and confidential correspondence between the plotters in\nEngland and the Jesuit colleges abroad. Owen and Baldwin, the alleged\nforeign correspondents, the parties most sought to be implicated, were\nnever tried, but the latter was examined in England ten years after and\ndischarged, nothing having been proved against him. So much for the\nbugbear of Catholics justifying wholesale assassination as a remedy for\npersecution, that has been such a sweet morsel under the tongues of\nProtestant divines and zealots for so many centuries.\n\n\n\n\nThe Progressionists.\n\n\nFrom The German Of Conrad Von Bolanden.\n\n\n\nChapter VI.\u2014Continued.\n\n\nThe tumult continued. As soon as the orator attempted to speak, his voice\nwas drowned by cries and stamping.\n\n\u201cCommissary!\u201d cried the chairman to that officer, \u201cI demand that you\nextend to our assembly the protection of the law.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am here simply to watch the proceedings of your meeting,\u201d replied\nParteiling with cool indifference. \u201cEverybody is at liberty in meetings to\nsignify his approval or disapproval by signs. No act forbidden by the law\nhas been committed by your opponents, in my opinion.\u201d\n\n\u201cBravo! bravo! Three cheers for the commissary!\u201d\n\nAll at once the noise was subdued to a whisper of astonishment. A miracle\nwas taking place under the very eyes of progress. Banker Greifmann, the\nmoneyed prince and liberal, made his appearance upon the platform. The\nrioters saw with amazement how the mighty man before whom the necks of all\nsuch as were in want of money bowed\u2014even the necks of the puissant\nleaders\u2014stepped before the president of the assembly, how he politely\nbowed and spoke a few words in an undertone. They observed how the\nchairman nodded assent, and then how the banker, as if to excite their\nwonder to the highest pitch, mounted to the speaker\u2019s desk.\n\n\u201cGentlemen,\u201d began Carl Greifmann, \u201calthough I have not the honor of\nsharing your political views, I feel myself nevertheless urged to address\na few words to you. In the name of true progress, I ask this honorable\nassembly\u2019s pardon for the disturbance occasioned a moment ago by a band of\nuncultivated rioters, who dare to pretend that they are acting in the\ncause and with the sanction of progress. I solemnly protest against the\nassumption that their disgraceful and outrageous conduct is in accordance\nwith the spirit of the party which they dishonor. Progress holds firmly to\nits principles, and defends them manfully in the struggle with its\nopposers, but it is far from making itself odious by rudely overstepping\nthe bounds of decency set by humanity and civilization. In political\ncontests, it may be perfectly lawful to employ earnest persuasion and even\ninfluences that partake of the rigor of compulsion, but rudeness,\nimpertinence, is never justifiable in an age of civilization. Commissary\nParteiling discovers no legally prohibited offence in the expression of\nvulgarity and lowness\u2014may be. Nevertheless, a high misdemeanor has been\nperpetrated against decorum and against the deference which man owes to\nman. Should the slightest disturbance be again attempted, I shall use the\nwhole weight of my influence in prosecuting the guilty parties, and\nconvince them that even in the spirit of progress they are offenders and\ncan be reached by punishment.\u201d\n\nHe spoke, and retired to the other end of the hall, followed by loud\napplause from the ultramontanes. Nor were the threats of the mighty man\nuttered in vain. Spitzkopf hung his head abashed. The other revellers were\ntamed, they listened demurely to the speakers, ceased their contemptuous\nhootings, and stood on their good behavior. Greifmann\u2019s proceeding had\ntaken Seraphin also by surprise, and the power which the banker possessed\nover the rioters set him to speculating deeply. He saw plainly that\nLouise\u2019s brother commanded an extraordinary degree of respect in the camp\nof the enemies of religion, and the only cause that could sufficiently\naccount for the fact was a community of principles of which they were well\naware. Hence the opinion he had formed of Greifmann was utterly erroneous,\nconcluded Gerlach. The banker was not a mere secluded business man\u2014he was\nnot indifferent about the great questions of the age. Then there was\nanother circumstance that perplexed the ruddy\u2010cheeked millionaire to no\ninconsiderable degree\u2014Greifmann\u2019s unaccountable way of taking things. The\ntyrannical mode of electioneering which they had witnessed at the sign of\nthe \u201cGreen Hat\u201d had not at all disgusted Greifmann. Spitzkopf\u2019s threats\nhad not excited his indignation. He had with a smiling countenance looked\non whilst the most brutal species of terrorism was being enacted before\nhim, he had not expressed a word of contempt at the constraint which they\nwho held the power inhumanly placed on the political liberty of their\ndependents. On the other hand, his indignation was aroused by a mere\nbreach of good behavior, an offence which in Gerlach\u2019s estimation was as\nnothing compared with the other instances of progressionist violence. The\nbanker seemed to him to have strained out a gnat after having swallowed a\nwhole drove of camels. The youth\u2019s suspicions being excited, he began to\nstudy the strainer of gnats and swallower of camels more closely, and soon\nthe banker turned out in his estimation a hollow stickler for mere outward\ndecency, devoid of all deeper merit. He now recollected also Greifmann\u2019s\ndealings with the leaders of progress, and those transactions only\nconfirmed his present views. What he had considered as an extraordinary\ndegree of shrewdness in the man of business, which enabled him to take\nadvantage of the peculiar convictions and manner of thinking of other men,\nwas now to his mind a real affinity with their principles, and he could\nnot help being shocked at the discovery.\n\nHe hung his head in a melancholy mood, and his heart protested earnestly\nagainst the inference which was irresistibly forcing itself upon his mind,\nthat the sister shared her brother\u2019s sentiments.\n\n\u201cThis doubt must be cleared up, cost what it may,\u201d thought he. \u201cMy God,\nwhat if Louise also turned out to be a progressionist, a woman without any\nfaith, an infidel! No, that cannot be! Yet suppose it really were the\ncase\u2014suppose she actually held principles in common with such vile beings\nas Schwefel, Sand, Erdblatt, and Shund? Suppose her moral nature did not\nharmonize with the beauty of her person\u2014what then?\u201d He experienced a\nspasmodic contraction in his heart at the question, he hesitated with the\nanswer, but, his better self finally getting the victory, he said: \u201cThen\nall is over. The impressions of a dream, however delightful, must not\ninfluence a waking man. My father\u2019s calculation was wrong, and I have\nwasted my kindness on an undeserving object.\u201d\n\nSo completely wrapt up was he in his meditations that he heard not a word\nof the speeches, not even the concluding remarks of the president.\nGreifmann\u2019s approach roused him, and they left the hall together.\n\n\u201cThat was ruffianly conduct, of which progress would have for ever to be\nashamed,\u201d said the banker indignantly. \u201cThey bayed and yelped like a pack\nof hounds. At their first volley I was as embarrassed and confused as a\nmodest girl would be at the impertinence of some young scapegrace. Fierce\nrage then hurried me to the platform, and my words have never done better\nservice, for they vindicated civilization.\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot conceive how a trifle could thus exasperate you.\u201d\n\nGreifmann stood still and looked at his companion in astonishment.\n\n\u201cA trifle!\u201d echoed he reproachfully. \u201cDo you call a piece of wanton\nimpudence, a ruffianly outrage against several hundreds of men entitled to\nrespect, a trifle?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do, compared with other crimes that you have suffered to pass unheeded\nand uncensured,\u201d answered Gerlach. \u201cYou had not an indignant word for the\nunutterable meanness of those three leaders, who were immoral and\nunprincipled enough to invest a notorious villain with office and honors.\nNor did you show any exasperation at the brutal terrorism practised by men\nof power in this town over their weak and unfortunate dependents.\u201d\n\n\u201cTake my advice, and be on your guard against erroneous and narrow\u2010minded\njudgments. The leaders merely had a view to their own ends, but they in no\nmanner sinned against propriety. The raising a man of Shund\u2019s abilities to\nthe office of mayor is an act of prudence\u2014by no means an offence against\nhumanity.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet it was an outrage to moral sentiment,\u201d opposed Seraphin.\n\n\u201cSee here, Gerlach, moral sentiment is a very elastic sort of thing.\nSentiment goes for nothing in practical life, and such is the character of\nlife in our century.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, the mere sense of propriety is not worth a whit more.\u201d\n\n\u201cI ask your pardon! Propriety belongs to the realm of actualities or of\npractical experiences, and not to the shadowland of sentiment. Propriety\nis the rule that regulates the intercourse of men, it is therefore a\nnecessity, nothing else will serve as a substitute for it, and it must\ncontinue to be so regarded as long as a difference is recognized between\nrational man and the irrational brute.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe same may be said with much more reason of morality, for it also is a\nrule, it regulates our actions, it determines the ethic worth or\nworthlessness of a man. Mere outward decorum does not necessarily argue\nany interior excellence. The most abandoned wretch may be distinguished\nfor easy manners and elegant deportment, yet he is none the less a\ncriminal. A dog may be trained to many little arts, but for all that it\ncontinues to be a dog.\n\n\u201cIt is delightful to see you breaking through that uniform patience of\nyours for once and showing a little of the fire of indignation,\u201d said the\nbanker pleasantly. \u201cI shall tell Louise of it, I know she will be glad to\nlearn that Seraphin too is susceptible of a human passion. But this by the\nway. Now watch how I shall meet your arguments. That very moral sentiment\nof which you speak has caused and is still causing the most enormous\ncrimes against humanity, and the laws of morality are as changeable as the\nwind. When an Indian who has not been raised from barbarism by\ncivilization dies, the religious custom of the country requires that his\nwife should permit herself to be burned alive on the funeral pyre of her\nhusband. Moral sentiment teaches the uncivilized woman that it is a\nhorrible crime to refuse to devote herself to this cruel death. The pious\nJews used to stone every woman to death who was taken in adultery\u2014in our\nday, such a deed of blood would be revolting to moral sentiment, and would\nclaim tears from the eyes of cultivated people. I could mention many other\nhorrors that were practised more or less remotely in the past, and were\nsanctioned by the prevailing moral sentiment. Here is my last instance:\naccording to laws of morality, the usurer was at one time a monster, an\narch\u2010villain\u2014at present, he is merely a man of great enterprise.\nPropriety, on the other hand, enlightenment, and polish are absolute and\nunalterable. Whilst rudeness and impertinence will ever be looked upon as\ndisgusting, good manners and politeness will be considered as commendable\nand beautiful.\u201d\n\nSeraphin could not but admire the skill with which Greifmann jumbled\ntogether subjects of the most heterogeneous nature. But he could not, at\nthe same time, divest himself of some alarm at the banker\u2019s declarations,\nfor they betrayed a soul\u2010life of little or absolutely no moral worth.\nMoney, interest, and respectability constituted the only trinity in which\nthe banker believed. Morality, binding the conscience of man, a true and\nonly God, and divine revelation, were in his opinion so many worn\u2010out and\nuseless notions, which the progress of mankind had successfully got\nbeyond.\n\n\u201cWhen those who hold power take advantage of it at elections, they in no\nmanner offend against propriety,\u201d proceeded Carl. \u201cProgress has\nconvictions as well as ultramontanism. If the latter is active, why should\nnot the former be so too? If, on the side of progress, the weak and\ndependent permit themselves to be cowed and driven, it is merely an\nadvantage for the powerful, and for the others it is a weakness or\ncowardice. For this reason, the mode of electioneering pursued by\nSpitzkopf and his comrades amused but nowise shocked me, for they were not\nacting against propriety.\u201d\n\nSeraphin saw it plainly: for Carl Greifmann there existed no distinction\nbetween good and evil; he recognized only a cold and empty system of\nformalities.\n\nThe two young men issued from a narrow street upon the market\u2010place. This\nwas occupied by a large public building. In the open space stood a group\nof men, among whom Flachsen appeared conspicuous. He was telling the\nothers about Greifmann\u2019s speech at the meeting of the ultramontanes. They\nall manifested great astonishment that the influential moneyed prince\nshould have appeared in such company, and, above all, should have made a\nspeech in their behalf.\n\n\u201cHe declared it was vulgar, impudent, ruffianly, to disturb a respectable\nassembly,\u201d reported Flachsen. \u201cHe said he knew some of us, and that he\nwould have us put where the dogs would not bite us if we attempted to\ndisturb them again. That\u2019s what he said; and I actually rubbed my eyes to\nbe quite sure it was banker Greifmann that was speaking, and really it was\nhe, the banker Greifmann himself, bodily, and not a mere apparition.\u201d\n\n\u201cI must say the banker was right, for it isn\u2019t exactly good manners to\nhowl, stamp, and whistle to annoy one\u2019s neighbors,\u201d owned another.\n\n\u201cBut we were paid for doing it, and we only carried out the orders given\nby certain gentlemen.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo be sure! Men like us don\u2019t know what good breeding is\u2014it\u2019s for\ngentlemen to understand that,\u201d maintained a third. \u201cWe do what men of good\nbreeding hire us to do, and if it isn\u2019t proper, it matters nothing to\nus\u2014let the gentlemen answer for it.\u201d \u201cBravo, Stoffel, bravo!\u201d applauded\nFlachsen. \u201cYours is the right sort of servility, Stoffel! You are a real\nhuman, servile, and genuine reactive kind of a fellow\u2014so you are. I agree\nwith you entirely. The gentlemen do the paying, and it is for them to\nanswer for what happens. We are merely servants, we are hirelings, and\nwhat need a hireling care whether that which his master commands is right\nor not? The master is responsible, not the hireling. What I am telling you\nbelongs to the exact sciences, and the exact sciences are at the pinnacle\nof modern acquisitions. Hence a hireling who without scruple carries out\nthe orders of his master is up to the highest point of the age\u2014such a\nfellow has taken his stand on servility. Hallo! the election has\ncommenced. Be off, every man of you, to his post. But mind you don\u2019t look\ntoo deep into the beer\u2010pots before the election is over. Keep your heads\nlevel, be cautious, do your best for the success of the green ticket. Once\nthe election is carried, you may swill beer till you can no longer stand.\nThe gentlemen will foot the bill, and assume all responsibilities.\u201d\n\nThey dispersed themselves through the various drinking\u2010shops of the\nneighborhood.\n\nNear the door of the building in which the voting was to take place stood\na number of progressionist gentlemen. They all wore heavy beards, smoked\ncigars, and peered about restlessly. To those of their party who chanced\nto pass they nodded and smiled knowingly, upon doubtful voters they smiled\nstill more blandly, added some pleasant words, and pressed the acceptance\nof the green ticket, but for ultramontane voters they had only jeers and\ncoarse witticisms. As Greifmann approached they respectfully raised their\nhats. The banker drew Gerlach to one side, and stood to make observations.\n\n\u201cWhat swarms there are around the drinking\u2010shops,\u201d remarked Greifmann. \u201cIt\nis there that the tickets are filled under the persuasive influence of\nbeer. The committee provide the tickets which the voters have filled with\nthe names of the candidates by clerks who sit round the tables at the\nbeer\u2010shops. It is quite an ingenious arrangement, for beer will reconcile\na voter to the most objectionable kind of a candidate.\u201d\n\nA crowd of drunken citizens coming out of the nearest tavern approached.\nLinked arm\u2010in\u2010arm, they swayed about and staggered along with an unsteady\npace. Green tickets bearing the names of the candidates whom progress had\nchosen to watch over the common weal could be seen protruding from the\npockets of their waistcoats. Gerlach, seeing the drunken mob and\nrecollecting the solemn and important nature of the occasion, was seized\nwith loathing and horror at the corruption of social life revealed in the\nlow means to which the party of progress had recourse to secure for its\nends the votes of these besotted and ignorant men.\n\nPresently Schwefel stepped up and saluted the young men.\n\n\u201cDo you not belong to the committee in charge of the ballot\u2010box?\u201d inquired\nGreifmann.\n\n\u201cNo, sir, I wished to remain entirely untrammelled this morning,\u201d answered\nthe leader with a sly look and tone. \u201cThis is going to be an exciting\nelection, the ultramontanes are astir, and it will be necessary for me to\nstep in authoritatively now and then to decide a vote. Moreover, the\ncommittee is composed exclusively of men of our party. Not a single\nultramontane holds a seat at the polls.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn that case there can be no question of failure,\u201d said the banker. \u201cYour\noffice is closed to\u2010day, no doubt?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course!\u201d assented the manufacturer of straw hats. \u201cThis day is\ncelebrated as a free day by the offices of all respectable houses. Our\nclerks are dispersed through the taverns and election districts to use\ntheir pens in filling up tickets.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am forced to return to my old assertion: an election is mere folly,\nuseless jugglery,\u201d said the banker, turning to Seraphin. \u201cHolding\nelections is no longer a rational way of doing, it is no longer a business\nway of proceeding, it is yielding to stupid timidity. Mr. Schwefel, don\u2019t\nyou think elections are mere folly?\u201d\n\n\u201cI confess I have never considered the subject from that point of view,\u201d\nanswered the leader cautiously. \u201cBut meanwhile\u2014what do you understand by\nthat?\u201d\n\n\u201cBe good enough to attend to my reasoning for a moment. Progress is in a\nstate of complete organization. What progress wills, must be. Another\nparty having authority and power cannot subsist side by side with\nprogress. Just see those men staggering and blundering over the square\nwith green tickets in their hands! To speak without circumlocution, look\nat the slaves doing the behests of their masters. What need of this silly\nmasquerade of an election? Why squander all this money, waste all this\nbeer and time? Why does not progress settle this business summarily? Why\nnot simply nominate candidates fit for the office, and then send them\ndirectly to the legislature? This mode would do away with all this\nnonsensical ado, and would give the matter a prompt and business cast,\nconformable to the spirit of the age.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis idea is a good one, but we have an election law that would stand in\nthe way of carrying it out.\u201d\n\n\u201cBosh\u2014election law!\u201d sneered the banker. \u201cYour election law is a mere\nscarecrow, an antiquated, meaningless instrument. Do away with the\nelection law, and follow my suggestion.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat would occasion a charming row on the part of the ultramontanes,\u201d\nobserved the leader laughing.\n\n\u201cWas the lion ever known to heed the bleating of a sheep? When did\nprogress ever pay any attention to a row gotten up by the ultramontanes?\u201d\nrejoined Greifmann. \u201cWas not the fuss made in Bavaria against the\nprogressionist school\u2010law quite a prodigious one? Did not our own last\nlegislature make heavy assaults on the church? Did not the entire\nepiscopate protest against permitting Jews, Neo\u2010pagans, and Freemasons to\nlegislate on matters of religion? But did progress suffer itself to be\ndisconcerted by episcopal protests and the agonizing screams of the\nultramontanes? Not at all. It calmly pursued the even tenor of its way. Be\nlogical, Mr. Schwefel: progress reigns supreme and decrees with absolute\nauthority\u2014why should it not summarily relegate this election law among the\nthings that were, but are no more?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right, Greifmann!\u201d exclaimed Gerlach, in a feeling of utter\ndisgust. \u201cWhat need has the knout of Russian despotism of the sanction of\nconstitutional forms? Progress is lord, the rest are slaves!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have again misunderstood me, my good fellow. I am considering the\nactual state of things. Should ultramontanism at any time gain the\nascendency, then it also will be justified in behaving in the same\nmanner.\u201d\n\nUpon more mature consideration, Gerlach found himself forced to admit that\nGreifmann\u2019s view, from the standpoint of modern culture, was entirely\ncorrect. Progress independently of God and of all positive religion could\nnot logically be expected to recognize any moral obligations, for it had\nnot a moral basis. Everything was determined by the force of\ncircumstances; the autocracy of party rule made anything lawful. Laws\nproceeded not from the divine source of unalterable justice, but from the\nwhim of a majority\u2014fashioned and framed to suit peculiar interests and\npassions.\n\n\u201cWe have yet considerable work to do to bring all to thinking as clearly\nand rationally as you, Mr. Greifmann,\u201d said the leader with a winning\nsmile.\n\nSchwefel accompanied the millionaires into a lengthy hall, across the\nlower end of which stood a table. There sat the commissary of elections\nsurrounded by the committee, animated gentlemen with great beards, who\nwere occupied in distributing tickets to voters or receiving tickets\nfilled up. The extraordinary good\u2010humor prevailing among these gentlemen\nwas owing to the satisfactory course of the election, for rarely was any\nultramontane paper seen mingling in the flood that poured in from the\nranks of progress. The sides of the hall were hung with portraits of the\nsovereigns of the land, quite a goodly row. The last one of the series was\nyouthful in appearance, and some audacious hand had scrawled on the broad\ngilt frame the following ominous words: \u201cMay he be the last in the\nsuccession of expensive bread\u2010eaters.\u201d Down the middle of the hall ran a\nbaize\u2010covered table, on which were numerous inkstands. Scattered over the\ntable lay a profusion of green bills; the yellow color of the ultramontane\nbills was nowhere to be seen. The table was lined by gentlemen who were\nwriting. They were not writing for themselves, but for others, who merely\nsigned their names and then handed the tickets to the commissary. Several\ncorpulent gentlemen also occupied seats at the table, but they were not\nengaged in writing. These gentlemen, apparently unoccupied, wore massive\ngold watch\u2010chains and sparkling rings, and they had a commanding and stern\nexpression of countenance. They were observing all who entered, to see\nwhether any man would be bold enough to vote the yellow ticket. People of\nthe humbler sort, mechanics and laborers, were constantly coming in and\ngoing out. Bowing reverently to the portly gentlemen, they seated\nthemselves and filled out green tickets with the names of the liberal\ncandidates. Most of them did not even trouble themselves to this degree,\nbut simply laid their tickets before the penman appointed for this special\nservice. All went off in the best order. The process of the election\nresembled the smooth working of an ingenious piece of machinery. And there\nwas no tongue there to denounce the infamous terrorism that had crushed\nthe freedom of the election or had bought the votes of vile and venal men\nwith beer.\n\nSeraphin stood with Greifmann in the recess of a window looking on.\n\n\u201cWho are the fat men at the table?\u201d inquired he.\n\n\u201cThe one with the very black beard is house\u2010builder Sand, the second is\nEisenhart, machine\u2010builder, the third is Erdfloh, a landowner, the fourth\nand fifth are tobacco merchants. All those gentlemen are chieftains of the\nparty of progress.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey show it,\u201d observed Gerlach. \u201cTheir looks, in a manner, command every\nman that comes in to take the green ticket, and I imagine I can read on\ntheir brows: \u2018Woe to him who dares vote against us. He shall be under a\nban, and shall have neither employment nor bread.\u2019 It is unmitigated\ntyranny! I imagine I see in those fat fellows so many cotton\u2010planters\nvoting their slaves.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is a one\u2010sided conclusion, my most esteemed,\u201d rejoined the banker.\n\u201cIn country villages, the position here assumed by the magnates of\nprogress is filled by the lords of ultramontanism, clerical gentlemen in\ncassocks, who keep a sharp eye on the fingers of their parishioners. This,\ntoo, is influencing.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut not constraining,\u201d opposed the millionaire promptly. \u201cThe clergy\nexert a legitimate influence by convincing, by advancing solid grounds for\ntheir political creed. They never have recourse to compulsory measures,\nnor dare they do so, because it would be opposed to the Gospel which they\npreach. The autocrats of progress, on the contrary, do not hesitate about\nusing threats and violence. Should a man refuse to bow to their dictates,\nthey cruelly deprive him of the means of subsistence. This is not only\ninhuman, but it is also an accursed scheme for making slaves of the people\nand robbing them of principle.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! look yonder\u2014there is Holt.\u201d\n\nThe land cultivator had walked into the hall head erect. He looked along\nthe table and stood undecided. One of the ministering spirits of progress\nsoon fluttered about him, offering him a green ticket. Holt glanced at it,\nand a contemptuous smile spread over his face. He next tore it to pieces,\nwhich he threw on the floor.\n\n\u201cWhat are you about?\u201d asked the angel of progress reproachfully.\n\n\u201cI have reduced Shund and his colleagues to fragments,\u201d answered Holt\ndryly, then approaching the commissary he demanded a yellow ticket.\n\n\u201cGlorious!\u201d applauded Gerlach. \u201cI have half a mind to present this true\nGerman _man_ with another thousand as a reward for his spirit.\u201d\n\nThe fat men had observed with astonishment the action of the land\ncultivator. Their astonishment turned to rage when Holt, leisurely seating\nhimself at the table, took a pen in his mighty fist and began filling out\nthe ticket with the names of the ultramontane candidates. Whilst he wrote,\nwhisperings could be heard all through the hall, and every eye was\ndirected upon him. After no inconsiderable exertion, the task of filling\nout the ticket was successfully accomplished, and Holt arose, leaving the\nticket lying upon the table. In the twinkling of an eye a hand reached\nforward to take it up.\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean, sir?\u201d asked Holt sternly.\n\n\u201cThat yellow paper defiles the table,\u201d hissed the fellow viciously.\n\n\u201cHand back that ticket,\u201d commanded Holt roughly. \u201cI want it to be here.\nThe yellow ticket has as good a right on this table as the green one\u2014do\nyou hear me?\u201d\n\n\u201cSlave of the priests!\u201d sputtered his antagonist.\n\n\u201cIf I am a slave of the priests, then you are a slave of that villain\nShund,\u201d retorted Holt. \u201cI am not to be browbeaten\u2014by such a fellow as you\nparticularly\u2014least of all by a vile slave of Shund\u2019s.\u201d He spoke, and then\nreached his ticket to the commissary.\n\n\u201cThat is an impudent dog,\u201d growled leader Sand. \u201cWho is he?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is a countryman of the name of Holt,\u201d answered he to whom the query\nwas addressed.\n\n\u201cWe must spot the boor,\u201d said Erdfloh. \u201cHis swaggering shall not avail him\nanything.\u201d\n\nHolt was not the only voter that proved refractory. Mr. Schwefel, also,\nhad a disagreeable surprise. He was standing near the entrance, observing\nwith great self\u2010complacency how the workmen in his employ submissively\ncast their votes for Shund and his associates. Schwefel regarded himself\nas of signal importance in the commonwealth, for he controlled not less\nthan four hundred votes, and the side which it was his pleasure to favor\ncould not fail of victory. The head of the great leader seemed in a manner\nencircled with the halo of progress: whilst his retainers passed and\nsaluted him, he experienced something akin to the pride of a field\u2010marshal\nreviewing a column of his victorious army.\n\nJust then a spare little man appeared in the door. His yellowish, sickly\ncomplexion gave evidence that he was employed in the sulphurating of\nstraw. At sight of the commander the sulphur\u2010hued little man shrank back,\nbut his startled look did not escape the restless eye of Mr. Schwefel. He\nbeckoned to the laborer.\n\n\u201cHave you selected your ticket, Leicht?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet me see the ticket.\u201d\n\nThe man obeyed reluctantly. Scarcely had Schwefel got a glimpse of the\npaper when his brows gathered darkly.\n\n\u201cWhat means this? Have you selected the yellow ticket and not the green\none?\u201d\n\nLeicht hung his head. He thought of the consequences of this detection, of\nhis four small children, of want of employment, of hunger and bitter\nneed\u2014he was almost beside himself.\n\n\u201cIf you vote for the priests, you may get your bread from the priests,\u201d\nsaid Schwefel. \u201cThe moment you hand that ticket to the commissary, you may\nconsider yourself discharged from my employ.\u201d With this he angrily turned\nhis back upon the man. Leicht did not reach in his ticket to the\ncommissary. Staggering out of the hall, he stood bewildered near the\nrailing of the steps, and stared vaguely upon the men who were coming and\ngoing. Spitzkopf slipped up to him.\n\n\u201cWhat were you thinking about, man?\u201d asked he reproachfully. \u201cMr. Schwefel\nis furious\u2014you are ruined. Sheer stupidity, nothing but stupidity in you\nto wish to vote in opposition to the pleasure of the man from whom you get\nyour bread and meat! Not only that, but you have insulted the whole\ncommunity, for you have chosen to vote against progress when all the town\nis in favor of progress. You will be put on the spotted list, and the\nupshot will be that you will not get employment in any factory in town. Do\nyou want to die of hunger, man\u2014do you want your children to die of\nhunger?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right\u2014I am ruined,\u201d said the laborer listlessly. \u201cI couldn\u2019t\nbring myself to write Shund\u2019s name because he reduced my brother\u2010in\u2010law to\nbeggary\u2014this is what made me select the yellow ticket.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are a fool. Were Mr. Schwefel to recommend the devil, your duty would\nbe to vote for the devil. What need you care who is on the ticket? You\nhave only to write the names on the ticket\u2014nothing more than that. Do you\nthink progress would nominate men that are unfit\u2014men who would not promote\nthe interests of the state, who would not further the cause of humanity,\ncivilization, and liberty? You are a fool for not voting for what is best\nfor yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sorry now, but it\u2019s too late.\u201d sighed Leicht. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t have\nthought, either, that Mr. Schwefel would get angry because a man wanted to\nvote to the best of his judgment.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere you are prating sillily again. Best of your judgment!\u2014you mustn\u2019t\nhave any judgment. Leave it to others to judge; they have more brains,\nmore sense, more knowledge than you. Progress does the thinking: our place\nis to blindly follow its directions.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, Mr. Spitzkopf, mine is only the vote of a poor man; and what matters\nsuch a vote?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is your want of sense again. We are living in a state that enjoys\nliberty. We are living in an age of intelligence, of moral advancement, of\ncivilization and knowledge, in a word, we are living in an age of\nprogress; and in an age of this sort the vote of a poor man is worth as\nmuch as that of a rich man.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf only I had it to do over! I would give my right hand to have it to do\nover!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou can repair the mischief if you want.\u201d\n\n\u201cInstruct me how, Mr. Spitzkopf; please tell me how!\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, I will do my best. As you acted from thoughtlessness and no\nbad intention, doubtless Mr. Schwefel will suffer himself to be\npropitiated. Go down into the court, and wait till I come. I shall get you\nanother ticket; you will then vote for progress, and all will be\nsatisfactory.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am a thousand times obliged to you, Mr. Spitzkopf\u2014a thousand times\nobliged!\u201d\n\nThe agent went back to the hall. Leicht descended to the courtyard, where\nhe found a ring of timid operators like himself surrounding the sturdy\nHolt. They were talking in an undertone. As often as a progressionist drew\nnear, their conversation was hushed altogether. Holt\u2019s voice alone\nresounded loudly through the court, and his huge strong hands were cutting\nthe air in animated gesticulations.\n\n\u201cThis is not a free election; it is one of compulsion and violence,\u201d cried\nhe. \u201cEvery factoryman is compelled to vote as his employer dictates, and\nshould he refuse the employer discharges him from the work. Is not this\nmost despicable tyranny! And these very tyrants of progress are\nperpetually prating about liberty, independence, civilization! That\u2019s a\nprecious sort of liberty indeed!\u201d\n\n\u201cA man belonging to the ultramontane party cannot walk the streets to\u2010day\nwithout being hooted and insulted,\u201d said another. \u201cEven up yonder in the\nhall, those gentlemen who are considered so cultivated stick their heads\ntogether and laugh scornfully when one of us draws near.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s so\u2014that\u2019s so, I have myself seen it,\u201d cried Holt. \u201cThose well\u2010bred\ngentlemen show their teeth like ferocious dogs whenever they see a yellow\nticket or an ultramontane. I say, Leicht, has anything happened you? You\nlook wretched!\u201d Leicht drew near and related what had occurred. The honest\nHolt\u2019s eyes gleamed like coals of fire.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s another piece of tyranny for you,\u201d cried he. \u201cLeicht, my poor\nfellow, I fancy I see in you a slave of Schwefel\u2019s. From dawn till late\nyou are compelled to toil for the curmudgeon, Sundays not excepted. Your\nchurch is the factory, your religion working in straw, and your God is\nyour sovereign master Schwefel. You are ruining your health amid the\nstench of brimstone, and not so much as the liberty of voting as you think\nfit is allowed you. It\u2019s just as I tell you\u2014you factorymen are slaves. How\nstrangely things go on in the world! In America slavery has been\nabolished; but lo! here in Europe it is blooming as freshly as trees in\nthe month of May. But mark my word, friends, the fruit is deadly; and when\nonce it will have ripened, the great God of heaven will shake it from the\ntrees, and the generation that planted the trees will have to eat the\nbitter fruit.\u201d\n\nLeicht shunned the society of the ultramontanes and stole away. Presently\nSpitzkopf appeared with the ticket.\n\n\u201cYour ticket is filled out. Come and sign your name to it.\u201d Schwefel was\nagain standing near the entrance, and he again beckoned the laborer to\napproach. \u201cI am pacified. You may now continue working for me.\u201d\n\nCarl and Seraphin returned to the Palais Greifmann. Louise received them\nwith numerous questions. The banker related what had passed; Gerlach\nstrode restlessly through the apartment.\n\n\u201cThe most curious spectacle must have been yourself,\u201d said the young lady.\n\u201cJust fancy you on the rostrum at the \u2018Key of Heaven\u2019! And very likely the\nungrateful ultramontanes would not so much as applaud.\u201d\n\n\u201cBeg pardon, they did, miss!\u201d assured Seraphin. \u201cThey applauded and cried\nbravo.\u201d\n\n\u201cReally? Then I am proud of a brother whose maiden speech produced such\nmarvellous effects. May be we shall read of it in the daily paper.\nEverybody will be surprised to hear of the banker Greifmann making a\nspeech at the \u2018Key of Heaven.\u2019 \u201d Carl perceived the irony and stroked his\nforehead.\n\n\u201cBut what can you be pondering over, Mr. Seraphin?\u201d cried she to him.\n\u201cSince returning from the turmoil of the election, you seem unable to keep\nquiet.\u201d He seated himself at her side, and was soon under the spell of her\nmagical attractions.\n\n\u201cMy head is dizzy and my brain confused,\u201d said he. \u201cOn every hand I see\nnothing but revolt against moral obligation, sacrilegious disregard of the\nmost sacred rights of man. The hubbub still resounds in my ears, and my\nimagination still sees those fat men at the table with their slaveholder\nlook\u2014the white slaves doing their masters\u2019 bidding\u2014the completest\nsubjugation in an age of enlightenment\u2014all this presents itself to me in\nthe most repulsive and lamentable guise.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must drive those horrible phantoms from your mind,\u201d replied Louise.\n\n\u201cThey are not phantoms, but the most fearful reality.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are phantoms, Mr. Seraphin, so far as your feelings exaggerate the\nevils. Those factory serfs have no reason to complain. There is nothing to\nbe done but to put up with a situation that has spontaneously developed\nitself. It is useless to grow impatient because difference of rank between\nmasters and servants is an unavoidable evil upon earth.\u201d A servant entered\nto call them to dinner.\n\nAt her side he gradually became more cheerful. The brightness of her eyes\ndispelled his depression, and her delicate arts put a spell upon his\nyoung, inexperienced heart. And when, at the end of the meal, they were\nsipping delicious wine, and her beautiful lips lisped the customary\nhealth, the subdued tenderness he had been feeling suddenly expanded into\na strong passion.\n\n\u201cAfter you will have done justice to your diary,\u201d said she at parting, \u201cwe\nshall take a drive, and then go to the opera.\u201d\n\nInstead of going to his room, Seraphin went into the garden. He almost\nforgot the occurrences of the day in musing on the inexplicable behavior\nof Louise. Again she had not uttered a word of condemnation of the\nexecrable doings of progress, and it grieved him deeply. A suspicion\nflitted across his mind that perhaps Louise was infected with the\nfrivolous and pernicious spirit of the age, but he immediately stifled the\nterrible suggestion as he would have hastened to crush a viper that he\nmight have seen on the path of the beautiful lady. He preferred to believe\nthat she suppressed her feelings of disgust out of regard for his\npresence, that she wisely avoided pouring oil upon the flames of his own\nindignation. Had she not exerted herself to dispel his sombre reflections?\nHe was thus espousing the side of passion against the appalling truth that\nwas beginning faintly to dawn upon his anxious mind.\n\nBut soon the spell was to be broken, and duty was to confront him with the\nalternative of either giving up Louise, or defying the stern demands of\nhis conscience.\n\nThe brother and sister, thinking their guest engaged with his diary,\nwalked into the garden. They directed their steps towards the arbor where\nGerlach had seated himself.\n\nHe was only roused to consciousness of their proximity by the unusually\nloud and excited tone in which Louise spoke. He could not be mistaken; it\nwas the young lady\u2019s voice\u2014but oh! the import of her words. He looked\nthrough an opening in the foliage, and sat thunderstruck.\n\n\u201cYou have been attempting to guide Gerlach\u2019s overexalted spirit into a\nmore rational way of thinking, but the very opposite seems to be the\nresult. Intercourse with the son of a strait\u2010laced mother is infecting you\nwith sympathy for ultramontanism. Your speech to\u2010day,\u201d continued she\ncaustically, \u201cin yon obscure meeting is the subject of the talk of the\ntown. I am afraid you have made yourself ridiculous in the minds of all\ncultivated people. The respectability of our family has suffered.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf our family?\u201d echoed he, perplexed.\n\n\u201cWe are compromitted,\u201d continued she with excitement. \u201cYou have given our\nenemies occasion to set us down for members of a party who stupidly oppose\nthe onward march of civilization.\u201d\n\n\u201cCease your philippic,\u201d broke in the brother angrily. \u201cBitterness is an\nunmerited return for my efforts to serve you.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo serve me?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, to serve you. The disturbing of that meeting made a very unfavorable\nimpression on your intended. He scorned the noisy mob, and was roused by\nwhat, from his point of view, could not pass for anything better than\nunpardonable impudence. To me it might have been a matter of indifference\nwhether your intended was pleased or displeased with the fearless conduct\nof progress. But as I knew both you and the family felt disposed to base\nthe happiness of your life on his couple of millions, as moreover I feared\nmy silence might be interpreted by the shortsighted young gentleman for\ncomplicity in progressionist ideas, I was forced to disown the disorderly\nproceeding. In so doing I have not derogated one iota from the spirit of\nthe times; on the contrary, I have bound a heavy wreath about the brow of\nglorious humanity.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you have pardoned yourself too easily,\u201d proceeded she, unappeased.\n\u201cThe very first word uttered by a Greifmann in that benighted assembly was\na stain on the fair fame of our family. We shall be an object of contempt\nin every circle. \u2018The Greifmanns have turned ultramontanes because Gerlach\nwould have refused the young lady\u2019s hand had they not changed their\ncreed,\u2019 is what will be prated in society. A flood of derision and sarcasm\nwill be let loose upon us. I an ultramontane?\u201d cried she, growing more\nfierce; \u201cI caught in the meshes of religious fanaticism? I accept the\nSyllabus\u2014believe in the Prophet of Nazareth? Oh! I could sink into the\nearth on account of this disgrace! Did I for an instant doubt that\nSeraphin may be redeemed from superstition and fanaticism, I would\nrenounce my union with him\u2014I would spurn the tempting enjoyments of\nwealth, so much do I hate silly credulity.\u201d\n\nSeraphin glanced at her through the gap in the foliage. Not six paces from\nhim, with her face turned in his direction, stood the infuriate beauty.\nHow changed her countenance! The features, habitually so delicate and\nbright, now looked absolutely hideous, the brows were fiercely knit, and\nhatred poured like streams of fire from her eyes. Sentiments hitherto\nskilfully concealed had taken visible shape, ugly and repulsive to the\nview of the innocent youth. His noble spirit revolted at so much hypocrisy\nand falsehood. What occurred before him was at once so monstrous and so\noverwhelming that he did not for an instant consider that in case they\nentered the arbor he would be discovered. He was not discovered, however.\nLouise and Carl retraced their steps. For a short while the voice of\nLouise was still audible, then silence reigned in the garden.\n\nSeraphin rose from his seat. There was a sad earnestness in his face, and\nthe vanishing traces of deep pain, which however were soon superseded by a\nnoble indignation.\n\n\u201cI have beheld the genuine Louise, and I thank God for it. It is as I\nfeared, Louise is a progressionist, an infidel that considers it\ndisgraceful to believe in the Redeemer. Out upon such degeneracy! She\nhates light, and how hideous this hatred makes her. Not a feature was left\nof the charming, smiling, winning Louise. Good God! how horrible had her\nreal character remained unknown until after we were married! Chained for\nlife to the bitter enemy of everything that I hold dear and venerate as\nholy\u2014think of it! With eyes bandaged, I was but two paces from an abyss\nthat resembles hell\u2014thank God! the bandage has fallen\u2014I see the abyss, and\nshudder.\n\n\u201c \u2018The ultramontane Seraphin\u2019\u2014\u2018the fanatical Gerlach\u2019\u2014\u2018the shortsighted\nGerlach,\u2019 whose fortune the young lady covets that she may pass her life\nin enjoyment\u2014a heartless girl, in whom there is not a spark of love for\nher intended husband\u2014how base!\n\n\u201c \u2018Ultramontane\u2019?\u2014\u2018fanatical\u2019?\u2014yes! \u2018Shortsighted?\u2019 by no means. One would\nneed the suspicious eyes of progress to see through the hypocrisy of this\nlady and her brother\u2014a simple, trusting spirit like mine cannot penetrate\nsuch darkness. At any rate, they shall not find me weak. The little flame\nthat was beginning to burn within my heart has been for ever extinguished\nby her unhallowed lips. She might now present herself in the garb of an\nangel, and muster up every seductive art of womanhood, \u2019twould not avail;\nI have had an insight into her real character, and giving her up costs me\nnot a pang. It is not hollow appearances that determine the worth of\nwoman, but moral excellence, beautiful virtues springing from a heart\nvivified by faith. No, giving her up shall not cost me one regretful\nthrob.\u201d\n\nHe hastened from the garden to his room and rang the bell.\n\n\u201cPack my trunks this very day, John,\u201d said he to his servant. \u201cTomorrow we\nshall be off.\u201d\n\nHe then entered in his diary a circumstantial account of the unmasked\nbeauty. He also dwelt at length upon the painful shock his heart\nexperienced when the bright and beautiful creature he had considered\nLouise to be suddenly vanished before his soul. As he was finishing the\nlast line, John reappeared with a telegraphic despatch. He read it, and\nwas stunned.\n\n\u201cMeet your father at the train this evening.\u201d He looked at the concise\ndespatch, and fancied he saw his father\u2019s stern and threatening\ncountenance.\n\nThe contemplated match had for several years been regarded by the families\nof Gerlach and Greifmann as a fixed fact. Seraphin was aware how\nstubbornly his father adhered to a project that he had once set his mind\nupon. Here now, just as the union had became impossible and as the youth\nwas about to free himself for ever from an engagement that was destructive\nof his happiness, the uncompromising sire had to appear to enforce\nunconditional obedience to his will. A fearful contest awaited Seraphin,\nunequal and painful; for a son, accustomed from childhood to revere and\nobey his parents, was to maintain this contest against his own father.\nSeraphin paced the room and wrung his hands in anguish.\n\nTo Be Continued.\n\n\n\n\nThe Virgin.\n\n\n    Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrost\n    With the least shade of thought to sin allied:\n    Woman! above all women glorified,\n    Our tainted nature\u2019s solitary boast;\n    Purer than foam on central ocean tost,\n    Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn\n    With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon\n    Before her vane begins on heaven\u2019s blue coast,\n    Thy image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween,\n    Not unforgiven, the suppliant knee might bend,\n    As to a visible power, in which did blend\n    All that was mixed and reconciled in thee\n    Of mother\u2019s love with maiden purity,\n    Of high and low, celestial with terrene.\u2014_Wordsworth._\n\n\n\n\nThe Homeless Poor Of New York City.\n\n\nIn this class, the homeless poor, we embrace all those who have no fixed\nhabitation\u2014who have no idea in the morning where they will obtain shelter\nfor their weary bodies during the coming night. We find here every age\nrepresented\u2014from the infant in the mother\u2019s arms, through the rapid stages\nof development (as it is well known that pain and hunger have a wonderful\neffect in maturing infant humanity), to the aged, tottering towards the\ngrave, only waiting for their summons to cross over the river of time;\nlooking with yearning eyes towards the Home prepared for them on the shore\nof eternity.\n\nIt is impossible to estimate the number of this class, as we have no\nstatistics to guide us, but it is supposed that there are about forty\nthousand vagrant children alone in this metropolis. From this frightful\nnumber of infant waifs we may judge of the amount of misery and\ndestitution in our midst\u2014hidden from view behind our imposing marble\nwarehouses and stately brownstone mansions.\n\nWe have been informed by a reliable police official that there are a large\nnumber of poor widows, whose husbands died in the service of our country\nduring the late war, in a most destitute condition in this city, and that\nthey frequently bring their children with them and apply for shelter at\nthe station\u2010houses. They attempt to eke out a miserable livelihood by\nsewing, and when this fails them they are obliged to go (in this Christian\ncity) to the abodes of crime, to avoid the inclemency of the winter\nnights. Few persons can form an idea of the struggles, the privations, and\nthe daily sufferings of lone women who earn their daily bread by the use\nof the needle. If the fine ladies who adorn themselves in costly robes\ncould go behind the scenes after they have left their orders at the\nelegant shops of the dressmakers; could they see their delicate fabrics\ntaken home by the poor sewing\u2010women; see the weary forms bent over their\nwork in the cheerless tenement\u2010houses, each stitch accompanied by a\npainful throb of heart and brain as the night wears on and the solitary\ncandle burns low; the famishing child as he tosses and turns on his bundle\nof rags, murmuring, \u201cBread, mother, bread!\u201d\u2014ay! if the beaming eyes of the\nvotaries of fashion could by some magic power see on their rustling silks,\ntheir costly linen, their beautiful lace, the imprint of the gaunt, lean\nfingers of the poor sewing\u2010women; could the tears that trickled down the\nworn cheeks crystallize where they have fallen; could the sighs which\nwelled up from the overburdened heart strike with their low wailing sound\non the ears of these worldlings\u2014they would be filled with a larger sense\nof duty to their fellow\u2010creatures, a greater desire to follow the golden\nmotto, \u201cDo unto others as ye would that others should do unto you.\u201d\n\nThere is an official apathy to the condition of the extreme poor which,\nwith the ballot placed in the hands of every man, has already produced\nbaneful results to the well\u2010being of the Republic, and must eventually, if\nnot remedied, act detrimentally to its safety. If an unfortunate wretch,\nclad in tattered garments, pass through our streets or loiter near our\nhomes, he is at once eyed suspiciously\u2014to wear the habiliments of poverty\nis evidence sufficient that the black heart of a criminal is enclosed\nwithin. It is true that promiscuous charity may do great harm, but it is\nsurely the correct policy for a government, while it judiciously supplies\nthe immediate wants of its poor classes with one hand, to open the avenues\nto employment with the other; thus teaching them the lesson impressed upon\nour first parents as they were banished from the Garden of Eden\u2014that man\nmust earn his daily bread by the sweat of his brow.\n\nWe have already said that it is computed by well\u2010informed persons that we\nhave in our midst some forty thousand vagrant children. Let us glance for\na moment at their condition, and what is being done for them. It is\ndifficult for any one to conceive the deplorable condition of these\nhomeless children without personal observation. They tread the paths\nleading to moral destruction with such rapidity that hundreds of them are\nconfirmed thieves and drunkards before they reach the age of twelve years.\nThe day is passed in pilfering, and at night they sleep in some out\u2010of\u2010\nthe\u2010way place\u2014under door\u2010steps, in wagons, or wherever they can store\ntheir diminutive forms. Some time since, a regularly organized band of\nboys were discovered to have constructed a shelter under one of the piers;\nand here they congregated at night, each bringing in his booty stolen\nduring the day. A few days since, during a visit to one of the mission\u2010\nhouses of this city, the lady in charge pointed out to us a little girl,\nnot more than nine years old, telling us that she never came to the house\nwithout being more or less under the influence of liquor, and a glance at\nthe bloated features and nervous, trembling hands showed conclusively that\nit was her habitual condition. We understand that there are fiends in the\nshape of men and women in this city who will sell such children a penny\u2019s\nworth of rum. Some persons have argued that these children are from bad\nparents, and under any circumstances, no matter how favorable, would be\ncorrupt. Such an opinion is a libel on God and human nature. A certain\nproclivity to vice may be transmitted in the blood, but free\u2010will remains\nin the most degenerate, and is sufficient, with the aid of a good\neducation and the grace of God, to overcome this obstacle to virtue. We\nknow well the plastic nature of childhood, and, if educated from the first\nto honesty, morality, and sobriety, it will indeed be found a rare\nexception in which the developed man will not possess these virtues, and\nprove an honor to himself and society. But if the first lisp of the infant\nrepeats an oath which is used more frequently than any other word by the\ndebased mother, or if, as is the case with many, as soon as the babe can\nwalk alone it is taught the art of begging and stealing, what can we look\nfor in the same child simply developed to manhood? Are you surprised that\nhe makes a thief? He has never been taught anything else, and he naturally\nlooks upon the law as something that interferes with the right to take\nanything he desires, if he can only do so without being detected. Would\nyou look for pure water from a stream whose bed is covered with filthy\nslime, and whose banks are the receptacle of disgusting, decomposed offal?\nSurely you would not drink of such, no matter how pure you knew the\ngurgling springs to be high up on the mountain\u2010side from whence it\nreceived its supply. Look at a babe as it is blessed with the first gleam\nof reason\u2014its ability to notice things about it. Is there anything in the\nbright black eye to indicate the future cunning of the burglar? Do the\nrosy lips, wreathed in angel smiles, look as if they were fashioned to\nutter foul oaths and blasphemies? And the little chubby hands clasped in\nbaby glee around the mother\u2019s neck, could they, by a natural instinct,\never be turned in brutal wrath against that self\u2010same mother? Reason\nanswers No to all these questions; and we argue that such vices are\ndeveloped principally by education and example. Take this for granted,\nand, if we do nothing to save the child from such education, what right\nhave we to imprison the developed man for acting upon the only doctrine he\nhas ever been taught? Or a better view of the subject is: Would it not be\nthe dictate of a sound political economy to take these children from the\nstreets, and teach them some useful trade or pursuit, giving them, at the\nsame time, the fundamental principles of Christianity, without which\nsociety is a tottering fabric, minus its very foundation? Do this, and we\nmake producers out of the very men and women who will otherwise become\nconsumers upon the state in the common prisons.\n\nIn several parishes of this city benevolent efforts are being made to\nrescue these children, but, so far as we can learn, the only institutions\nestablished where they are regularly taken care of and kept permanently\nare the following: \u201cThe Five Points House of Industry,\u201d \u201cThe Five Points\nMission\u2010House,\u201d \u201cThe Howard Mission\u201d; and last, but we hope soon to be\nfirst in its wide\u2010spread influence over these little creatures, is the one\nestablished some two years ago, and now located in East Thirteenth Street.\nThis is managed by certain charitable Catholic ladies, and called \u201cAn\nAssociation for Befriending Children.\u201d As most of the poor children on the\nIsland are, or should be, Catholics, it is but just that the last\u2010\nmentioned should receive support and countenance from every Catholic in\nthe city able to assist it, and thus enable the lady managers in a short\ntime to erect branch homes in every parish on the Island.\n\nBut come with us, dear reader, and let us look for ourselves at the\ncondition of those who take advantage of the hospitality of the station\u2010\nhouses. Think for a moment that in 1862 there were seventy thousand nine\nhundred and thirty\u2010eight lodgers, while 1871 presents the fearfully\nincreased number of one hundred and forty\u2010one thousand seven hundred and\neighty who sought this shelter. Oh! that this number (equal nearly to one\u2010\nsixth of the population of this vast metropolis), with its fearful weight\nof destitution and misery, suffering and despair, could be placed in\nburning letters upon the minds of those able, even without discommoding\nthemselves, to relieve it!\n\nLet us go back to midwinter. A blinding snow\u2010storm is wrapping the earth\nin a white mantle, and it is after midnight, but these are only better\nreasons for our undertaking, as they secure us increased opportunity to\nsee the phase of suffering we seek; for surely in a night like this the\nshelter of any roof is a luxury compared to the exposure of the street.\n\nLet us stop first at the Fifteenth Precinct: we ask the sergeant at the\ndesk for the presiding officer, and we are at once shown to the captain\u2019s\nroom. He reads the note from headquarters giving us the _entr\u00e9e_, and\ninforms us that he will give us any information we desire. We request him\nto show us the quarters of the night lodgers. He leads us through a rear\ndoor into the yard, and here we find a second building, two stories high,\nbuilt of brick and stone. The lower story is cut up into cells, with iron\ncross\u2010barred doors, for prisoners; and the upper is divided into two\nrooms\u2014one devoted to the female, and the other to male, lodgers. The heavy\ngranite stone forming a roof to the cells is also the floor of the upper\nrooms. As we make an inspection of the prison, we ask the captain what he\nthinks of this connection of homeless vagrants with prisoners? He promptly\nreplies that it is most unfortunate, and should not be allowed, and with\ngreat kindness of heart says he would be willing to take care of a house\nin his precinct for any number of lodgers, if allowed to do so. He tells\nus that he does everything to alleviate the condition of these paupers he\ncan; that, if a particularly distressing case presents itself, he allows\nthe doorman to give the party a cell in the prison, that this is far more\ncomfortable than the rooms above.\n\nThink of this, you who at night rest your heads on pillows of down and\nwrap your bodies in fine rose blankets; think of beings so unfortunate\nthat a prisoner\u2019s cell, with the clanking iron\u2010barred door, is looked upon\nas a special favor! But let us ascend to the upper story. The door to the\nmale apartment is opened, and the picture is before us. The ceiling is\nlofty, and a large ventilator opens to the roof from its centre, but where\nis the stone floor? It cannot be seen, so densely is it packed with\noutcast humanity. We can think of no other comparison but the way we have\nseen sardines packed in little tin boxes. Glance at this first row: here\nis an old German, next what looks to be a countryman, then three negroes,\nso black that they might have just arrived from the burning climate of\nAfrica, then three Arabs, and in the distant corner more white men. The\nother rows are but copies of this, differing only in color or nationality,\nand such a heterogeneous mass of humanity, made common bed\u2010fellows by\nwant, it would be impossible to find. Around the wall are placed iron\nframes, about one foot high, and in these fit plain boards, painted black;\nbut here, again, none of this can be seen, the human flooring covers all.\nThink of this apartment, with seventy\u2010four men, of every description, from\nthe octogenarian leaning over the brink of the grave, to the young boy\nseventeen or eighteen years old. Every clime has a representative; and in\nthe vast group every variety of shade and color possessed by the human\nfamily can be seen. Opening the door to the female apartment, we find it\noccupied by a much smaller number; and we can see better the arrangement\nof the floor. The iron frames with their board covering extend from each\nwall towards the centre about six feet, leaving a space in the middle of\nthe room as a passway. The same variety in color, age, and nationality is\nvisible. Look at the different expressions of countenance\u2014how replete with\nsadness, misfortune, degradation, and misery! These lodgers are divided\ninto three classes: the first are officially known as bummers; they are\ngenerally inebriates and worthless idlers, the drones of the hive, who\nmake the station\u2010houses their permanent lodging\u2010places, going night after\nnight to different ones, thus distributing their patronage to a large\nnumber; but in spite of this the wary eye of the policeman soon recognizes\nthem as belonging to this class. The second are those who by misfortune\nare obliged to seek this temporary shelter. Here are poor women, with\ntheir young children, forced out of their homes at night by drunken\nhusbands; single persons, temporarily unable to obtain employment; here\nalso you find those whose lives have been failures, whose every effort to\nsucceed has proved abortive, who have been held down to the world\u2019s hard\ngrindstone by the iron grasp of poverty. The third class embraces those\nwho have homes in the rural districts, and other poor strangers, who are\nby accident left in the city for the night.\n\nHaving completed our survey here, let us look in for a few moments at the\nEighth Precinct. We find the captain obliging in his politeness, and we\nask at once to be permitted to see the night lodgers. About the centre of\nthe building a door opens, leading by a common stairway to the basement\nbelow. A fearful and sickening odor greets us as we pass down, and this,\nthe captain informs us, permeates every part of the building, to the great\ndetriment of his officers. He also tells us that his accommodations for\nwayfarers are very poor; that he is obliged to put them in two small rooms\nin the basement, which are close and unhealthy. We find this statement\ncorrect, the floor upon which the lodgers rest being about four feet below\nthe street level; the ceiling is also very low, and the ventilation\nextremely imperfect. The only light in the apartment is from a small oil\u2010\nlamp, and its sickly flame seems to add intensity to the aspect of the\nmiserable surroundings. Look at that old man with long white beard and\ntattered garments, the first in the row near the entrance. There lingers\nstill a look of dignity about his fine face, but his whole appearance\ndenotes the victim of intemperance. See that young boy with his chest\nexposed, the third from the old man. He has never known his parents.\nPicked up in the streets when a babe by an old crone, he has been tossed\nabout ever since with the vilest scum of metropolitan society. He is\nsixteen, but can count for you the number of dinners he has had in all\nthose years, the number of times he has slept in a comfortable bed, ay,\neven the number of kind words that have been spoken to him! What can be\nexpected from the future of such children, cradled in a den for the\npunishment of crime while yet the snowy innocence of babyhood is\nuntarnished, the only lullaby the coarse jest, rude repartee, and foul\noaths of the outcasts who surround them? The curses and impotent railings\nagainst a fate for which generally each is individually to blame, and the\nbitter invective against their more fortunate fellow\u2010beings, form a sad\nschool in which to nurture pliable minds. But enough; the foul air of this\nbasement oppresses us, and we gladly make our way to the outer world.\n\nIn the large cities of Europe, there are refuges established for this\nclass on the following simple plan: An airy, comfortable, and well\u2010\nventilated room is procured, and fitted up with plain bedsteads and\nbedding, the latter of such materials as are easily washed. The next thing\nof importance is to provide means for bathing, and to require every person\nadmitted to make use of these means before retiring to rest. It is also\nthe custom to give the lodgers when they come in, and again in the morning\nwhen they leave, a large basin of gruel and a half\u2010pound of bread. The\ncost of such hospitality here would not exceed fifteen cents per night,\nand not as much as this if these houses were under the care of a religious\ncommunity, saving by this the salaries of matrons and other employees, and\nat the same time ensuring the order always produced by the presence of\ndisciplined authority. There should be separate houses for males and\nfemales, and each could be cared for by persons of their own sex; but all\nsuch institutions would require supervision by the police, as some unruly\ncharacters must be expected in a promiscuous crowd of vagrants. The night\nrefuges of London for women and children, established by Catholics, are\nunder the care of the Sisters of Mercy, and are most admirably conducted.\nThe order and docility of the lodgers is said to be remarkable under the\ngentle sway of these ladies. Those in Montreal and Quebec are in charge of\nthe Gray Nuns. It would not require a large number of these lodging\u2010houses\nfor the relief of our city, but they should be located with regard to the\ndensity of population in given districts. Four or five for each sex, with\nproper accommodations, would be amply sufficient, as the total number of\nlodgers in the most inclement nights would hardly reach one thousand.\n\nIt is difficult to estimate the advantage to society as well as to the\npoor these homes would prove. In erecting them we should strike at the\nvery foundation of the great social evil, and save hundreds of young\nwomen\u2014strangers and unfortunates out of employment\u2014from the snares set for\ntheir ruin in their lonely wanderings at night in search of shelter.\n\n\n    \u201cThere is near another river flowing,\n      Black with guilt, and deep as hell and sin;\n    On its brink even sinners stand and shudder,\n      Cold and hunger goad the homeless in.\u201d\n                                       \u2014_Procter._\n\n\nAs the station lodgings now are, they form an incentive to the class known\nas bummers to avoid work. These people know there are thirty station\u2010\nhouses, and by frequent changes they manage to pass the year through\nwithout drawing marked attention at any one place. This class is composed\nof low thieves, drunkards, and beggars. If but few lodging\u2010places existed,\nthey would soon become well known, and could then be committed to the\nworkhouse. A sojourn for them on the \u201cisland of penance\u201d in the East River\nwould result in a marked decrease in the thieving constantly carried on\nabout our wharves and private dwellings.\n\nIn erecting these night homes, either by charity or legislative\nenactments, we should save our city from a burning disgrace, and give\nhopes of respectability to many a weary soul beaten down to the dust by\nthe undeserved humiliations which link misfortune with crime.\n\nAs a charitable investment, these homes would prove a wise economy, as\nthey would permit the truly unfortunate to be properly cared for, which is\nimpossible at present. They would throw a safeguard around the morals of\nhomeless young women by giving them shelter with persons of their own sex,\nwho could protect, sympathize with, and advise them. They would assist in\ndetecting those who live by swindling their hardworking neighbors. Lastly\nand most important, they would separate the children of poverty from the\nabodes of crime.\n\n\n    [NOTE.\u2014The foregoing article is the substance of a lecture\n    delivered by Dr. Raborg before the Catholic Institute connected\n    with the parish of S. Paul the Apostle in this city. Its\n    suggestions are so apropos to the present season that we have\n    deemed them worthy of reproduction in this permanent form. We\n    desire also to state that the lecture had the effect of inducing\n    several philanthropic ladies and gentlemen to visit the station\u2010\n    houses and make a personal examination themselves, the result of\n    which was a rather extended article in _Frank Leslie\u2019s Newspaper_\n    of March 2, 1872, embracing some passages from the lecture, and\n    accompanied by a clever illustration.\n\n    The sectarian institutions for vagrant children having been\n    alluded to, and certain former allusions to the same in this\n    magazine having been misunderstood, we think it necessary to make\n    a remark here in explanation. We must admit and praise the\n    philanthropic motive which sustains these institutions. At the\n    same time, we regard them as really nuisances of the worst kind,\n    so far as Catholic children are concerned, on account of their\n    proselytizing character. Moreover, in their actual working they\n    violate the rights both of parents and children, and we have\n    evidence that these poor children are actually sold at the West,\n    both by private sale and by auction. The horrible abuses existing\n    in some state institutions are partly known to the public, and we\n    have the means of disclosing even worse things than those which\n    have recently been exposed in the daily papers. We trust,\n    therefore, that the eloquent appeal of the author of the article\n    will produce its effect upon all our Catholic readers, and\n    stimulate them to greater efforts in behalf of these poor\n    children.\u2014ED. C. W.]\n\n\n\n\nThe House That Jack Built.\n\n\nBy The Author Of \u201cThe House Of Yorke.\u201d\n\nIn Two Parts.\n\n\n\nPart I.\n\n\nIt stood in one of the wildest spots in New England, surrounded by woods,\na \u201cframe house\u201d in a region of log\u2010houses, and, as such, in spite of\ndefects, a touch beyond the most complete edifice that could be shaped of\nlogs.\n\nThe defects were not few. The walls were slightly out of the\nperpendicular, there were strips of board instead of clapboards and\nshingles, the immense stone chimney in the centre gave the house the\nappearance of being an afterthought, and the two windows that looked down\ntoward the road squinted.\n\nYes, a most absurd little house, with all sorts of blunders in the making\nof it, but, for all that, a house with a worth of its own. For Jack\nMaynard had put the frame together with his own unassisted hands, had\nraised it with but two men to help him, and had finished it off alone. And\nround about the work, and through and over it, while his hands built\nvisibly, his fancy also built airy habitations, fair and plumb, and\nchanged all the landscape. Before this fairy wand, the forest sank, broad\nroads unwound, there was a sprinkle of white houses through the green\ncountry, like a sprinkle of snow in June; and in place of this rustic nest\nrose a fair mansion\u2010house, with a comely matron standing in the door, and\nrosy children playing about.\n\nAt this climax of his castle\u2010building Jack Maynard caught breath, and,\ncoming back to the present, found himself halfway up a ladder, with a\nhammer suspended in his hand, the wild forest swarming with game all about\nhim, and the matron of his vision still Miss Bessie Ware, spinster.\n\nJack laughed. \u201cSo much the better!\u201d he exclaimed, and brought his hammer\ndown with such force, laughing as he struck, that the nail under it bent\nup double and broke in two, the head half falling to the ground, the point\nhalf flattened lengthwise into the board, making a fragment of rustic\nbuhl\u2010work.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a nail driven into the future,\u201d said the builder, and selected\nanother, and struck with better aim this time, so that the little spike\nwent straight through the board, and pierced an oaken timber, and held the\ntwo firmly together, and thus did its work in the present.\n\n\u201cWell done!\u201d said Jack; \u201cyou have gone through fifty summers in less than\na minute.\u201d\n\nThe startled woods rang to every blow, the fox and the deer fled at that\ntocsin of civilization, and the snake _slid_ away, and set the green grass\n_crawling_ with its hidden windings. Only one living creature, besides the\nbuilder, seemed happy and unafraid, and that was a brown\u2010and\u2010white spaniel\nthat dozed in the shadow of the rising walls, stirring only when his\nmaster whistled or spoke to him.\n\n\u201cWake up, Bruno, and tell me how this suits your eyes,\u201d Jack would call\nout. Whereat Bruno would lift his lids lazily, show a narrow line of his\nbright brown eyes, give his tail a slow, laborious wag, and subside to his\ndreams again, and Jack would go on with his work. It seemed to be his\nheart, rather than the hammer, that drove the nails in; and every timber,\nboard, latch, and hinge caught a momentary life from his hands, and\nlearned his story from some telegraphing pulse. The very stones of the\nchimney knew that John Maynard and Bessie Ware were to be married as soon\nas the house should be ready for them.\n\nThere was not a dwelling in sight; but half a mile further down the road\ntoward the nearest town, there was an odd, double log\u2010house, wherein lived\nDennis Moran and his Norah, three little girls, and Bessie Ware, Dennis\nMoran\u2019s sister\u2019s child.\n\nJack paused in his work, took off his straw hat to wipe away the\nperspiration from his face and toss his hair back, first hanging on a\nround of the ladder just above him the hammer that had driven a nail\nthrough fifty summers. As he put his hat on again, he glanced downward,\nand there, at the foot of the ladder, stood twenty summers, looking up at\nhim out of a face as fair as summers ever formed. The apple\u2010blooms had\ngiven it their pink and white, the June heavens were not bluer than those\neyes, so oddly full of laughter and languor. The deepest nook under a low\u2010\ngrowing spruce, nor shadow in vine\u2010draped cave, nor hollow in a thunder\u2010\ncloud, ever held richer darkness than that hidden in the loose curls and\nwaves of hair that fell about Bessie Ware\u2019s shoulders. No part of the\ncharm of her presence was due to her dress, save an air of fresh neatness.\nA large apron, gathered up by the corners, was full of fragrant arbor\u2010vit\u00e6\nboughs, gathered to make a broom of. The large parasol, tilted back that\nshe might look upward, allowed a sunbeam to fall on her forehead.\n\n\u201cOh! what a tall pink has grown up since I came here!\u201d exclaimed the\nbuilder, as he saw her.\n\n\u201cAnd what a great bear has climbed on to my ladder,\u201d retorted the girl.\n\nHe came down from the ladder and began to tell her his plans.\n\n\u201cBessie, I mean this shall be yet one of the best farms in the state. On\nthat hill I will have corn and clover; there shall be an orchard in the\nhollow next to it, with peach\u2010trees on the south side of the little rise;\nand I will plant cranberries in the swamp beyond. In ten years from now,\nif a man should leave here to\u2010day, he wouldn\u2019t know the place.\u201d\n\nBessie smiled at the magician who was to work such wonders\u2014never doubting\nbut he would\u2014then glanced about at the scene of his exploits. Sombre,\nblue\u2010green pines brooded over the hill that was one day to be pink with\nclover, or rustling with corn; oaks, elms, maples, birches, and a great\ntangle of undergrowth, with rocks and moss, cumbered the ground where\npeaches were to ripen their dusky cheeks, when Jack should bid them grow,\nand large, green, and red\u2010streaked and yellow apples were to drop through\nthe still, bright, autumn air; and she knew that the future cranberry\u2010\nswamp now stood thick and dark with beautiful arborvit\u00e6 trees, whose high\u2010\npiled, flaky boughs, tapering to a point far up in the sunshine, kept cool\nand dim the little pools of water below, and the black mould in which\ntheir strong roots stretched out and interwove. But Jack could do anything\nwhen he set out, and her faith in him was so great that she could shut her\neyes now and see the open swamp matted over with cranberry\u2010vines, and hear\nthe corn\u2010stalks clash their green swords in the fretting breeze, and the\nmuffled bump of the ripe apple as it fell on the grass.\n\nAfter a while, Bessie started to go, but came back again.\n\n\u201cI forgot,\u201d she said, and gave her lover a book that had been hidden under\nthe boughs in her apron. \u201cA book\u2010pedlar stopped at our house last night,\nand he left this. Uncle Dennis doesn\u2019t want it, and I do not. Perhaps you\ncan make some sense out of it.\u201d\n\nIt was a second\u2010hand copy of Comstock\u2019s _Natural Philosophy_, for schools,\nand was scribbled through and through by the student who had used it,\nyears before.\n\nJack took the book.\n\n\u201cAnd that reminds me of your white\u2010faced boarder,\u201d he said, with a slight\nlaugh. \u201cIs he up yet?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! he gets up earlier than any of us,\u201d she answered lightly. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t\nact cityfied at all. And you know, Jack, the reason why he is white is\nbecause he has been sick. Good\u2010bye! Aunt Norah will want her broom before\nshe gets it.\u201d\n\nBessie struck into the woods instead of going down to the road, and was\nsoon lost to view. Standing beside her little house, she had looked a\ntall, fairly\u2010formed lassie; but with the great trunks of primeval forest\u2010\ntrees standing about her, and lifting their green pyramids and cones far\ninto the air, she appeared slim and small enough for a fairy. Even the\nbirds, chippering about full of business, seemed to flout her, as if she\nwere of small consequence\u2014not worth flying from.\n\nShe laughed at them, and whispered what she did not dare to say aloud:\n\u201cOther people besides you can build nests!\u201d then looked quickly around to\nsee if any listener were in sight.\n\nThere was a slight, rustling sound, and an eavesdropping squirrel\nscampered up a tree and peered down with twinkling eyes from a safe\nheight. She was just throwing one of the green twigs in her apron at him,\nwhen she heard her name spoken, and turned quickly to meet a pleasant\u2010\nfaced young man, who approached from an opposite direction. This was the\nwhite\u2010faced boarder who had left the city to find health in this wild\nplace.\n\nThe two walked on together, Bessie as shy as any creature of the woods,\nand her companion both pleased and amused at her shyness, and trying to\ndraw her out. To his questioning, she told her little story. Her mother\nwas Dennis Moran\u2019s youngest sister, her father had been a color\u2010sergeant\nin the English army. There had been other children, all younger than she,\nbut all had died, some in one country, some in another. For Sergeant\nWare\u2019s family had followed the army, and seen many lands.\n\n\u201cI am an East Indian,\u201d Bessie said na\u00efvely. \u201cI was born at Calcutta. The\nothers were born in Malta, in England, and in Ireland. It didn\u2019t agree\nwith them travelling about from hot to cold. My father died at Gibraltar,\nand my mother died while she was bringing me to Uncle Dennis Moran\u2019s. May\nGod be merciful to them all!\u201d\n\nMr. James Keene had heard this pious ejaculation many a time before from\nthe lips of humble Catholics, and had found nothing in it to admire. But\nnow, the thought struck him that this constant prayer for mercy on the\ndead, whenever their names were mentioned, was a beautiful superstition.\nOf course he thought it a superstition, for he was a New England\nProtestant of the most liberal sort\u2014that is, he protested against being\nobliged to believe anything.\n\nThey reached the house, near which Dennis Moran and his wife stood\nwatching complacently a brood of new chickens taking their first airing.\nThe young gentleman joined them, and listened with interest to the farm\ntalk of his host.\n\nWhat had set Dennis Moran, one of the most rigid of Catholics, in a\nsolitude where he saw none of his own country nor faith, and where no\npriest ever came, he professed himself unable to explain.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m like a fly caught in a spider\u2019s web, sir,\u201d he said. \u201cWhen Norah and I\ncame over, and I didn\u2019t just know what to do, except that I wanted to have\na farm of my own some day, I hired out to do haying for John Smith\u2019s\nwife\u2014John had died the very week he began to cut his grass, and Norah she\nhelped Mrs. Smith make butter. Then they wanted me to get in the crops,\nand after that I had a chance to go into the woods logging. When I came\nout of the woods, Mrs. Smith wanted me to plough and plant for her. And\none thing led to another, and there was always something to keep me. Norah\nhad a young one, and Bessie came\u2014a young witch, ten years old,\u201d said\nDennis, pulling his niece\u2019s hair, as she stood beside him. \u201cSo I had to\ntake a house. And the long and short of the matter is, that I\u2019ve been here\ngoing on ten years, when I didn\u2019t mean to stay ten weeks. But I shall pull\nup stakes pretty soon, sir,\u201d says Dennis, straightening up. \u201cI don\u2019t mean\nto stay where I have to go twenty miles to attend to my Easter duties, and\nwhere my children are growing up little better than Protestants (he called\nit Prodestant). I\u2019m pretty sure to move next fall, sir.\u201d\n\nAt this announcement, Mrs. Norah tossed up her head and uttered an\nunspellable, guttural \u201cOh!\u201d brought from the old land, and preserved\nunadulterated among the nasal\u2010speaking Yankees. \u201cWe hear ducks!\u201d\n\nWhatever might be the meaning and derivation of this remark, the drift of\nit was evidently depreciatory, and it had the effect of putting an end to\nher husband\u2019s eloquence. Doubtless, Mrs. Moran had heard such\nannouncements made before.\n\nBessie stole a little hand under her uncle\u2019s arm, and smiled into his\nface, and told him that she had given Jack the book, and soon made him\nforget his mortification. She knew that he was sometimes boastful, and\nthat the great things he was constantly prophesying of himself never came\nto pass; but she knew also that he had a kind heart, and it hurt her to\nsee him hurt.\n\nThat same book, which the girl mentioned merely to divert attention, was\nto be a matter of more consequence to her than she dreamed. It was more\nimportant than the wedding\u2010dress and the wedding\u2010cake, which occupied so\nmuch of her thoughts\u2014more important than the jealous interference of\nJack\u2019s mother, who did not like Bessie\u2019s foreign blood and religion,\nthough she did like Bessie\u2014more important than even her Uncle Dennis\u2019\nactual flitting, when fall came\u2014all which we pass by. Only one thing in\nher life then was of more consequence than that old school\u2010book, which the\npedler left because no one would buy it, and that was the earnest and\nsorrowing advice of good old Father Conners when, against his will, he\nunited her to a Protestant.\n\nJohn Maynard said later, that before he read that book he was like a beet\nbefore it is pulled out of the ground, when it doesn\u2019t know but it is a\nturnip, and firmly believes that it is growing upward instead of downward,\nand that those waving leaves of its own, which it feels, but sees not,\nexist in some outer void where nothing is, and that angle\u2010worms are the\nlargest of locomotive creatures.\n\nIt is doubtful if the artistic faculty is any more a special gift in the\nfine than in the useful arts, or if he who creates ideal forms, in order\nto breathe into them the breath of such life as is in him, is more\nenthusiastic in his work, or more fascinated by it, than he who, taking\ncaptive the powers of nature, binds them to do his will.\n\nThis enthusiastic recognition of the work to which nature had appointed\nhim, John Maynard felt from the moment when he first knew that a crowbar\nis a lever. He read that book that Bessie gave him with interest, then\nwith avidity, and, having read, all the power latent in that wide brow of\nhis waked up, and demanded knowledge. He got other and more complete works\non mechanics and studied them in his leisure hours, he made experiments,\nhe examined every piece of mechanism that came in his way.\n\nComing home one Sunday from a meeting which she had walked six miles to\nattend, Mrs. Maynard, senior, was horrified to find that her son had paid\nher a visit during her absence for the sole purpose of picking in pieces\nher precious Connecticut clock. There lay its speechless fragments spread\nout on the table, while the yawning frame leaned against the wall. Bessie\nsat near, looking rather frightened, and Jack, in his shirt\u2010sleeves, sat\nbefore the table, an open book at his elbow. He was studying the page\nintently, his earnest, sunburnt face showing an utter unconsciousness of\nguilt.\n\n\u201cLand sakes, Jack!\u201d screamed his mother. \u201cYou\u2019ve been and ruined my\nclock!\u201d\n\nA clock was of value in that region, where half the inhabitants told the\nhour by sun\u2010marks, by the stars, or by instinct.\n\nHe put his hand out to keep her back, but did not look up. \u201cDon\u2019t worry,\nmother,\u201d he said, \u201cand don\u2019t touch anything. I\u2019ll put the machine together\nin a few minutes.\u201d\n\nMrs. Maynard sank into a chair, and gazed distressfully at the ruins. That\nthe pendulum, now lying prone and dismembered, would ever tick again, that\nthose two little hands would ever again tell the time of day, that the\nweights would run down and have to be wound up every Saturday night, or\nthat she should ever again on any June day hear the faithful little gong\nstrike four o\u2019clock in the morning\u2014her signal for jumping out of bed with\nthe unvarying ejaculation: \u201cLand sakes! it\u2019s four o\u2019clock!\u201d\u2014seemed to her\nimpossible.\n\n\u201cAnd to think that you should do such work on the Sabbath\u2010day!\u201d she\ngroaned out, casting an accusing glance on her daughter\u2010in\u2010law. \u201cYou seem\nto have lost all the religion you ever had since you got married.\u201d\n\nBessie\u2019s blue eyes lighted up: \u201cI think it just as pious for Jack to\nstudy, and find out how useful things are made, as to wear out a pair of\nshoes going to hear Parson Bates talk through his nose, or sit at home and\nspoil his eyes reading over and over about Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, come!\u201d interposed Jack; \u201cif you two women quarrel, and bother me, I\nshall spoil the clock.\u201d\n\nThis procured silence.\n\nHad he been a little more thoughtful and tender, he would have told his\nmother that Bessie had tried to dissuade him from touching the clock, and\nhad urged the impropriety of his doing such work on Sunday; but he did not\nthink. She shielded him, and he allowed her to, scarcely aware that she\nhad, indeed.\n\nThe young man\u2019s prediction was fulfilled. Before sunset, the clock was\nticking soberly on the mantelpiece, the minute\u2010hand hitching round its\ncircle, and showing the reluctant hour\u2010hand the way, and Jack was marching\nhomeward through the woods, with his rifle on one arm and his wife on the\nother.\n\nThey were both so silent\u2014that dark\u2010browed man and bright faced woman\u2014that\nthey might almost be taken as kindred of the long shadows and sunstreaks\nover which they walked. He was building up a visionary entanglement of\npulleys in the air, through which power should run with ever\u2010increasing\nforce, and studying how he should dispense with an idle\u2010wheel that\nbelonged in that maze; and she was thinking of him. He was thinking that\nthis forest, that once had bounded his hopes and aspirations, now pressed\non his very breathing, and hemmed his steps in, and wishing that he had\nwings, like that bird flitting before him; and she was watching his eyes\ntill she, too, saw the bird.\n\nJack stopped, raised his rifle, took a hasty aim, and fired. Bessie ran to\npick up the robin:\n\n\u201cHow could you, Jack!\u201d she exclaimed reproachfully, as she felt the\nfluttering heart stop in her hand.\n\nHe looked at it without the slightest compunction. \u201cI wanted to see, as it\nstood on that twig, which way the centre of gravity would fall,\u201d he said.\n\u201cDon\u2019t fret, Bessie! There are birds enough in the world.\u201d\n\nThe young wife looked earnestly into her husband\u2019s face, as they walked on\ntogether. \u201cJack,\u201d she said, \u201cyou might kill me, and then say that there\nare women enough in the world.\u201d\n\nHe laughed, but looked at her kindly, as he made answer: \u201cWhat would all\nthe women in the world be to me, Bessie, if my woman were out of it?\u201d\n\nCould she ask more?\n\n\u201cJack, where do you suppose the song has gone to?\u201d she asked, presently.\n\n\u201cBessie, where does a candle go when it goes out?\u201d was the counter\u2010\nquestion.\n\nThere had been a season in this man\u2019s life, during the brief bud and\nblossom of his love for Bessie Ware, when his mind had been as full of\nfancies as a spring maple of blossoms. But he was not by nature fanciful,\nand, that brief season past, he settled down to facts. Questions which\ncould not be answered he cared not to ask nor ponder on and all\nspeculations, save those which built toward an assured though unseen\nresult, he scouted. The sole impression the bird had made on him was that\nit was a nice little flying\u2010machine, which he would like to improve on\nsome day. Meantime, he had much to learn.\n\nThe extent of his ignorance did not discourage John Maynard, perhaps\nbecause it opened out gradually before him, over a new, unknown path\nstarting from the known one. He was strong, fresh, and healthy, and the\nvery novelty of his work, and his coming to it so late, was an assistance\nto him. \u201cI have a head for all I want to get into it,\u201d he said to his\nwife. \u201cWhen my brain gets hold of an idea, it doesn\u2019t let go.\u201d\n\nIt seemed so, indeed; and sometimes when he sat studying, or thinking,\nutterly unconscious of all about him, his eyes fixed, yet glimmering, his\nmouth close shut, his breathing half lost, his whole frame, while the\nbrain worked, so still that his hands and feet grew cold, Bessie became\nalmost afraid of him, and was ready to fancy that some strange and perhaps\nmalign spirit had entered into and taken possession of her husband\u2019s soul.\n\nAnd thus it happened that, after two years, the house that Jack built was\nabandoned to one of his relatives, and the young couple, with their baby\nboy, left the forest for the city.\n\nOf course, no one is to suppose that John Maynard failed.\n\nIt was summer again, and lavish rains had kept to July the fresh\nluxuriance of June. The frame house stood nearly as it was when its\nbuilder finished it. The walls had changed their bright yellow tint for\ngray, and a few stones had fallen from the top of the chimney\u2014that was\nall. The forest still gathered close about, and only a few patches of\ncultivated land had displaced the stumps and stones. A hop\u2010vine draped the\nporch at the back of the house, and a group of tall sunflowers grew near\none of the open curtainless windows.\n\nCivilization had passed by on the other side, and, though not really so\nremote, was still invisible. Twice a day, with a low rumble, as of distant\nthunder, a train of cars passed by through the valley beyond the woods.\n\nThere was no sound of childish voices, no glimpse of a child anywhere\nabout. The air bore no more intelligent burden than the low colloquial\ndropping of a brook over its pebbly bed, the buzzing of bees about a hive,\nand a rustling of leaves in the faint stir of air that was more a\nrespiration than a breath. The only sign of human life to be seen without\nwas a frail thread of blue smoke that rose from the chimney, and\ndisappeared in the sky.\n\nInside, on the white floor of the kitchen, the shadows of the sunflowers\nlay as if painted there, only now and then stirring slightly, as the air\nbreathed on the wide, golden\u2010rayed shields outside. In the chimney\u2010corner,\nalmost as silent as a shadow, an old woman sat in a rocking\u2010chair,\nknitting, and thinking. The two small windows, with crossing light, made\none corner of the room bright; but where this woman sat, her face could be\nseen plainly only by firelight.\n\nIt was a rudely\u2010featured face\u2014one seldom sees finely moulded features in\nthe backwoods\u2014but it showed fortitude, good sense, and that unconscious\nintegrity which is so far nobler than the conscious. The gray hair was\ndrawn tightly back, and fastened high on the head with a yellow horn comb;\nthe tall, spare figure was clad in a gown of dark\u2010blue calico covered with\nlittle white dots, and a checked blue\u2010and\u2010white apron tied on with white\ntape strings, and the hands that held the knitting were bony, large\u2010\njointed, and large\u2010veined.\n\nThe stick of wood that had been smouldering on the andirons bent in the\nmiddle, where a little flickering flame had been gnawing industriously for\nsome time. The flame brightened, and made a dive into this break, where it\nfound a splinter. The stick bent yet more, then suddenly snapped in two,\none end dropping into the coals, the other end standing upright in the\ncorner.\n\n\u201cBless me!\u201d muttered the old woman, dropping her work with a start.\n\u201cThere\u2019s a stranger! I wonder who it is.\u201d\n\nShe sat gazing dreamily at the brand a moment, and, as her face half\nsettled again, it became evident that the expression was one of profound\nmelancholy as well as thoughtfulness. The lifted eyelids, and the start\nthat roused without brightening, showed that.\n\nAfter a moment\u2019s reverie, she drew a long sigh, and, before resuming her\nwork, took the long iron tongs that leaned in the corner, and most\ninhospitably tossed the figurative stranger into the coals.\n\n\u201cI wonder why my thoughts run so on Jack and Bessie to\u2010day,\u201d she\nsoliloquized, fixing the end of the knitting\u2010needle into the leather\nsheath at her side. \u201cI wish I knew how they are. It\u2019s my opinion they\u2019d\nhave done as well to stay here. I don\u2019t think much of that machinery\nbusiness.\u201d\n\nThe coming event which had thus cast its shadow before, was already at the\ngate, or, more literally, at the bars. Bessie Maynard had walked alone up\nthe road she had not trodden for years, and now stood leaning there, and\nlooking about with eyes that were at once eager and shrinking. Her face\nwas pale, her mouth tightly closed; she had grown taller, and her\nappearance disclosed in some indefinable way a capacity for sternness\nwhich would scarcely have been suspected, or even credited, in the girl of\ntwenty we left her. A glance would show that she had suffered deeply.\n\nPresently, as she gazed, tears began to dim her eyes. She brushed them\naway, let down the slim cedar pole that barred her passage, stepped\nthrough, replaced the bar, and walked up the path to the house.\n\nThe knitter in the chimney\u2010corner heard the sound of advancing steps, and\nsat still, with her face turned over her shoulder, to watch the door. The\nsteps reached the threshold and paused there, and for a moment the two\nwomen gazed at each other\u2014the one silent from astonishment, the other\nstruggling to repress some emotion that rose again to the surface.\n\nThe visitor was the first to recover her self\u2010possession. She came in\nsmiling, and held out her hands.\n\n\u201cHaven\u2019t you a word of welcome for me, Aunt Nancy?\u201d she asked.\n\nHer voice broke the spell, and the old woman started up with a true\ncountry welcome, hearty, and rather rough. It was many a year since Bessie\nMaynard\u2019s hands had felt such a grasp, or her arms such a shake.\n\n\u201cBut where is Jack?\u201d asked his aunt, looking toward the door over Bessie\u2019s\nshoulder.\n\n\u201cOh! he\u2019s at home,\u201d was the reply, rather negligently given. \u201cBut how are\nyou, Aunt Nancy? Have you room for me to stay awhile? I took a fancy to be\nquiet a little while this summer. The city is so hot and noisy.\u201d\n\nThe old lady repeated her welcomes, mingled with many apologies for the\nkind of accommodations she had to offer, all the while helping to remove\nher visitor\u2019s bonnet and shawl, drawing up the rocking\u2010chair for her, and\npressing her into it.\n\n\u201cDo sit down and rest,\u201d she said. \u201cBut where is the baby? Why on earth\ndidn\u2019t you bring her?\u201d\n\nBessie clasped her hands tightly in her lap, and looked steadily at the\nquestioner before answering. \u201cThe baby is at home!\u201d she said then, in a\nlow voice.\n\nAunt Nancy was just turning away for some hospitable purpose, but the look\nand tone arrested her.\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t mean\u2014\u201d she began, but went no further.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d replied Bessie quietly; \u201cthere is only James left.\u201d\n\nJames was the eldest child.\n\nMrs. Nancy Maynard was not much given to expressions of tenderness\u2014New\nEngland people of the old sort seldom were\u2014but she laid her hand softly on\nher niece\u2019s shoulder, and said unsteadily:\n\n\u201cYou poor dear, how tried you have been!\u201d\n\n\u201cWe have all our trials,\u201d responded the other, with a sort of coldness.\n\nThe old woman knew not what to say. She turned away, mending the fire. If\nBessie had wept, she would have known how to comfort her; but this strange\ncalmness was embarrassing. Scarcely less embarrassing was the light,\nindifferent talk that followed, the questions concerning crops, and\nweather, and little household affairs, evidently put to set aside more\nserious topics.\n\nThis baby was the fourth child that Bessie Maynard had lost. After the\nfirst, no child of hers had lived to reach its third year. Each one had\nbeen carried away by a sudden distemper. The first death had been\nannounced to John Maynard\u2019s aunt in a long letter from Bessie, full of a\nhealthy sorrow, every line stained with tears. John had written the next\ntime, his wife being too much worn out with watching and grief to write.\nAt the third death, there came a line from Bessie: \u201cMy little boy is gone,\nAunt Nancy. What do you suppose God means?\u201d\n\nAunt Nancy had wondered somewhat over this strange missive, but had\ndecided that, whatever God meant, Bessie meant resignation.\n\nBut now, as she marked her niece\u2019s changed face and manner, and\nrecollected that laconic note, she was forced to give up the comforting\nthought. There might be endurance, but there was no resignation in that\nface.\n\nThe sense of distance and strangeness grew on her, though Bessie began to\nhelp her get supper ready, drawing out and laying the table as though she\nhad done it every day of her life, and even remembering the cup that had\nbeen hers, and the little iron rack on which she used to set the teapot.\n\u201cJack found the brass\u2010headed nail this hangs on miles back in the woods,\u201d\nshe said. \u201cIt\u2019s a wonder how it got there.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t Jack come with you?\u201d asked Aunt Nancy, catching at the\nopportunity to say something personal.\n\nA deep blush ran up Bessie\u2019s face at being so caught, but her hesitation\nwas only momentary.\n\n\u201cHe is too busy,\u201d she answered briefly.\n\n\u201cBut I should think he might take a rest now and then,\u201d persisted her\naunt.\n\nBessie gave a short laugh that was not without bitterness.\n\n\u201cWhat rest can a man take when he has a steam\u2010engine spouting carbonic\nacid in one side of his brain, a flying\u2010machine in the other side, and a\nwheel in perpetual motion between them? John is given over to metals and\nmotions. I might as well have a locomotive for a husband. Shall I take up\nthe applesauce in this bowl?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. I should think that James might have come.\u201d Aunt Nancy held\ndesperately to the thread she had caught.\n\n\u201cJames is a little John,\u201d replied Bessie, pouring the hot, green\napplesauce into a straight, white bowl with a band of narrow blue stripes\naround the middle of it. \u201cNever mind my coming alone, Aunt Nancy. I got\nalong very well, and they will do very well without me.\u201d\n\nThey sat down to the table, and Bessie made a great pretence of eating,\nbut ate nothing. Then they went out and looked at the garden, talking all\nthe while about nothing, and soon, to the relief of both, it was bed\u2010time.\n\nTo Be Continued.\n\n\n\n\nWhere Are You Going?\n\n\nWe happened, the other day, to notice in the columns of a ribald infidel\nnewspaper an advertisement in which a young lady gave notice of her desire\nto find \u201cboard in an infidel or atheist family.\u201d There are many persons\nnowadays who are looking for a lodging\u2010place and for food which will give\nrest and refreshment to their minds and hearts, in the bosom of the\ninfidel and atheistic family circle. They may not, in most cases,\ndistinctly perceive and expressly avow that they are going over to dwell\nin the tents of atheism, but they have turned their faces and steps in\nthat direction, and into the path leading thitherward, and those who keep\non their way must arrive, sooner or later, at that destination. It is to\nthese that we address the question: Where are you going? We would like to\nhave them reflect a little on the kind of entertainment which they may\nreasonably expect to find in the private family of the household, and in\nthe larger family of human society, when these are constituted on\natheistic principles.\n\nBefore going any further, we will designate more precisely what class of\npersons we intend by the above description. In general, all who do not\nbelieve in a law made known to the mind and conscience by Almighty God,\nand, in particular, those who, having been brought up in the Catholic\nfaith, no longer believe in that law as made known by the authority of the\nchurch. We class these last individuals, for whose benefit chiefly though\nnot exclusively we are writing, with those first mentioned advisedly and\nfor a reason; and warn them that they are included in the number of those\nwhose faces are set toward atheism. Nevertheless, we do not say this on\nthe ground that every one who is not a Catholic is either incapable of\nknowing God and his law, or logically bound to deny their existence. A\nTheist, a Jew, or a Protestant has a rational ground for holding against\nthe atheist or infidel all that portion of Catholic truth which his\nreligion includes. Therefore, we have not included any of these in the\nnumber of the atheistical.\n\nThose only who do not believe in any law of God over the conscience we\nhave charged with this tendency to positive atheism. Against such, the\njustice of the charge is manifest. For they are practically atheists\nalready, and by denying an essential attribute of the Creator, and a\nrelation which the creature must have toward him on account of this\nattribute, the way is opened to a denial of his existence. As for those\nwho have been instructed in the Catholic faith and have thrown off its\nauthority over their conscience, we say that they have turned towards\natheism, because we are convinced that, as a matter of fact, the motives\nand reasonings which have induced them to this fatal apostasy are\npractically and theoretically atheistical, even if they themselves are not\ndistinctly aware of their ultimate tendency. We do not deny that a\nCatholic may lapse into some imperfect form of Christianity or natural\nreligion. The first Protestants had been originally Catholics, and so have\nbeen some of the so\u2010called philosophers professing natural religion. But\nthe present tendency of unbelief is toward atheism, and those believers in\npositive, revealed religion, whether Catholics, Protestants, or Jews, who\nare swept by this current, are carried toward the abyss whither it is\nrushing. Those who reject the law of God which is proclaimed and enjoined\nby the authority of the church, do so because its moral or intellectual\nrestraints are irksome, and they wish to be at liberty. In plain words,\nthey wish to be free to sin, to follow the proclivity of our fallen nature\nto indulge in pride and concupiscence, without any fear of God before\ntheir eyes to disturb their peace. Therefore, they deny the authority of\nthe church to bind their conscience to believe the doctrines and obey the\nmoral precepts which she promulgates in the name of God. Their revolt is\nagainst the law itself and the sovereign authority of God. They sin\nagainst faith and against reason also; against the natural as well as the\nrevealed law. They sin with the understanding as well as with the will,\nand their sin is one which goes to the root of all moral obligation and\nresponsibility in the creature toward the Creator. It is an assertion of\nperfect individual liberty of thought and action, of independence and\nself\u2010sovereignty; and as such an independence is completely incompatible\nwith the existence of God, it is but a step to deny that he exists, or at\nleast that we have any knowledge of his existence. Moreover, modern\nunbelief proceeds by the way of objections, difficulties, and doubts. It\nis sceptical in its principle; and one who rejects the authority of the\nchurch and of divine revelation on the principle of scepticism, easily\nrejects all philosophy and natural religion on the same principle, and\nruns down into pure materialism and atheism.\n\nThere are many persons in Europe, and some in this country, who have sunk\ninto a state of avowed impiety and violent hostility to all religion which\nplaces them beyond the reach of every appeal to reason, conscience, or\nright feeling. We do not attempt to argue with such as these; but we\nsuppose in those whom we address a condition of the mind and heart much\nless degenerate and hopeless. We suppose them to recognize the excellence\nand necessity of the private and social virtues, and to retain some\nintellectual and moral ideal in their minds which they cherish and\nvenerate. They believe in truthfulness, honor, fidelity, honesty, true\nlove, friendship, in the cultivation of knowledge and the fine arts, in\nall that can give decorum, refinement, and charm to domestic and social\nlife, power, dignity, and splendor to political society. But all this is\nlooked on as a spontaneous, natural growth, which finds its perfection and\nits end from and on this earth, and in this life, without any direct\nrelation to God and an immortal life in another sphere of existence. Now,\nthat such persons are intellectually and morally on a height which\nelevates them far above those who are wholly degraded in mind and\ncharacter, we readily admit. But they are on the verge of a precipice. It\nis the black and awful abyss of atheism which yawns beneath them. And we\ninvite them to look over the brink, and down into those dark depths, that\nthey may consider deliberately whither their steps are leading them,\nbefore it is too late to retreat to a safer position.\n\nIn what consists the reality of truth, let us ask of one who professes to\nlove truth, or the obligation of respecting it, if Christianity is a\nfalsehood, and its Founder a deceiver of mankind? One who knows the\nevidence on which Christianity rests, and rejects it as a delusion, has\nadopted a principle of scepticism which destroys all the evidence on which\nany truth can rest. The principles of reason are denied or called in\nquestion, unbelief or doubt extends to everything. The existence of God is\ndoubted, the distinct and immortal existence of the soul is questioned,\nnothing remains but the senses and the phenomena which are called sensible\nfacts. Take away God, the Essential Truth, who can neither be deceived nor\ndeceive us, and who has manifested to us the truth by the lights of reason\nand revelation, and there is no such thing as truth. The descendants of\napes, whose whole existence is merely one of sensation, who have sprung\nfrom material forces and are resolved into them by dissolution, can have\nno more obligation of speaking the truth than their cousins the monkeys.\nIf lying, calumny, or perjury will increase the means of your sensible\nenjoyment, why not employ them against your brother\u2010apes, as well as\nentrap a monkey and cage him for your amusement? Whence comes the\nexcellence and obligation of honor, that principle which impels a man\nrather to die than to betray a trust or abandon the post of duty? On what\nis based honesty? Why should one choose to pass his life, and to make his\nfamily pass their lives, in poverty and privation, rather than take the\ngold of another, when he can steal it with impunity? Where lies the\ndetestable baseness of bribery and swindling? Why does the heart revolt\nagainst the conduct of the man or woman who is faithless to conjugal,\nparental, or filial love, who is a false friend, ungrateful for kindness,\na traitor to his country? It is all very well to say that our natural\ninstincts impel us to love certain qualities and detest others, as we\nspontaneously admire beauty and are displeased with ugliness. This is\ncertainly true. And it is very well to say that happiness and well\u2010being\nare, on the whole, promoted by virtuous sentiments and actions, and\nhindered by those which are vicious. But if mere selfish, sensitive\nenjoyment of the good of this life be the end of life itself, all virtue\nis resolved at last into the quest of this enjoyment by the most sure and\nsuitable means. When virtue requires the sacrifice of this enjoyment, it\nis no longer virtue. Why should a wife sacrifice her happiness to a cruel,\nsickly, or disagreeable husband, a husband preserve fidelity to a wife who\nis hopelessly deranged or who has violated her marriage vows? Why should a\nsoldier expose his life in obedience to the order of a stupid or reckless\ncommander, or shed his blood in an unnecessary war brought on by the folly\nor ambition of incompetent or unscrupulous rulers? Why should a seaman die\nfor the sake of saving passengers who are nothing to him, and many of whom\nare perhaps worthless persons, leaving his widow and children without a\nprotector? Why trouble ourselves about taking care of the poor, ruined\nwrecks of humanity, who can never more be capable of enjoying life or\ncontributing to the enjoyment of others? If we are not the offspring of\nGod, but of the earth, mere sensitive and mortal animals, existing for the\npleasure of a day, all the virtues which demand self\u2010sacrifice are absurd;\nand the sentiments which we feel about these virtues are illusions. It is\nvery well to appeal to these sentiments; but those who do so must admit\nthat these sentiments must be capable of being justified by reason. An\natheist or a sceptic cannot do this. If a man is essentially the same with\na pig, there cannot be any reason for treating him otherwise than as a\npig. Our natural sentiments, which revolt against the practical\nconsequences of the degrading doctrine of atheism, prove that it is\ncontrary to nature, and therefore false. It is because our nature is\nrational and immortal that we owe to ourselves and our fellows those\nobligations and charities which are not due to the brutes; that life,\nchastity, property, honor, love and friendship, promises and engagements,\npolitical, social, and personal rights of all kinds, are to be respected\nand held sacred. Our rational and immortal nature cannot exist except by\nparticipation from God, and its constitutive principle is the capacity to\nknow God and recognize his law as our supreme rule. The obligation of\ndoing that which is just and honorable is derived from that law. Our own\nrights and the rights of our neighbor are inviolable, because God has\ngiven them. They are the rights of God, as that great philosopher Dr.\nBrownson has so frequently and conclusively proved. God, as our lawgiver,\nmust necessarily give us a law which is plain and certain. It can be no\nother than the Christian law. And every one who has been instructed in the\nCatholic faith must see that Christianity and the Christian law are\nguaranteed, defined, proclaimed, and enforced on the conscience by the\nauthority of the church.\n\nLet him reject that authority, and he has disowned God; and by so doing\nhas taken away the basis of virtue. Self\u2010interest, sentiment, and human\ninstincts are no sufficient support for it. For, although our temporal\ninterests coincide in great part with the claims of virtue, and natural\nsentiments and instincts are radically good, we are subject to inordinate\nand even violent passions. Take away the fear of God, and the passions\nwill sweep away all slighter barriers. Pride and concupiscence will assert\ntheir sway, make a wreck of virtue, and eventually destroy even our\nearthly and temporal happiness.\n\nEven with all the power and influence which religion can exercise over men\nunder the most favorable circumstances, there is enough of sin and misery\nin the world; but what are we to expect if atheism should prevail? The\npractical atheism, or, to speak Saxon, the ungodliness of the age, has\nproduced enough of bitter and deadly fruit to give us a taste of the\nentertainment which is awaiting us if the time ever comes when the power\nwhich religion still retains is altogether taken away. We do not need to\nrefer to the pages of professed moralists, or to quote sermons on this\ntopic. It is enough to take what we find in the works of those masterly\nnovelists who describe and satirize the crimes and follies of modern\nsociety and depict its tragic miseries, and what we read every day in the\nnewspapers. The intrigues, villanies, swindlings, divorces, murders, and\nsuicides which blacken the record of each passing month, and the hidden,\nuntold tragedies going on perpetually in private life, give us proof\nenough of the ravages which the passions of fallen, weak human nature will\nmake when all fear of God is removed, and they are left uncontrolled by\nanything stronger than self\u2010interest, and physical coercion in the hands\nof the civil power. No one who casts off all faith in God, allegiance to\nhis authority, and fear of his just retribution, can foresee what he\nhimself may become, or what he may do before his life is ended. The\nnatural virtues, the intellectual gifts, the education, refinement,\nelevated sentiments, and pure affections which such a person may possess\nin youth, whether it be a young man or a young woman, are no sure\nguarantee or safeguard, even in a religious and moral community. Much less\nare they in one which is wholly irreligious. No one knows, therefore, how\nwicked he may become, or how miserable he may make himself. Still less can\nany one foresee what treachery, cruelty, and ingratitude, what bitter\nsufferings, and what ruin, may await him at the hands of others, if he is\nto be a member of a great infidel or atheist family which he has helped to\nform. He will be like the unhappy Alpine tourist who fell down from the\nMatterhorn, dragging with him and dragged by his companions from his\ndangerous foothold, and all dashed in pieces in the abyss beneath.\n\nLet any one who has been brought up in the enjoyment of those advantages\nwhich give decorum, charm, and refined pleasure to life\u2014and who wishes and\nexpects to possess the same in the future which he looks forward to in\nthis world, with a zest and freedom increased by the riddance of all fear\nof God\u2014think for a moment about one very important question. To what is he\nindebted for the blessings he has already enjoyed, and to what can he look\nfor those he is expecting? In order that he should have a happy home, his\nparents must fulfil all the obligations of the conjugal and parental\nrelations. If he is born to wealth, his father has had to work for him, or\nat least to take care of his property. If he has had a good mother, it is\nneedless to expatiate on all that a woman must be, must do, and must\nsuffer, to give a child such a blessing as that which is expressed by the\ntender and holy name of mother. For his education, how many noble and\ndisinterested men have toiled, how many generous sacrifices of time, and\nlabor, and money have been required! To create the nation which gives him\nthe advantages of political order, the civilization which gives him a\nsociety to live in, the arts which minister to his higher tastes and\npersonal comforts, how many causes have concurred together, what a\nmultitude of the most noble, self\u2010sacrificing, heroic exertions of genius,\nphilanthropy, patriotism, fructified by a plentiful besprinkling of the\nblood of just and faithful men, have been necessary through long ages of\ntime! In his ideal of a happy life, which he hopes for in this world, what\na multitude of things he requires which presuppose the fidelity of\nthousands of persons to those obligations and relations of life on which\nhe is dependent as an individual. His bride must bring to the nuptial\nfeast her virgin purity, and keep her wedding\u2010ring unbroken and undimmed.\nHis children must be such as a father\u2019s heart can regard with pride and\njoy. Those with whom he has relations of business must act with honesty\nand integrity. He must have good servants to work for him, and hundreds of\nskilful and industrious hands must minister to his wants or caprices.\nSociety must be kept in order, the machinery of the world must be kept\ngoing, the law must protect his life and property, and the majority of his\nfellow\u2010men must remain content with a lot of hard work and poverty, that\nhe may enjoy his dignity, leisure, splendor, and comfort in peace and\nsecurity.\n\nNow it is a simple fact, that the principles and laws which have wrought\nout whatever is high and excellent in modern civilization, have been\nderived from the Christian religion. The public, social, and private\nvirtues which alone preserve society from corruption and extinction, are\nthe fruit either of religious conscientiousness, or of the influence of\nreligion on the natural conscience of those who live in the atmosphere\nwhich it has purified and irradiated. There has never been such a thing as\nhuman society founded on atheism; and when atheism, practical or\ntheoretical, has begun to prevail in any community, it has begun to\nperish. Whoever tampers with that poison is preparing suicide for himself,\nand death for all around him that is living. A large dose will kill at\nonce all that is capable of death in a soul which is, in spite of itself,\nimmortal. The slow sipping of small doses will gradually produce the same\neffect. The general distribution of the poison will destroy more or less\nrapidly the vital principle of the family, of society, of the state, of\nhuman civilization. Human beings cannot live together in peace and order,\nin love and friendship, in mutual truth and fidelity, in happiness and\nprosperity, if they believe that they are mere animals, whose only good is\nthe brief pleasure which can be snatched from the present life. Even the\nimperfect amity and good\u2010fellowship, the lower grade of society, the\ninferior well\u2010being and enjoyment, the faint dim similitude of the\nrational order which exists among the irrational animals, cannot be\nattained by the human race when it strives to degenerate itself to the\nlevel of the brute creation. The irrepressible, inextinguishable, violent\nappetite for a satisfying good, when it is defrauded of its true object\nand turned away from its legitimate end, becomes a devastating tornado of\npassion. There is too much suffering, and too small a supply of sensible\nenjoyment in human life, to allow mankind to be quiet, and to agree\ntogether amicably in the relations of civilized society, in the common\npursuit of temporal happiness. Pride and concupiscence are as insatiable\nas the grave and as cruel as death. The fear of God can alone restrain\nthem. Take that away from the individual, and he will be faithless to the\nduties of life, friendship, honesty, patriotism, philanthropy, to his\nnobler instincts, his higher sentiments, his ideal standard of good, in\nproportion as his passions gain power over him. Take it away from the\nfamily and the social order, and mutual faithlessness, breeding mutual\nhatred and warfare, will be the result. Take it away from the masses of\nmen, and the commune will come, the maddened rabble will rush for the\ncoveted possessions of the smaller number who appear to have exclusive\npossession of the real good, and at last all will be resolved into a state\nof barbarism in which the race will become extinct.\n\nThis will never take place; for the church and religion of Jesus Christ\nare imperishable, and God will bring the world to a sudden end before the\nhuman race has had time to destroy itself. But such is the tendency of the\ninfidelity and atheism of the age. Whoever turns his back on Christianity\nis a partaker in this tendency, and a companion of that band of\nconspirators against religion and society whose end is more infernal and\nwhose means are more cruel than those of the Thugs of India.\n\n\n\n\nNumber Thirteen. An Episode Of The Commune. Concluded.\n\n\nThere was music enough chiming at No. 13 to keep a choir of angels busy.\nMme. de Chanoir, with the petulance of weakness, grumbled unceasingly,\nlamenting the miseries of her own position, altogether ignoring the fact\nthat it was no worse, but in some ways better, than that of those around\nher, whinging and whining from morning till night, pouring out futile\ninvectives against the Prussians, the Emperor, the Republic, General\nTrochu, and everybody and everything remotely conducive to her sufferings.\nShe threatened to let herself die of hunger rather than touch horse\u2010flesh,\nand for some days she so perseveringly held to her determination that\nAline was terrified, and believed she would hold it to the end. The only\nthing that remained to the younger sister of any value was her mother\u2019s\nwatch, a costly little gem, with the cipher set in brilliants; it had been\nher grandfather\u2019s wedding present to his daughter\u2010in\u2010law. Aline took it to\nthe jeweller who had made it, and sold it for one hundred and fifty\nfrancs. With this she bought a ham and a few other delicacies that tempted\nMme. de Chanoir out of her suicidal abstinence; she ate heartily, neither\nasking nor guessing at what price the dainties had been bought; and Aline,\nonly too glad to have had the sacrifice to make, said nothing of what it\nhad cost her. Gradually everything went that could be sold or exchanged\nfor food. Aline would have lived on the siege bread, and never repined,\nhad she been alone, but it went to her heart to hear the never\u2010ending\ncomplaints of Mme. de Chanoir, to see her childish indignation at the\ngreat public disasters which her egotism contracted into direct personal\ngrievances. Fortunately for herself, Mlle. de Lemaque was not a constant\nwitness of the irritating scene. From nine in the morning till late in the\nevening she was away at the Ambulance, active and helpful, and cheering\nmany a heavy heart and aching head by her bright and gentle ministry, and\nforgetting her own sufferings in the effort to alleviate greater ones.\n\n\u201cIf you only could come with me, F\u00e9licit\u00e9, and see something of the\nmiseries our poor soldiers are enduring, it would make your own seem\nlight,\u201d she often said to Mme. de Chanoir, when, on coming home from her\nlabor of love, she was met by the unreasonable grumbling of the invalid;\n\u201cit is such a delight to feel one\u2019s self a comfort and a help to them. I\ndon\u2019t know how I am ever to settle down to the make\u2010believe work of\nteaching after this long spell of real work.\u201d\n\nShe enjoyed the work so much, in fact, that, if it had not been for the\nsufferings, real and imaginary, of her sister, this would have been the\nhappiest time she had known since her school days. The make\u2010believe work,\nas Aline called it, which had hitherto filled her time had never filled\nher heart. It was a means of living that kept her brains and her hands at\nwork, nothing more; and it had often been a source of wonder to her in her\nbusiest days to feel herself sometimes seized with _ennui_. That trivial,\nhackneyed word hardly, perhaps, expresses the void, the sort of hunger\u2010\npang, that more and more frequently of late years had made her soul ache\nand yearn, but now the light seemed to break upon her, and she understood\nwhy it had been so. The work itself was too superficial, too external. It\nhad overrun her life without satisfying it; it had not penetrated the\nsurface, and brought out the best and deepest resources of her mind and\nheart\u2014it had only broken the crust, and left the soil below untilled. She\nhad flitted like a butterfly from one study to another; history, and\nliterature, and music had attracted her by turns; she had gone into them\nenthusiastically, mastered their difficulties, and appropriated their\nbeauties; but after a time the spell waned, and she glided imperceptibly\ninto the dry mechanism of the thing, and went on giving her lesson because\nit brought her so much a _cachet_. But this work of a Sister of Mercy was\na different sort of life altogether. The enthusiasm, instead of waning,\ngrew as she went on. At first, the prosaic details, the foul air, the\nphysical fatigue and moral strain of the sick\u2010nurse\u2019s life were\nunspeakably repugnant to her; her natural fastidiousness turned from them\nin disgust, and she would have thrown it all up after the first week but\nfor sheer human respect; she persevered, however, and at the end of a\nfortnight she had grown interested in her patients; by degrees she got\nreconciled to the obnoxious duties their state demanded of her; and before\na month had passed it had become a ministry of love, and her whole soul\nhad thrown itself into the perfect performance of her duties. She was\noften tired and faint on leaving the Ambulance, but she always left it\nwith regret, and the evident zest and gladness of heart with which she set\nout each morning became at last a grievance in the eyes of her sister.\nMme. de Chanoir vented her discontent by harping all the time of breakfast\non the hard\u2010heartedness of some people who could look at wounds and all\nsorts of horrors without flinching; whereas the very sight of a drop of\nblood made her almost faint; but then she was so constituted as to feel\nother people\u2019s wounds as if they were her own; it was a great misfortune;\nshe envied people who had hard hearts; it certainly enabled them to do\nmore, while she could only weep and pity. Aline bore the querulous\nreproaches as cheerfully as if she had been blessed with one of those\nhearts of stone that Mme. de Chanoir so envied. She had the indulgence of\na happy heart, and she had found the secret of making her life a poem. But\nthe nurse\u2019s courage was greater than her strength. After the first three\nmonths, material privations, added to arduous attendance on the sick and\nwounded, began to tell; her health showed signs of rebellion.\n\nM. Dalibouze was the first to notice it. He came regularly on the Saturday\nevenings as of old; his age exempted him from the terrible outpost work on\nthe ramparts; and he profited by the circumstance to keep up, as far as\npossible, his ordinary habits and enjoyments, \u201c_afin de soutenir le\nmorale_,\u201d as he said. When he noticed this change in Aline, he immediately\nused his privilege of friend of the family to interfere; he begged her to\nmodify her zeal for the poor sufferers at the Ambulance, and to consider\nhow precious her life was to her sister and her friends.\n\nAline took the advice very kindly, but assured him that, far from wearing\nout her strength as he supposed, her work was the only thing that\nsustained it. The tone in which she said this convinced him it was the\ntruth. It then occurred to him that her pallor and languid step must be\ncaused by the unhealthy diet of the siege. Everybody suffered in a more or\nless degree; but, as it always happens, those who suffered most said least\nabout it. The _gros rentier_, who fared sumptuously on kangaroo, and\nChinese puppies, and elephant at a hundred francs a pound, talked loud\nabout the miseries of starvation which he underwent for the sake of his\ncountry; but the _petit rentier_, whose modest meal had long since been\nreplaced by a scanty ration of horse\u2010flesh, and that only to be had by\n\u201cmaking tail,\u201d as they call it, for hours at the butchers shop\u2014the _petit\nrentier_ said very little. He was perishing slowly off the face of the\nearth; but, with the pride of poverty strong in death, he gathered his\nrags around him, and made ready to die in silence.\n\nIt was on such people as Mme. de Chanoir and her sister that the siege\npressed hardest; their _concierge_ was far better off than they; she could\nclaim her _bons_, and fight for her rations; and she had fifteen sous a\nday as the wife of a National Guard.\n\nAs to Mme. Cl\u00e9ry, she proved herself equal to the occasion. She had no\nNational Guard to fall back upon, but she was sustained by the thought\nthat she was suffering for her country; she, too, was a good patriot.\nPatriotism, however, has its limits of endurance, and hay bread was the\nborder line that Mme. Cl\u00e9ry\u2019s patriotism refused to pass. When the good\nbread was rationed, she showed signs of mutiny; but when it degenerated\ninto that hideous compound, of which we have all seen specimens, her\nindignation declared itself in open rage. \u201cWhat is this?\u201d she cried, when\nthe first loaf was handed to her after three hours\u2019 waiting. \u201cAre we\ncattle, to eat hay?\u201d And, breaking the tawny, spongy lumps in two, she\npulled out a long bit of the offensive weed, and held it up to the scorn\nof the _queue_.\n\nAs to Mme. de Chanoir, when she saw it she went into hysterics for the\nrest of the day. But Providence was mindful of No. 13. Just at this\ncrisis, when Aline\u2019s altered looks aroused her sister from the selfish\ncontemplation of her own ailments and wants, M. Dalibouze arrived early\none morning soon after Mme. de Lemaque had started for the Ambulance, and\nannounced that he had received the opportune present of a number of hams,\ntins of preserved meat, condensed milk, and an indefinite number of pots\nof jam. It was three times as much as he could consume before the siege\nwas raised\u2014for raised it infallibly would be, and, if he were not greatly\nmistaken, within forty\u2010eight hours\u2014so he begged Mme. la G\u00e9n\u00e9rale to do him\nthe favor of accepting the surplus.\n\nMme. de Chanoir, with infantine simplicity, believed this credible story,\nand did M. Dalibouze the favor he requested. So, thanks to his generous\nfriend, the professor in turn became the benefactor of the two sisters,\nand had the delight of seeing Aline revive on the substantial fare that\narrived so apropos. Well, it came at last, the end of the _blocus_; not,\nindeed, as M. Dalibouze had prognosticated. But that was not his fault. He\nhad not reckoned with treachery. He could not suspect what a brood of\ntraitors the glorious capital of civilization was nourishing in her\npatriotic bosom. But wait a little! It would be made square yet. Europe\nwould see France rise by\u2010and\u2010by, like the Ph\u0153nix from her ashes, and\nspread her wings, and take a flight that would astonish the world. As to\nthe Prussians, those vile vandals, whose greasy moustaches were not fit to\nbrush the boots of Paris, let them bide a while, and they shall see what\nthey should see!\n\nThus did M. Dalibouze _resumer la situation_, while Paris on her knees\nwaited humbly the terms that Prussia might dictate as the price of a loaf\nof bread for her starving patriots.\n\nBut the worst was to come yet. Hardly had the little _m\u00e9nage_ at No. 13\ndrawn a long breath of relief after the prolonged miseries and terrors of\nthe siege, than that saturnalia, the like of which assuredly the world\nnever saw before, and let us hope never will again, the Commune, began.\nLike a fiery flood it rose in Paris, and rose and rose till the red wave\nswept from end to end of the city, spreading desolation and terror\neverywhere, and making the respectable party of order long to call back\nthe Prussians, and help them out of the mess. How it began, and grew, and\nended we have heard till we know the miserable story by heart. I am not\ngoing to tell it here. The Commune is only the last episode in the history\nof No. 13.\n\nThere was work to do and plenty in binding the wounds and smoothing the\npillows of dying men, and words to be spoken that dying ears are open to\nwhen spoken in Christian love. Aline de Lemaque\u2019s courage did not fail her\nin this last and fearful ordeal. She resumed her duties as Sister of\nMercy, asked no questions as to the politics of the wounded men, but did\nthe best she could for them. Mme. de Chanoir could not understand how her\nsister spent her time and service on Red Republicans; the sooner the race\ndied out, the better, and it was not the work of a Christian to preserve\nthe lives of such snakes and fiends.\n\n\u201cThere are dupes and victims as well as fiends among them,\u201d Aline assured\nher; \u201cand those who are guilty are the most to be pitied.\u201d After a time,\nhowever, the dangers attendant on going into the streets became so great\nthat Aline was forced to remain indoors. Barricades were thrown up in\nevery direction, and made the circulation a dangerous and almost\nimpracticable feat to members of the party of order. The Rue Royale, which\nhad been safe during the first siege, was now a threatened centre of\naccumulated danger. It was armed to the teeth. The Faubourg end of it was\nbarred by a stone barricade that might have passed for a fortress\u2014a wall\nof heavy masonry weighted with cannon, two black giants that lay couched\nlike monster slugs peeping through a hedge. But after those terrible weeks\nthere came at last the final tug, the troops came in, and Greek met Greek.\nShell and shot rained on the city like hailstones. The great black slugs\ngave tongue, bellowing with unintermitting fury; all round them came\nresponsive roars from barricades and batteries; it was the discord of hell\nbroke upward through the earth, and echoing through the streets of Paris.\n\nAline de Lemaque and her sister sat in the little saloon at No. 13,\nlistening to the war\u2010dogs without, and straining their ears to catch every\nsound that shot up with any significant distinctness from the chaos of\nnoise. Mme. Cl\u00e9ry was with them; she stayed altogether at No. 13 now,\nsleeping on the sofa at night. It would have been impossible for her to\ncome and go twice a day while the city was in this state of commotion. To\u2010\nday the old woman could not keep quiet; she was constantly up and down to\nthe _concierge\u2019s_ lodge to pick up any stray report that came through the\nchinks of the _porte\u2010coch\u00e8re_. Once she went down and remained so long\nthat the sisters were uneasy. An explosion had reverberated through the\nstreet, shaking the house from cellar to garret, and, like an electric\nshock, flinging both the sisters on their knees simultaneously. Mme. de\nChanoir\u2019s spine had recovered itself within the last week as if by magic.\nShe had abandoned her usual recumbent position, and came and went about\nthe house like the rest of them. If the Commune did nothing else, it did\nthis. We must give the devil his due.\n\n\u201cF\u00e9licit\u00e9, I must go and see what it is. I hear groans close under the\nwindow; perhaps a shell has fallen in the court and killed her,\u201d said\nAline. And, rising, she turned to go.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t leave me! For the love of heaven, don\u2019t leave me alone, Aline!\u201d\nimplored her sister. \u201cI\u2019ll die with terror if that comes again while I\u2019m\nhere by myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome with me, then,\u201d said Aline. And, taking her sister\u2019s hand, they went\ndown together.\n\nMme. Cl\u00e9ry was not killed. This fact was made clear to them at once by the\nspectacle of the old woman standing in the _porte\u2010coch\u00e8re_, and shaking\nher fist vehemently at somebody or something at the further end of it.\n\n\u201cStay here,\u201d said Aline to Mme. de Chanoir, motioning her back into the\nhouse. \u201cI will see what it is; and if you can do anything I\u2019ll call you.\u201d\n\nIt was the _concierge_ that Mme. Cl\u00e9ry was apostrophizing. And this was\nwhy: a shell had burst, not in the yard, as the sisters fancied, but in\nthe street just outside, and the explosion was followed by a shriek and a\nloud blow at the door, while something like a body fell heavily against\nit.\n\n\u201c_Cordon!_\u201d cried Mme. Cl\u00e9ry; \u201cit is some unfortunate hit by the shell.\u201d\n\n\u201cMore likely a communist coming to pillage and burn. I\u2019ll _cordon_ to none\nof \u2019em!\u201d declared the _concierge_. \u201cThe door is locked; if they want to\nget in, they may blow it open.\u201d But Mme. Cl\u00e9ry flew at her throat, and\nswore, if she didn\u2019t give up the key, she, Mme. Cl\u00e9ry, would know the\nreason why. The _concierge_ groaned, and felt, in bitterness of spirit,\nwhat a difficult task the _cordon_ was. But she opened the door; under it\nlay two wounded men, both of them young; one was evidently dying; he had\nbeen mortally struck by a fragment of the shell that had burst over the\nthick oaken door and dealt death around and in front of it. The other was\nwounded, too, but much less seriously; he had been flung down by his\ncompanion, and the shock of the fall, more than his wound, had stunned\nhim. Mme. Cl\u00e9ry dragged them in under the shelter of the _porte\u2010coch\u00e8re_,\nand proposed laying them on the floor of the lodge. But the _concierge_\nhad no mind to take in a dead and a dying man, and vowed she would not\nhave her lodge turned into a coffin. The dispute was waxing warm, Mme.\nCl\u00e9ry threatening muscular argument, when Aline made her appearance. Her\ntraining in the Ambulance stood her in good stead now.\n\n\u201cPoor fellow! He will give no more trouble to any one,\u201d she said, after\nfeeling the pulse of the first, and laying her hand for a moment on his\nheart; \u201cbring a cloth, and cover his face; he must lie here till he can be\nremoved.\u201d\n\nThe _concierge_ obeyed her. They composed the features, and laid the body\nunder cover of the gateway.\n\nAline then examined the other. His arm was badly wounded. While she was\nstill probing the wound, the man opened his eyes, stared round him for a\nmoment with a speculative gaze of returning consciousness, made a\nspasmodic effort to rise, but fell back at once. \u201cYou are wounded\u2014not\nseverely, I hope,\u201d said Aline; \u201cbut you must not attempt to move till we\nhave dressed your arm.\u201d\n\nShe despatched Mme. Cl\u00e9ry for the box containing her ambulance appliances,\nlint, bandages, etc., and then, with an expertness that would have done\ncredit to a medical student, she washed and dressed the shattered limb,\nwhile Mme. de Chanoir watched the operation in shuddering excitement\nthrough the glass door at the foot of the stairs. What to do next was the\npuzzle. The _concierge_ resolutely refused to let him into her lodge;\nthere was no knowing who or what he was, and she was a lone woman, and had\nno mind to compromise herself by taking in bad characters. The poor fellow\nwas so much exhausted from loss of blood that he certainly could not help\nhimself, and it would have been cruel to leave him down in the courtyard,\nwhere his unfortunate comrade was lying dead within sight of him. Aline\nsaw there was nothing for it but to take him up to their own apartment.\nHow to get him there was the difficulty. He looked about six feet long,\nand might have weighed any number of stone. She and Mme. Cl\u00e9ry could never\nsucceed in carrying him. He had not spoken while she was dressing his arm,\nbut lay so still with his eyes closed that they thought he had fainted.\n\n\u201cWe must carry him,\u201d said Aline in a determined voice, and beckoned the\n_concierge_ to come and help.\n\nBut before proceeding to the gigantic enterprise, Mme. Cl\u00e9ry poured out a\ntumbler of wine, which she had had the wit to bring down with the lint\u2010\nbox, and held it to the sufferer\u2019s lips, while Aline supported his head\nagainst her knee. He drank it with avidity, and the draught seemed to\nrevive him instantaneously; he sat up leaning on his right arm.\n\n\u201cWe are going to carry you up\u2010stairs, _mon petit_,\u201d said Mme. Cl\u00e9ry,\npatting him on the shoulder with the patronizing manner an amazon might\nhave assumed towards a dwarf.\n\n\u201c_You_ carry me!\u201d said the young man, measuring the short, trim figure of\nthe charwoman with a sceptical twinkle in his eyes: they were dark\u2010gray\neyes, particularly clear, and piercing.\n\n\u201cMe and Mlle. Aline,\u201d said Mme. Cl\u00e9ry, in a tone that testified against\nthe supercilious way in which her measure was being taken.\n\nAline was behind him. He turned to look at her with a jest on his lips,\nbut, changing his mind apparently, he bowed; then, with a resolute effort,\nhe bent forward, and, before either she or Mme. Cl\u00e9ry could interfere, he\nwas on his feet. It was well, however, they were both within reach of him,\nfor he staggered, and must have fallen but for their prompt assistance.\n\n\u201cLa!\u201d said Mme. Cl\u00e9ry, \u201cwhat it is to be proud! Lean on Mlle. Aline and\nme, and try and get up\u2010stairs without breaking your neck.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is the fortune of war,\u201d said the gentleman laughing, and accepting the\nshoulder that Aline turned towards him.\n\nThey accomplished the ascent in safety, and then, in spite of his\nassertion that he was all right now, Mme. de Chanoir insisted on their\nguest lying down on her sofa while the charwoman prepared some food for\nhim. But safety, in truth, was nowhere. The fighting grew brisker from\nminute to minute. The troops were in possession of the neighboring\nstreets; they had taken the Federals in the rear, and were mowing them\ndown like corn. The struggle could not last much longer, but it was\ndesperate, and the loss of life, already appalling, must be still greater\nbefore it ended. The stranger who had introduced himself so unexpectedly\nto No. 13 had formed one of the party of order, he told his good\nSamaritans, who had gone unarmed, with a flag of truce, to the Federals in\nthe Rue de la Paix; he had seen the ghastly butchery that followed, and\nonly escaped as if by miracle himself; he had fought as a _mobile_ against\nthe Prussians, and received a sabre\u2010cut in the head, which had kept him in\nthe hospital for weeks; he had, of course, refused to join the Federals,\nand it was at the risk of his life that he showed himself abroad in Paris;\njust now he had been making an attempt to join the troops, when that shell\nburst, and stopped him in his venturesome career. All day and all night\nthe four inmates of the little _entresol_ waited and watched in breathless\nanxiety for the close of the battle that was raging around them. It never\nflagged for an instant, and as it went on the noise grew louder and more\nbewildering, the tocsin rang from every belfry in the city, the drum beat\nto arms in every direction, the chassepots hissed, the cannon boomed, and\nyells and shrieks of fratricidal murder filled the air, mingling with the\nsmell and smoke of blood and powder. It was a night that drove hundreds\nmad who lived through it. Yet the worst was still to come. Late the next\nafternoon, Aline, who was constantly at the window, peeping from behind\nthe mattress stuffed into it to protect them from the shells, thought she\ndiscovered something in the atmosphere indicative of a change of some\nsort. She said nothing, but slipped out of the room, and ran up to a\nbull\u2019s\u2010eye at the top of the house that served as a sort of observatory to\nthose who had the courage of their curiosity, as the French put it, and\nventured their heads for a moment to the mercy of the missiles flying\namongst the chimney\u2010pots. It was an awful sight that met her. A fire was\nraging close to the house. Where it began and ended it was impossible to\nsay, but clearly it was of immense magnitude, and blazed with a fury that\nthreatened to spread the flames far and wide. She stood rooted to the\nspot, literally paralyzed with horror. Were they to be burnt to death,\nafter living through such miseries, and escaping death in so many shapes?\nYet how could they escape it? There were barricades on every side of them;\nif they were not shot down like dogs, which was the most likely event,\nthey would never be allowed to pass. All this rushed through her mind as\nshe gazed in blank despair out of the little bull\u2019s\u2010eye, that embraced the\nwhole area of the Rue Royale and the adjacent streets. As yet, there was a\nspace between the fire and No. 13. Mercifully, there was no wind, and she\nsaw by the swaying of the flames that they drew rather towards the\nMadeleine than in the direction of the Rue de Rivoli. Flight was a forlorn\nhope, but still they must try it. She turned abruptly from the window, and\nwas crossing the room, when a loud crash made her heart leap. She looked\nback. The roof of another house, one nearer to No. 13, had fallen in, and\nthe flames, leaping through like rattlesnakes out of a bag, sprang at the\nsky, writhing and hissing as they licked it with their long red tongues.\n\n\u201cO God, have pity on us!\u201d\n\nAline fell on her knees for one moment, and then hurried down to the\n_salon_.\n\n\u201cWe must leave this at once,\u201d she said, speaking calmly, but with white\nlips; \u201cthe street is on fire.\u201d\n\nM. Varlay, _citoyen_ Varlay, as he gave his name, started to his feet,\nand, pulling the mattress from the window, looked out. He saw the flames\nabove the house\u2010top.\n\n\u201cLet us go, with the help of God!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cWe must make for the Rue\nde Rivoli!\u201d\n\nMme. de Chanoir and the charwoman, as soon as they caught sight of the\nfire, shrieked in chorus, and made a headlong rush at the stairs.\n\n\u201cYou must be quiet, madame!\u201d cried M. Varlay in a tone that arrested both\nthe women; \u201cif we lose our presence of mind, we had better stay where we\nare. Have you any valuables, papers or money, that you can take in your\npocket?\u201d he said, turning to Aline. She alone had not lost her head.\n\nYes; there were a few letters of her parents, and some trinkets, valuable\nonly as souvenirs, which she had had the forethought to put together. She\ntook them quickly, and the four went down the stairs. There was no one in\nthe lodge. The _concierge_ had taken refuge in her cellar, and her husband\nwas supposed to be saving France somewhere else. Mme. Cl\u00e9ry pulled the\nstring, and the little band sallied forth into the street. The air was so\nthick they could hardly see their way, except for the fiery forks of flame\nthat shot up successively through the fog, illuminating dark spots with a\nmomentary lurid brightness, while now and then the crash of a roof or a\nheavy beam was followed by a pillar of sparks that went rattling up into\nthe sky like a fountain of rockets. The Babel of drums, and bells, and\nartillery added to the confusion of the scene as the fugitives hurried on\nsingly under the shadow of the houses. They fared safely out of the Rue\nRoyale and turned to the left. The Tuileries was enveloped in smoke, but\nthe flames were nearly spent, only here and there a tongue of fire crept\nout of a crevice, licked the wall, twisted and twirled, and drew in again.\nA crowd was gathered under the portico of the Rue de Rivoli, watching the\nlast throes of the conflagration, and discussing many questions in excited\ntones. Our travellers pushed on, and came unmolested to the corner of the\nRue St. Florentine, where a sentry levelled his bayonet before them, and\ncried \u201cHalt!\u201d Mme. de Chanoir, who walked first, answered by a scream.\n_Citoyen_ Varlay, laying his hand on her shoulder, drew her quickly behind\nhim. \u201cStand here while I speak to him,\u201d he said, and he advanced to parley\nwith the Federal, at the same time putting his hand into his pocket. They\nhad not exchanged half a dozen words when the sentinel shouldered his\nchassepot, and said:\n\n\u201cQuick, then, pass along!\u201d\n\nVarlay stood for the women to pass first. Mme. de Chanoir and the\ncharwoman rushed on, but no sooner had they stepped into the street than,\nclasping their hands, they fell upon their knees with a cry of agonized\nterror. The sight that met them was indeed enough to make a brave heart\nquail. To the left, extending right across the street, rose a barricade, a\nfortress rather, surmounted at either end by two warriors of the Commune,\nbending over a cannon as if in the very act of firing; in the centre two\namazon _p\u00e9troleuses_ stood with chassepots slung _en baudeli\u00e8re_ and red\nrags in their hands that they waved aloft proudly like women who felt that\nthe eyes of Europe were upon them; the intermediate space on either side\nof them was filled up with soldiers planted singly or in groups, and\n_pos\u00e9d_ in the attitudes of men whom forty centuries look down upon. Just\nas Mme. de Chanoir and her _bonne_ came in front of the terrible _mise\u2010en\u2010\nsc\u00eane_, and before they could go backward or forward, the word _Fire!_\nrang out from the fortress, two matches flashed in the hands of the\ngunners, and the women dropped to the ground with a shriek that would have\nwaked the dead.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter now?\u201d cried the sentinel.\n\n\u201cThey are going to fire!\u201d\n\n\u201cImbeciles! No, they are going to be photographed!\u201d(112)\n\nAnd so they were. A photographic battery was set up against the railings\nopposite. Aline and _citoyen_ Varlay seized the two half\u2010fainting women by\nthe arm, and dragged them across and out of the range of the formidable\n_tableau vivant_. Meanwhile, the fire was gaining on No. 13. The house\nthree doors down from it was _flamb\u00e9e_. It had been deserted the day\nbefore by all its occupants, save one family composed of a husband and\nwife, who had obstinately refused to believe in the danger till it was too\nlate to evade it. They were friends of M. Dalibouze\u2019s and the professor\nturned in to see them this morning on his way to No. 13. \u201cThe situation\nwas a difficult one,\u201d he said; \u201cit were foolhardy to defy it, and the time\nwas come when good citizens should save themselves.\u201d He convinced M. and\nMme. X\u2014\u2014 that this was the only reasonable thing to do. So casting a last\nlook at their belongings, they sallied forth from their home accompanied\nby their servant, an _ex\u2010sapeur_, too old for military service, but as\nhale and hearty as a youth of twenty. The professor had got in by a\nbackway from the Faubourg St. Honor\u00e9, and thither he led his friends now;\nbut, though less than fifteen minutes had elapsed since he had entered,\nthe passage was already blocked: part of the wall had fallen and stopped\nit up. There was nothing for it but to go boldly out by the front door,\nand trust to Providence. But they reckoned without the _p\u00e9troleuses_.\nThose zealous daughters of the Commune, braving the shot, and the shell,\nand the vengeful flames of their own creation, sped from door to door,\npouring the terrible fluid into holes and corners, through the gratings of\ncellars, under the doors, through the chinks of the windows, everywhere,\ndancing, and singing, and laughing all the time like tigers in human\nshape\u2014tigers gone mad with fire and blood. When the _sapeur_ opened the\ndoor, he beheld a group of them on the _trottoir_; one was rolling a\nbarrel of petroleum on to the next house, another was steeping rags in a\nbarrel already half empty, and handing them as fast as she could to\nothers, who stuffed them into appropriate places, and set a light to them;\nevery flame that rose was hailed by a shout of demoniacal exultation. The\n_sapeur_ banged the door in their faces.\n\n\u201cWe must set to work, and cut a hole through the wall,\u201d he said; \u201cit\u2019s the\nlast chance left us.\u201d\n\nNo sooner said than done. He knew where to lay his hands on a couple of\ncrowbars and a pickaxe; the professor fired the contents of his chassepot\nat the wall, and then the three men went at it, and worked as men do when\ndeath is behind them and life before. It was an old house, built chiefly\nof stone and mortar, very little iron, and it yielded quickly to the\nhammering blows of the workmen. A breach was made\u2014a small one, but big\nenough to let a man crawl through. M. X\u2014\u2014 passed out first, and then\nhelped out his wife. M. Dalibouze and the _sapeur_ followed. They hurried\nthrough the next apartment. M. Dalibouze reloaded his gun; whiz! whiz!\nwent the bullets; bang! bang! went the crowbars; down rattled the stones;\nanother breach was made, and again they were saved. Three times they\nfought their way through the walls, while the fire like a lava torrent\nrolled after them, and then they found themselves at No. 13. M.\nDalibouze\u2019s first thought was for the little apartment on the _entresol_\nat the other side. They made for it; but as they were crossing the court a\nblow, or rather a succession of blows, struck the great oak door; it\nopened like a nut, and fell in with a crash like thunder. The burglars\nbeheld M. Dalibouze in his National Guard costume scudding across the\nyard, and greeted him with howls like a troop of jackals. Whiz! went the\ngrape\u2010shot. M. Dalibouze fell.\n\nMme. X\u2014\u2014 and her husband had fallen back before the door gave way, and\nthus escaped observation. No one was left but the old _sapeur_.\n\n\u201cWhat sort of work is this?\u201d he said, walking defiantly up to the\nmen\u2014there were five of them\u2014\u201cwhat do you mean by breaking into the houses\nof honest citizens?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou had better break out of this one if you don\u2019t want to grill,\u201d\nanswered one of the ruffians; \u201cwe are going to fire it, _par ordre de le\nCommune_.\u201d\n\nThe women had disappeared, and left their implements in the hands of the\nmen.\n\n\u201cOh! _par ordre de le Commune!_\u201d echoed the _sapeur_; \u201cthen I\u2019ve nothing\nto say; I hope they pay you well for the work?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot over and above for such work as it is,\u201d said one of the incendiaries,\nrolling a barrel into the concierge\u2019s lodge.\n\n\u201cHow much?\u201d\n\n\u201cTen francs apiece.\u201d\n\n\u201cTen francs for burning a house down! Pshaw! you\u2019re fools for your pains!\u201d\n\nThe _sapeur_ shrugged his shoulders, and, turning on his heels, walked\noff. Suddenly, as if a bright thought struck him, he turned back, and\nfaced them with his hands in his pockets.\n\n\u201cSuppose you got twenty for leaving it alone?\u201d\n\n\u201cTwenty apiece?\u201d\n\n\u201cTwenty apiece, every man of you!\u201d\n\nThey stopped their work, and looked from one to another.\n\n\u201c_Ma foi_, I\u2019d take it, and leave it alone!\u201d said one.\n\n\u201c_Pardie!_ we\u2019ve had enough of it, and, as the _citoyen_ says, it\u2019s\nbeggarly pay for the work,\u201d said another.\n\n\u201cDone!\u201d said the _sapeur_.(113)\n\nHe pulled out a leathern purse from his breast\u2010pocket, and counted out one\nhundred francs in five gold pieces to the five communists.\n\n\u201c_Une poign\u00e9e de main, citoyen!_\u201d said the first spokesmen. The others\nfollowed suit, and the _sapeur_, after heartily wringing the five rascally\nhands, sent them on their way rejoicing to the cabaret round the corner.\nThis is how No. 13 was saved. No. 11 was burnt to the ground, and then the\nfire stopped.\n\nBut to return to Aline and her friends. They got on well till they came to\nthe Rue d\u2019Alger, where they were caught in a panic, men, and women, and\nchildren struggling to get out of reach of the flames, and threatening to\ncrush each other to death in their terror. Our friends got clear of it,\nbut, on coming out of the _m\u00e9l\u00e9e_ at separate points, the sisters found\nthey had lost each other. Mme. de Chanoir had held fast by Mme. Cl\u00e9ry, and\nwas satisfied that Aline was safe under the wing of _citoyen_ Varlay. But\nshe was mistaken. He had indeed lifted her off the ground, holding her\nlike a child above the heads of the crowd, and so saved her from being\ntrampled under foot, most likely; but when he set her down, and Aline\nturned to speak to him, he was gone. It would have been madness to attempt\nto look for him in the _m\u00e9l\u00e9e_, so she determined to wait at the nearest\npoint of shelter, and then when the crowd dispersed they would be sure to\nmeet. She made for the door\u2010way of a mourning house at the corner of the\nRue St. Honor\u00e9. But she had not been many minutes there when she heard a\nhue and cry from the Tuileries end of the street, and a troop of men and\nwomen came flying along, driving some people before them, and firing at\nrandom as they went. The sensible thing for Aline to do was, of course, to\nflatten herself against the wall, and stay where she was, and of course\nshe did not do it. She saw a flock of people running, and she started from\nher hiding\u2010place, and turned and ran with them. They tore along the Rue\nSt. Honor\u00e9 till they came to the Rue Rohan; here the band broke up, and\nmany disappeared at opposite points; but one little group unluckily kept\ntogether, and, though diminished to a third its size at the starting\npoint, it still held in view, and gave chase to the pursuers. Mlle. de\nLemaque kept with this. On they flew like hares before the hounds, till,\nturning the corner of the Place du Palais Royal, they were stopped by two\nFederals, who levelled their chassepots and bade them stand. The fugitives\nturned, not like hares at bay to face the hunters and die, but to rush\ninto an open shop, and fall on their knees, and cry, \u201cMercy!\u201d\n\nThe Federals were after them in a second. Instead of shooting them right\noff, however, they set to discussing the propriety of taking them out and\nstanding them in regulation order, with their backs to the wall, and doing\nthe thing in a proper business\u2010like manner. While this parley was going\non, Aline de Lemaque cast a glance round her, and saw that her fellow\u2010\nvictims were two young lads and half a dozen women, all of them of the\nlower class apparently; most of them wore caps. The men who were making\nready to shoot them without rhyme or reason, as if they were so many rats,\nwere evidently of the very dregs of the Commune, and looked half\u2010drunk\nwith blood or wine, or both\u2014it was hard to say\u2014but there was no trace of\nmanhood left upon the faces that gave a hope that mercy had still a\nlurking\u2010place in their hearts. One of the women suddenly started to her\nfeet. \u201cWhat!\u201d she cried, \u201cyou call yourselves men, and you are going in\ncold blood to shoot unarmed women and boys? Shame on you for cowards!\nThere is not a man amongst you!\u201d\n\nShe snapped her fingers right into their faces with an impudence that was\npositively sublime. The cowards were taken aback. They looked at each\nother, and burst out laughing.\n\n\u201c_Sapristi!_ She\u2019s right,\u201d exclaimed one of them; \u201cthey\u2019re not worth\nwasting our powder on!\u201d\n\nLike lightning, the women were on their feet, fraternizing with the men,\nembracing, shaking hands, and swearing fraternity in true communistic\nfashion. Mlle. de Lemaque alone stood aloof, a silent, terror\u2010stricken\nspectator of the scene.\n\n\u201cWhat have we here? _Une canaille d\u2019aristocrate_, I\u2019ll be bound! It\u2019s\nwritten on her face,\u201d said one of the ruffians, seizing her by the arm;\n\u201clet us make away with her, comrades! It will be a good job for the\nRepublic to rid it of one more of the lazy aristos that live by the\n_ouvrier\u2019s_ meat.\u201d There was a lull in the kissing and hand\u2010shaking, and\nthey turned to stare at Aline. Her life hung by a thread. A timid word, a\nguilty look, and she was lost. But the soldier\u2019s blood rose up in her; she\nbethought her of her _abus_, and _lanc\u00e9d_ it.\n\n\u201cLazy!\u201d she cried; \u201cI am a soldier\u2019s daughter; my father fought for\nFrance, and left his children nothing but his sword; I work for my bread\nas hard as any of you!\u201d\n\nThe effect was galvanic; they gathered around her, shouting, \u201cBravo! Give\nus your hand, citoyenne!\u201d\n\nAnd Aline gave it, and, like the statesman who thanked God he had a\ncountry to sell, she blessed him that she had a hand to give.\n\n\u2014Blood ran like water in the sewers of Paris for a few days, and then the\ntroops were masters of the field, and order was restored\u2014restored so far\nas to enable honest men to sleep in their beds at night.\n\nMme. de Chanoir was back again in the little saloon at No. 13, and\ndiligently reading the newspaper aloud to a gentleman who was lying on the\nsofa near her; the _g\u00e9n\u00e9rale\u2019s_ spine complaint had been radically cured\nby the Commune, and she sat erect in a chair now like other people. The\ninvalid\u2019s face and head were so elaborately bandaged that it was\nimpossible to see what either were like, while his bodily proportions\ndisappeared altogether under a voluminous travelling\u2010rug. He listened for\nsome time without comment to the political tirade which Mme. de Chanoir\nwas reading to him, an invective against France, and her soldiers, and her\ngenerals, and the nation at large\u2014a sweeping anathema, in fact, of\neverything and everybody, till he could bear it no longer, and, sitting\nbolt upright, he exclaimed:\n\n\u201cMadame, the man who wrote that article is a traitor. France is greater\nto\u2010day in her unmerited misfortunes than she was in the apotheosis of her\nglory; she is more sublime in her widowed grief than her ignoble foe in\nhis barbarous successes! She is, in fact, still France. The situation is\ncompromised for a moment, but\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201c_L\u00e2, l\u00e2, voyons!_\u201d broke in Mme. Cl\u00e9ry, putting her head in at the door,\nand shaking the lid of a sauce\u2010pan at the invalid. \u201cHow is the _tisane_ to\ntake effect if you will talk politics and put yourself into a rage about\n_la situation_! Mme. _la G\u00e9n\u00e9rale_, make \u2019um keep still!\u201d\n\nThe _g\u00e9n\u00e9rale_ thus adjured laid down the newspaper, and gently insisted\non M. Dalibouze\u2019s resuming his horizontal position on the couch. Aline was\nnot there; she was off at her old work at the Ambulance again. The\nhospitals had been replenished to overflowing by the street\u2010fighting of\nthe last week of the Commune, _la d\u00e9nouement de la situation_, as M.\nDalibouze called it, and nurses were in great demand. _Citoyen_ Varlay had\nnot turned up since the night they had lost him in the crowd. The\nexcitement and confusion which had reigned in the city ever since had made\nit difficult to set effective inquiries on foot, even if the sisters had\nbeen accurately informed regarding their quondam guest\u2019s identity and\ncircumstances, which they were not. All they knew of him was his\nappearance, his name, and his wound. This was too vague to assist much in\nthe search. Mme. de Chanoir was sincerely sorry for it; she had been\nattracted at once by the frank bearing and courteous manners of the young\n_citoyen_; but his cool courage, his forgetfulness of himself for others,\nand the stoical contempt for bodily pain which he had displayed on the\noccasion of their flight, had kindled sympathy into admiration, and she\nspoke of him now as a hero. She spoke of him constantly at first, loudly\nlamenting his loss; for lost she believed him. He had, no doubt, been\noverpowered by the crowd; his disabled arm deprived him of half his\nstrength, and, exhausted as he was by previous pain, and the violent\neffort to protect Aline in the struggle, he had probably fainted and been\nsuffocated or crushed to death. This was the conclusion Mme. de Chanoir\narrived at; but when she mentioned it to Aline, the deadly paleness that\nsuddenly overspread the young girl\u2019s features made her wish to recall her\nwords, and from that out the name of the young soldier was never\npronounced between the sisters.\n\nMme. Cl\u00e9ry had formed on her side an enthusiastic affection for him, and\nsincerely regretted his fate, but with a woman\u2019s instinct she guessed that\nthe one who regretted it most said least about it. She never mentioned\n_citoyen_ Varlay to Aline, but made up for the self\u2010denial by pouring out\nhis praises and her own grief into the sympathizing ear of the _g\u00e9n\u00e9rale_.\n\n\u201cWhat a pretty couple they would have made!\u201d said the old woman one\nmorning, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron; \u201che was such a fine\nfellow, and so merry; he only wanted the _particule_ to make him perfect;\nbut, after all, who knows? He may not have been as good as he looked. One\ncan never trust those _parvenus_.\u201d\n\nA month passed. Mme. de Chanoir was alone one afternoon, when Mme. Cl\u00e9ry\nrushed into the room in a state of breathless excitement, her eyes\nliterally dancing out of her head.\n\n\u201cMadame! madame! I guessed it! I was sure of it! I\u2019m not that woman not to\nknow a gentleman when I see him. I told madame he was! Let madame never\nsay but I did!\u201d\n\nAnd having explained herself thus coherently between laughing and crying,\nshe held out a card to her mistress.\n\nMme. de Chanoir read aloud:\n\n\n    LE BARON DE VARLAY,\n      _Avocat \u00e0 la Cour de Cassation_.\n\n\nAnother month elapsed, and the great door of the Madeleine was opened for\na double marriage. The first bridegroom was a tall, slight man, on whose\nface and figure the word _distingu\u00e9_ was unmistakably stamped. The second\nwas a plump, dapper little man, who, as he walked up the carpeted aisle of\nthe church, seemed hardly to touch the ground, so elastic was his step;\nhis countenance beamed, he was radiant, and it is hardly a figure of\nspeech to say that he was buoyant with satisfaction. If he could have\ngiven utterance to his feelings, he would have said that \u201cthe situation\nwas perfect, and absolutely nothing more could be desired.\u201d\n\nMme. Cl\u00e9ry was present in her monumental cap, trimmed with Valenciennes\nlace brand\u2010new for the occasion, and a chintz gown with a peacock pattern\non a pea\u2010green ground that would have lighted up a room without candles.\nShe, too, looked the very personification of content. The first couple was\nall her heart could wish, and more than her wildest ambition had ever\ndreamed of for her favorite Aline. The second she had grown\nphilosophically reconciled to. The marriage had one drawback, a grievous\none, but the charwoman consoled herself with the reflection that Mme. de\nChanoir might condone the _bourgeoisie_ of her new name, by signing\nherself:\n\n\n    FELICITE DALIBOUZE,\n      _N\u00e9e_ de Lemaque.\n\n\n\n\nUse And Abuse Of The Novel.\n\n\nIf the question were put to us\u2014What class of books, viewed merely as\nreading, without tutelage or commentary of any kind, had the greatest\ninfluence in moulding and training the thoughts, aspirations, mode of\nlife, of the mass of readers in these days?\u2014we should, notwithstanding the\nslur and sneer which it is fashionable for clever writers to cast upon\nthem, answer unhesitatingly\u2014Novels.\n\nThis answer, we have no doubt, might shock the sensibilities of some of\nour readers, as it might very cordially agree with those of a not\ninsignificant body of others. Without going into a dry analytical\ndiscussion of the _pros_ and _cons_ of the question, we will adopt the\neasier course of taking at the outset everything we want for granted, and\nallowing the truth of it to emanate from the body of our article; merely\npremising that, if it be true, Catholics have too much neglected, are far\ntoo weak in, this very important collateral branch of modern education.\n\nEvery age, every cycle, every period in the history of the world has its\ndistinctive features, its proper individualities, its representative men,\nsystems, or facts, strongly and clearly marked. Ours is the iron age. Our\nprovince is matter. Our tastes are material. The world seems, strangely\nenough, to be working backwards. We began with intellect: we finish with\nmatter. The signs of the past are stamped with intellect or the\nintellectual. The development of the present is steam and electricity. If\nwe ask the ages, What have you given us? the answer comes rolling down out\nof the dim mountain of the past: Homer, Phidias, Apelles; the alphabet,\nthe geometrical figure, the science of numbers; Plato and Aristotle;\nVirgil and the historians; the practical greatness of Rome; the great\nfaith of the new\u2010born middle ages; the Crusades, the Gothic order, the\ngreat masters, Dante, Shakespeare, and Milton. We have our distinctive\nmark; the one indicated: the mastery over the material world. In the\nintellectual order, if we look for one, we must set it in the daily\nnewspaper and the novel. These are the peculiar intellectual development\nof the XIXth century. Against the names of Homer, Plato, \u00c6schylus, Virgil,\nHorace, Dante, Shakespeare, we pit those of Scott, Thackeray, Dickens,\nEugene Sue, George Sand, Victor Hugo, Dumas, Bulwer, Wilkie Collins, Miss\nBraddon, and her kin.\n\nSurely this is rank heresy. Is not this the age of the rationalists, the\nfree\u2010thinkers, \u201cthe swallowers of formula,\u201d of Hegel, Cousin, Comte, Mill,\nHerbert Spencer, Huxley, Thomas Carlyle? All these are nothing to the\npurpose. Thinkers, dreamers, idealists, doubters, belong to all ages. The\nnovelists belong to ours alone, as surely as do the steamboat, the\nrailway, the electric telegraph, the daily press, the penny post.\n\nIn saying this, we are not blind to the fact that novels and romances were\nwritten long before our century dawned. Cervantes and Le Sage are old\nenough; the Romaunts are older still. De Foe, Fielding, Smollett, Sterne,\nRichardson, are names of a bygone century. But novelism, to use the word\nin a new sense, considered as a science\u2014for such it has practically\nbecome\u2014as the most popular branch of literature known in these days, with\nmen and women of genius devoted to its pursuit, with an ever\u2010increasing\nprogeny spreading and growing, and stifling each other out of life, is an\nintellectual phase proper of to\u2010day.\n\nPhilosophic historians trace the decline of peoples and periods in the\ndecline of their literature; in its tone, its style, its subjects, and\nmanner of treatment. If this test be applied to us, what a show should we\nmake! But happily the test, though in the main a true one, is not an\ninfallible one. The facility opened up by the invention of printing for\nwriters of every shade of opinion to express their thoughts upon any given\nsubject at any length and in any quantity, provided only they pay the\nprinter, must weaken to some extent the theory that writers are the exact\nreflex of the times and peoples for and among whom they write. Still there\nrests the significant fact that to\u2010day the novel, and particularly the\nworst form of it, is the _book of the period_; the most popular, widely\nread, best paid class of literature that we possess\u2014a fact which tells its\nown tale of our intellectual and moral advance.\n\nThe ancients seem not to have conceived such a thing. And, despite the\ndanger of such an admission in the face of what the novel has come to be\namong ourselves, we can only regret its loss among them. Had the Greeks\nand Romans caught the idea, and turned their brilliant, clear\u2010sighted,\nmanly, and truth\u2010loving intellects to the portrayal of everyday life; to\nthe picture of how the world wagged behind the scenes long ago, what a\nflood of light would have been let in on their history, its meaning, its\nphilosophy, so as to render almost superfluous the works of such men as\nNiebuhr, Gibbon, Grote. We should have had plenty of evil undoubtedly,\nplenty to sicken us; but, after all, would the foulness of the pagans have\nbeen much worse than the spicy dishes cooked and served up to us every day\nby our own novelists; by gray\u2010haired men; by ladies, at whose age we will\nnot venture to guess; by smart young girls who have just bounced out of\ntheir teens? The glimpse we have had of Socrates\u2019 spouse makes us wish for\na closer acquaintance with that dame. We are anxious to know how she\nreceived the news of his draught of hemlock, for she evidently entertained\nthe utmost contempt for all his doctrine and philosophy, and must have\nbeen rather surprised at the state bothering itself so much about _her_\nhusband. What an irreparable loss we have sustained in Diogenes, his\nsayings and doings, his snarls and life in that tub of his! What living\npictures would have been left us of the life in the groves, the\ndisputations, the clash of intellect with intellect where all was\nintellect; the great games, who betted, who lost, who won, who contended;\nof the mysteries and the sacrifices; of Greece at the invasions; of the\nparty strifes; how Alcibiades pranked and ruled in turn; how Balbus built\nthat famous wall of his that he is always building in the _Delectus_; how\nAgricola ploughed his field; how the _Symposia_ passed off with Cicero and\nhis friends; how C\u00e6sar spent his youth, and how the conspiracy worked that\ndestroyed him; what sort of companions brought Catiline\u2019s conspiracy\nabout; the effect of the _quousque tandem_ speech related by an eye\u2010\nwitness; the coming of the great Apostles; the dawn of Christianity; how\nthe gay Greeks listened to that first strange sermon given from the altar\nto the Unknown God.\n\nThese things have been told us in a way. We can pick and sort them out of\nthe brilliant works of the writers of the time. But had they been told us\nby a Greek or Roman novelist, a Thackeray, Dickens, or Bulwer, with the\nactors set living and real and palpable on the scenes, speaking the\nlanguage, using all the little peculiarities, of everyday life, with all\ntheir natural surroundings and coincidents, what a lost world would have\nbeen opened up to us!\n\nAbandoning, however, such vain and useless regrets, let us turn to the\nimmediate subject of our own article. The title, Novel, we here use in the\npopular signification of the word, as comprising all works of fiction,\ndistinct from those that are purely satirical, and history as written by\nsuch men as Mr. James Anthony Froude and Mr. John S. C. Abbott. Novelists,\nwe know, are apt to be nice on the question of titles. No lady of third\u2010\nrate society, who with time on her hands to do good devoted it to the\nstudy of the court balls and the pages of Debrett, was ever more so. Here\nis your romance, which looks down upon your mere story; your novelette\nwhich shrinks with awe from your psychological romance; your story of real\nlife, a republican sort of fellow often, who hustles and bustles and\nshoulders them all and stands on his own legs; and a variety of others as\nnumerous as they are, to the public at large\u2014which is, as it should be, a\npoor respecter of titles\u2014unnecessary. We purpose, in the name of the\npublic, dealing very summarily with these titled folk, throwing them, high\nand low, in the same category, and designating one and all as novels pure\nand simple, with the single distinction, which shall appear in due time,\nof the sensational novel.\n\nAs we have arrived at this point, it may not be amiss to ask, What purpose\ndo novels serve; with what object are they written?\n\nA hard question truly. We reply to the second part of the query first. It\nmay not be unnatural, nor dealing unfairly with their authors, to suppose\nthat novels are written, in the first place, with the very laudable desire\nof earning one\u2019s bread: so that \u201cthe root of all evil\u201d lies at the bottom\nof the \u201cpsychological romance,\u201d as of far humbler things in this world. As\nto what purpose, earthly or unearthly, they serve, the answer to that\ndepends, first of all, on the author\u2019s secondary motive in writing them;\nsecondly, on the effect they produce on the reader\u2014which are two very\ndifferent things. We have not the slightest doubt that the French\nnovelists, as popularly known, entertained the very loftiest ideas with\nregard to morality, Christianity, the laws of God and man, the\nconventional relations between husband and wife, and so on, before\nushering into the world the representatives of their\u2014to put it\nmildly\u2014somewhat peculiar views on these questions. Well, if the world read\nthem wrongly, mistook faith for infidelity, a deep lesson in purity for\nadultery, loyalty and obedience to the sovereign for rank outspoken\ndisturbance and rebellion, who was to blame? The world was simply stupid.\nM. Dumas _fils_, for instance, has lately been good enough to enlighten us\nwith his ideas on the vexed questions of matrimony and women in general.\nM. Dumas _fils_ is undoubtedly an excellent guide on such subjects. He is\nan advanced man, a man of the age, of society, of the world. His\ntestimonies on such subjects ought, therefore, to be of value. He has\ndisposed of the whole question in, for a Dumas, a few words\u2014a single\nvolume. The moral of his doctrine comes to this: if your wife is\nfaithless, kill her. We have not yet heard of any practical results\narising from this new gospel, as preached by M. Dumas _fils_; from which,\nwe have no doubt, he will draw the very agreeable inference that his\nremedy for the regeneration of society, and the nice adjustment of the\nmarriage\u2010knot once for all, was altogether unnecessary. If his doctrine\nshould spread to any alarming extent, no doubt M. Dumas _fils_ will be\nsatisfied that at last the world is beginning a new era of advancement,\nthat there is still hope for it; and he will hold himself answerable for\nall the consequences. By the bye, we believe he has omitted one little\nthing: the course to be adopted by the wife in the event of the husband\u2019s\ninfidelity. But probably such a high\u2010minded, virtuous man as M. Dumas\nnever contemplated the possibility of such a contingency arising.\n\nMr. Collins, Mr. Reade, Miss Braddon, and the rest hold, doubtless, the\nsame ideas with regard to the relative value of their productions. Whether\ntheir praiseworthy efforts have been duly appreciated; whether they have\never made man, woman, or child a whit better or sounder by the perusal of\nany of their works, we do not know. We are inclined to think not. If any\nreader would kindly come forward and show that we are wrong in this from\nhis or her own experience, we shall only be too happy to stand corrected.\nAt all events, the advantage derived must be in very small proportion to\nthe quantity of literary medicine and advice administered by those social\nphysicians to the craving multitude.\n\nLaying aside, then, the invariably pure and lofty motives of the authors;\nlaying aside the cloak which novels serve for at times, as in the hands of\na Disraeli, to attack a policy or a system; and taking them as they affect\nourselves, the readers, one may safely say that they serve mainly to\namuse; to fill up those spare moments that nothing else can fill up. They\nconstitute the play\u2010ground of literature\u2014a recreation and relief for the\nmind. We gulp them down as we are whirled along in the railway train. We\ntake them with us on long voyages, as the Scotch patient took his weekly\nsermon at the kirk, as an opiate\u2014thus fulfilling to the letter the\ntraditional notion of the \u201cSabbath\u201d being a day of rest. When the brain is\nheavy and the body worn, when to talk is labor and to think is pain, then\nwe can seize the novel, loll on the sofa, or recline under the leafy shade\nby the brink of the musical river, and float away, half asleep, half\nawake, into dreamland. In a moment a new world, as real and living to the\nmind\u2019s eye as that in which we move, is conjured up before us. We are on\nintimate terms with a villain whose dagger is as air\u2010drawn as Macbeth\u2019s.\nWe can commit cold\u2010blooded murders that will never bring us to the dock;\nor shocking improprieties that even the far\u2010reaching nose of Mrs. Grundy\nwill fail to catch scent of. Or we go over \u201cthe old, old story,\u201d and are\nbumped, jerked, and jolted along the delicious course that never _will_\nrun smooth; mapping it out if we have not yet had the fortune (or\nmisfortune) to traverse it; filling it in with many a well\u2010known form, if\nwe have. And if the never\u2010running\u2010smooth theory be true of love, this much\nwe ungrudgingly grant the novelists\u2014they certainly hold to their tether.\nThe labyrinth of D\u00e6dalus was nothing to it; the twistings, the windings,\nthe sudden and unexpected meetings, the separations, the jiltings, the\nhalts by the way, the joy, the sorrow, the ecstasy, the despair, the\nlosings, the seekings, the findings, the torturing uncertainty, the\nwanderings through hopeless mazes, to end, as we knew at the outset it\nwould and must end, according to \u201cthe eternal fitness of things,\u201d in some\nman marrying some woman\u2014the most extraordinary phenomenon that the world\never witnessed!\n\nThe novel invites us, as the noonday devil is supposed to do, at dangerous\nmoments\u2014those moments that come to all of us when matter holds the mastery\nover mind. Place in the hands of the reader at such a time a book which,\nwhile it interests, while it soothes, lulls, and gently enwraps in its\nkindly meshes the abstracted brain, never palls; containing at least what\nis harmless; and good, not very great certainly, but at least of a kind,\nis effected.\n\nBut let the novel be like the favorites of its class, a thing to fire the\nimagination with impure thoughts clothed in the thinnest veil of mock\nmorality, at the very moment when the imagination of the reader is ready\nto run riot; and evil, great, sometimes irreparable, is produced.\n\n\u201cAll the wrong that I have ever done or sung has come from that confounded\nbook of yours,\u201d writes Byron to Moore in a moment of bitterness. If the\naccusation be well founded, what an intellectual wreck has Moore to answer\nfor; what a multitude of lesser disasters following in the train of a\ngreat genius, so early led astray!\n\nThe novelist beats every other writer from the field. We all read him,\nfrom the crop\u2010haired schoolboy to the octogenarian who has quite grown\nthrough his hair; from the nearest approach to Mr. Darwin\u2019s ideal man to\nthe philosopher \u201cwho would circumvent God\u201d; from the artless maiden who\nfondly dotes over those wicked but excessively handsome villains, those\nathletic but ridiculously stupid lovers, those consumptive heroines with\nthe luminous eyes and rippling glories of golden hair; those lady\npoisoners with the floating locks and sea\u2010green orbs\u2014to the dyspeptic lady\nwho makes novel\u2010reading a science, who dawdles out her languid existence\nin elegant nothingness, who looks to the production of a new story as men\nlook to a change in the constitution, or as astronomers lately looked to\nthe comet that would not come; who is, in a word, utterly useless for all\nthe purposes of life, of wifehood, of womanhood\u2014novel\u2010struck, novel\u2010bred,\nonly fit to \u201cresolve and thaw into a dew\u201d of weak sentimentality and\nessence of inanity. From this category of readers we must not omit the\ntypical old maid, who is continually telling us that she renounced such\nthings as love and other rubbish long ago; yet daily treats herself to her\nspruce, strong, highly flavored dish of the purest, spiciest scandal, and\ntakes her diurnal dose of immorality as regularly as her \u201cdrops\u201d or her\ntea.\n\nAll the world lies open to the novelist. From no place is he excluded,\nsave from a few high and dry quarterlies; and even they are stirred from\ntheir abstract regions into sledgehammer activity or solemn admiration by\nhim from time to time. Of monthlies, fortnightlies, weeklies, dailies, he\nforms the chief ingredient. Even editors of metaphysical fortnightlies\nfind they must flavor their own romance with a spice, of the more regular\nand orthodox in order to make it \u201cgo down with the public.\u201d\n\nWhat a field, then, is the novelist\u2019s!\u2014what ground for a high, pureminded\nman or woman to sow seeds in that may sprout, and spread, and fill the\nworld with truth, with purity, with noble aspirations, with right\nteachings set in the goodliest garb! The youth of the generations is their\nown.\n\nWho has forgotten those earlier days when we stood, fair\u2010haired, open\u2010\nhearted children, on the threshold of life, steeped in the morning sun of\na future that looked all golden? A warm mist hung about us, shrouding all\nin beautiful, mystical dimness. There was no storm, no darkness, no night.\nWhisperings of soft voices stole out of the magic mist, and called us on\nto do great things; to rift the mist and open up the glorious world of\nGod, as we saw it in our imaginings. The morning of life, like the morning\nof the world, is all Eden. We walk with God, for we are innocent. But the\ndoom is on us; we must pluck the fruit of the tree of knowledge. The\nmoment we taste of it, the golden dream is no more; the mist is reft\nasunder; and slowly the world opens on our saddened eyes in all its hard\nreality, to be subjected by the labor of our hands and the sweat of our\nbrow. As we merge from that innocence, so we go on. Some great event may\nchange us; may make this one a saint, that a fiend. But, as a rule, the\nsapling grows into the tree, weakly or strong, straight and tall and\nlooking heavenwards, or stunted, useless, and unsightly as it grew from\nthe grafting.\n\nThe grafting is the mother\u2019s voice, the father\u2019s example, the companions\naround us, the guidance of our thoughts. And the great mass of our\nthoughts, at a time when we are all imagination, springs from the books we\nread. Here steps in the crying need of a series of story\u2010books for\nCatholic children; for all children up to the age when study becomes a\nmore serious work.\n\nOne other glance back at the days of our childhood, and the manner in\nwhich they were spent; for it is not the least important part of our\nsubject. What a round of acquaintance we had, necessitating a\ncorresponding round of visits! One day we dropped in on our best of\nfriends, _Robinson Crusoe_, on that lonely island of his, wishing that all\nthe world were islands and we were all Crusoes. All we wanted to live\nhappily was a boat, six or seven guns and pistols, a goat\u2010skin cap, a\nparrot, a Man Friday, an umbrella, and an occasional savage to kill. After\ntaking a sail with him in his boat, helping him to build his castle,\ntending the goats, running down to see if we could find that second\nfootprint on the sand, giving Friday a lesson in English, we bade him\ngood\u2010bye with the promise of calling again soon, and hurried off on that\nexpedition to the other end of the world with our old acquaintance Captain\nMarryat, to search for our father, play our practical jokes, and fight our\ntriangular duels. Then we had to hunt up that Indian trail for Cooper, and\nno redskin ever followed the track half so keenly as we, marking the way,\nnotching the giant trunks with our six\u2010bladed penknife, shooting the\nbuffalo with our pop\u2010guns, sleeping round the campfires in those limitless\nprairies and thickest jungles of our imagination. Ha! by\u2019r Lady! Here we\nare at the gentle trial of spears at Ashby de la Zouch. How brave it was!\nThe glinting of the lances, and the clash of steel on helm and hauberk;\nthe gay plumes shorn and floating on the wind like thistledown. And out we\nrushed, and called the friend of our bosom a caitiff knight and a false\nknave, and plighted our troth to that imprisoned maiden\u2014no matter who, and\nno matter where\u2014to do her right, and do our devoir as leal and belted\nknight. That caitiff deals in leather now, and does a thriving business;\nhis knightly limbs are cased in the best of cloth, cut by the cleverest of\nartists; his knightly stomach is naught the worse for wear, but quite\nbeyond the girth of steel armor; and he has a son who, at this moment, is\nassisting at the joust as we did, spurring into the _m\u00eal\u00e9e_ and bearing\nall down before us, to spur out again victor, and meet Charlie O\u2019Malley\nwaiting for us outside; to ride with him for dear life into to\u2010day. What a\nrace it is; how the world spins past us; how our heart throbs, and our\neyes grow dim, and our hopes sink as we fall and dislocate our shoulder at\nthat last fence. By heaven! up again\u2014on, and in a winner! And we sink to\nthe ground with the shouts of thousands ringing in our ears, to wake in a\ndarkened chamber with low voices breaking on us\u2014the voices of our dear\nIrish girls, who make \u201csmithereens\u201d of our hearts only to heal them the\nnext minute, and sit there wooing us back into life and love.\n\nSuch was the favorite mental food of our earlier days, our literary candy.\nIf the reading of youth were restricted to authors such as these, on the\nwhole we might consider them in safe hands. But books multiply and cheapen\nday by day, and as usual \u201cthe cheap and nasty\u201d carries everything before\nit. The favorite stories of the mass of boys that we see consist of what\nis known as the _Dime Novel_ and those blood\u2010and\u2010thunder weeklies with the\nterrific titles and startling pictures. By some strange freak of nature,\nboys are fond of blood; the warlike element prevails; the peaceful is\nnowhere. We feel certain that, if Mr. Barnum possessed a real live\nmurderer among his collection of curiosities\u2014though we fear he could\nscarcely ticket such an animal \u201ca curiosity\u201d in these days\u2014and caged him\nup among the other wild beasts, he would prove a greater attraction to the\njuvenile visitor than anything else in the famous exhibition. It were easy\nenough to satisfy this morbid craving for muscular Christianity in a safe\nand sound manner, if our writers of fiction took up systematically the\nincidents of history; the great wars; the crusades, the parts played by\ngreat Christian heroes, by the saints of God; the scenes of martyrdom, the\nlabors of the missionaries, and a thousand other subjects as entertaining\nas they are instructive and strictly true. We know that there are many\nsuch; but we want to be overloaded with them, as we are with those others\nto which we referred. We can scarcely at the moment call to mind one\nCatholic story to compete at all with a crowd of children\u2019s books written\nby Protestants. The production of children\u2019s stories has grown into a\nscience among them. We frequently see pages of stately reviews and the\ncolumns of the London _Times_ devoted to as critical an examination of\nthis class of books as to the works of the greatest writers. They\nrecognize the necessity and the advantage of giving their children\nsomething to save them from the evil effects that must ensue from a\ncontinual history of daring and impossible feats by young burglars,\ndetectives, spies, and the like. The best writers of this kind are, as\nthey should be, women, who know best how to interest children, who watch\nthem with an eye to their every want, that a man cannot attain. Here,\nthen, is a field for Catholic ladies\u2014a field wide open, which cries to be\nfilled up.\n\nBut our article deals not alone with children and children\u2019s books. We\npurpose looking higher and looking deeper, at the mental recreation of the\nday, of the age; at the literature that loads our tables, our shelves, our\npublic libraries, our bookstalls: the book \u201cof the period\u201d\u2014the sensational\nnovel.\n\nWhat is a sensational novel? Who has defined it? Who dare define it? It is\na pity the author of _Rasselas_ had not some faint conception of it. The\nidea of calling _Rasselas_ a novel in these days! We might imagine him to\nhave dealt with it somewhat in the following style:\n\nSensational Novel: A complexity of improbabilities woven around a crowd of\nnonentities, interspersed with fashionable filth, and relieved by sleek\u2010\ncoated beastliness; meaning nothing, and good for less.\n\nWhat is this word that possesses us! Sensation!\u2014as though we had not\nenough of it. The age is so dreadfully prosaic, so workaday, so dull. We\nmust run off the track, out of the common groove, or we are ill at ease.\nWhere is the sensation in steam and electricity? We are whirled through a\ncontinent in a week: but that is a thing done every day. It almost equals\nthe mantle of the genii in the _Arabian Nights_; we had only to step upon\nit, and find ourselves at whatever point of the compass we wished. We\ncross thousands of miles of ocean in a similar period, mastering the\nelements with a clockwork regularity, fair weather or foul. We knit sea to\nsea. We rise from foe\u2010encircled cities, and sail safe away into the air.\nThe whisper of what has been done in one quarter of the world has not had\ntime to pass abroad before it is discussed in the others. We have linked\nthe disjointed world by an electric flame that flashes knowledge\nthroughout its circle instantaneously. We build up vast empires and topple\ndown thrones every day, as though they were ninepins, and yet we want\nsensation! We sigh for the cap and bells; the jousts and games and\njunketings of old. Even the feast of horrors, crimes, and incidents, the\nbirths, deaths, and marriages, and the scandals of the \u201cfashionable\nworld,\u201d served up to us at breakfast daily, with all the inventive genius\nof the newspaper correspondent, pall upon our surfeited appetites. \u201cWe\nhave supped full of horrors. Time was when our fell of hair would have\nuplifted to hear a night\u2010shriek. But now, how weary, stale, flat, and\nunprofitable seem to us all the uses of this world of ours. Life is as\ndreary as a twice\u2010told tale.\u201d We are not satisfied; we feel a craving\nafter something. Our want, our craving, springs not from the desire for a\nhigher spirit in it all, not from an absence of faith and noble purpose,\nof something greater than utility, not from a horror of a daily widening\ninfidelity and impurity that mocks the pagan; but simply and purely from a\nlack of sensation! In the face of the dull routine of this age of marvels\nthat old Friar Bacon dimly saw in his dreams, and was deemed a madman for\nhis foresight; in the face of wars like our own rebellion and the\ndevastation of France; in the midst of fallen thrones and falling\npeoples\u2014we ask for sensation! as the philosopher, though perhaps with more\nreason, took a lantern to look for a man. We find it not in these things;\nwe pass them by, and bury ourselves in the pages of Wilkie Collins, Miss\nBraddon, and their kind. They are the wonder\u2010workers of the age.\n\nHere we find what we are seeking; here is a response to our ravenous\ncraving, in those delicious, torturing plots that take our breath away.\nHere we sit hob and nob with what the fourth\u2010rate newspaper is fond of\ncalling \u201cthe scions of nobility.\u201d We get an animated description and\ncategory of their articles of clothing, from their boots and who made\nthem, to their linen and where it was bought. What a pleasure it is to\nknow a count and a lord, and a lady and a duchess; to know how they eat\nand drink, and the chronicle of all the fearful scandal that goes on in\nwhat the newspaper man again knows as \u201ccertain circles\u201d! What peeps we\nhave into the green\u2010room! Pages are devoted to the eyes of an opera\u2010\nsinger, the ankles of a _danseuse_, the charming slang of an actress. The\nscene is varied by dips into the purlieus of society; into the bagnio and\nthe gin\u2010mill; the prize\u2010ring and the barracks; the dancing saloon and the\ngaming\u2010table; the betting ring; into every place, every person, everything\nthe lowest, the meanest, the worst.\n\nIs this exaggeration? Is it a false, outrageous libel on this age, so full\nof great things, and still greater capabilities? Is it particularly false\nof ourselves, the simple\u2010hearted, simple\u2010mannered republicans, who have\nset our faces as sternly against the ungodly and the ways of sin as our\nold crop\u2010haired, steeple\u2010crowned Puritans professed to do? We shall only\nbe too happy if somebody convinces us that such is the fact. In the\nmeanwhile; incidentally to our purpose appeared a few statistics the other\nday from public libraries, bearing on this very question, showing that in\nlibraries, which, as a rule, a class of intelligent and sensible readers\nare supposed to frequent, the books most in demand were of the style we\ndeplore, and complaints were laid at their doors because they failed\nadequately to supply this demand.\n\nThere must be something very delicious in vice. Nothing else will satisfy\nus. The novelists have sounded the depths of depravity; and in their\nefforts to find a lower depth still, are driven to walking the hospitals,\ndiving into blue\u2010books, frequenting the asylums for the diseased, the\ndepraved, the insane. The repertory of evil seems almost used up. They\nhave so beaten the drawing\u2010room carpet, so sifted and shaken out for the\npublic gaze the smallest speck of fashionable filth that the most\ndelicately organized imagination of the refined lady could discern, that\nthere is nothing left on it. Titles even are growing common, and we want\nsome new type of a coroneted brow to bind our scandal on. Dickens and\nCollins and Yates have overrun us with burglars and detectives. They did\ngood service in their day; but even they are growing unromantic. The\nKrupp, the mitrailleuse, the needle\u2010gun, have killed off the slashing\ncavalry heroes, who rode at everything, neck or nothing, in perfect\nsafety, and were as irresistible in love as in war. We must abandon these\nhigher regions with a sigh, and go down to the dirtiest columns of the\ndirtiest newspapers in our efforts to find \u201csomething rich and strange.\u201d\nAnd to this men and women of \u201cgenius,\u201d as it is called, bend their every\neffort. The gifts that God has given them to ennoble man they devote to\nstirring the puddle of filth which they take as the mirror of human\nnature, and, holding before the admiring gaze of humanity whatever they\nhave fished up, say\u2014Behold yourselves!\n\nAre these the lessons society must look for in its gifted children? Is the\ngreat book of nature narrowed down to these limits? Is there nothing in\nhuman life, human thought, human activity, more worthy our attention, more\ndeeply interesting to man, than the chronicle of his vices? Is the\nattractive in human nature confined to third or fourth hand glimpses of\n\u201cthe scions of nobility,\u201d the bywords of the barracks, the slang of the\ngutter, the echoes of the footlights? Is vice alone captivating, and\nmorality such an everyday, humdrum affair that we are sick of excess of\nit? Is love the thing they present to us?\u2014love, the great passion, the\npure divine flame that God has set in our hearts to link together and\nperpetuate the generations, and finally lead us up to him? Is this maudlin\nrubbish that the writers of the day surfeit us with, love?\u2014this weak,\npuny, consumptive thing; inane, jejune, sickly, fleshly, sensual, impure,\ninhuman? Love is a divine\u2010inspired passion of the soul, planted there by\nGod, to grow and flourish in its great, pure, single strength. They have\ncut it, and hacked and torn it to shreds, and left nothing of divinity in\nit. They set it in the flesh, and convert a heaven\u2010born gift into the\nlowest of animal passions.\n\nIt requires no very powerful stretch of the imagination to draw from the\nfoul pens of these writers the germ of the question which to\u2010day threaten\nto turn the world topsy\u2010turvy\u2014the so\u2010called theory of _Woman\u2019s\nRights_\u2014which has for champions philosophers of the stamp of Stuart Mill\nand Professor Fawcett, and for first\u2010born, _Free Love_.\n\nWe will suppose Mr. Stanley, of the _New York Herald_, to have brought\nback with him a native of the countries he visited in his marvellously\nsuccessful search for Dr. Livingstone. The native has learned the English\nlanguage on his journey. He is suddenly thrown among a people whom he can\nonly look upon as gods, as the Indians first looked upon the Spaniards. He\nis surrounded by the results of all the ages. He wishes to learn something\nabout these gods: how they live and move and have their being. A novel \u201cof\nthe period\u201d\u2014any one by any of the thousand authors of the species\u2014is put\ninto his hands as the faithful reflex of this society. What can we imagine\nwould be his feelings at the end of its perusal? A comparison rather in\nfavor of his own countrymen would be the most natural inference.\n\nBut it may be objected that we are pessimists. We attack a class whom no\ndecent person would defend. There are more schools of novelists than the\nsensational school. There are Scott, Thackeray, Dickens, Bulwer. Are these\nall that we would wish, or do they also fall under our sweeping\ncondemnation?\n\nAs for Scott, we are still proud to acknowledge him by his old title\u2014\u201cThe\nWizard of the North.\u201d He was a man who, taking into account the times in\nwhich he lived, the prejudices still rife, the people for whom he wrote,\nthe purpose of his writings, turned every faculty of his marvellously\ngifted, richly stored mind to its best account. Even Livy\u2019s \u201cpictured\npage\u201d almost dims in our eyes before the range and variety of his. His\nworks are the illumination of history; his characters almost as true, as\nrounded, as full as Shakespeare\u2019s, and partaking of the great master\u2019s\n\u201cinfinite variety.\u201d His plots are deeply interesting, his fidelity to\nnature in character and scene sustained and equal, whether the subject be\nQueen Bess or Queen Mary of Scotland, Louis XI. or King Jamie, a moss\u2010\ntrooper or a crusader, a free\u2010lance or a pirate, a bailie or a Poundtext;\nwhether the scene lie in Palestine or in the Trosachs, in medi\u00e6val France\nor medi\u00e6val England, in the camp or the court, the prisons of Edinburgh or\nthe purlieus of Alsatia. He has laughed at us Catholics good\u2010naturedly\nsometimes, but despite that, his novels did us a vast service at a time\nwhen our road was very dark, and we were looked upon at best as something\nutterly inhuman\u2014something, in fact, like what the sailor conceived who,\nwhen stranded somewhere with his mess\u2010mate in the neighborhood of the\nNorth Pole, beheld for the first time a white bear squatted on its\nhaunches before them, and taking a contented survey.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that \u2019ere beggar, Jack?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d said the other, taking a solemn glance at the animal, between the\nwhiffs of his pipe, \u201cI can\u2019t say exactly, but I expect it\u2019s one o\u2019 them\nthere what they call Roman Cawtholics too.\u201d\n\nScott first made us known to the mass of English readers in a fair way.\nThe barriers of anti\u2010Catholic prejudice, centuries old, which had resisted\nstoutly and stubbornly every effort which reason, right, and common\nhumanity made against it, crumbled at once beneath the fairy wand of the\nmagician, and English Protestants came to know something of us and\nrecognize us, though still in a cautious manner, as fellow\u2010men.\n\nFrom Scott all readers may undoubtedly derive much good. And now we turn\nto the others, the leaders of modern fiction: the standard, though, as we\nshowed, not the most widely read authors of the day.\n\nThey are Thackeray, Dickens, Bulwer; and though the men themselves, so far\nas their lives are known to us, had little or no faith in any particular\nchurch or any particular creed, and must therefore be wanting in a firm,\nsteadfast groundwork, absolutely necessary to impart a pure, high\u2010minded\nspirit to their writings, we lay this aside, and look at them only through\ntheir works. In Thackeray and Bulwer we have two eminently clever, highly\ncultivated men\u2014writers who cannot fail to grace everything that they\ntouch, who cannot fail to interest deeply and always. They were men of\nmuch learning, of great insight into character, whose mode of life and\ncircle of acquaintances threw them into the heart of the world, their\nworld, and gave them every facility of knowing it thoroughly. They came\nand saw. And what is the result of their investigation? They found it all\na great sham. The genius of both consists in thoroughly exposing this\ngreat sham, in tearing off the gilded mask, and showing the hollow, empty,\ngrim death\u2019s\u2010head beneath it; in leaving not a rag to cover its nakedness.\nAfter reading Thackeray, there springs up in us an utter contempt for\nourselves and for the world in general. All human nature is false, rotten,\nand utterly worthless. There is no religion in it, no faith, and as a\nconsequence no honesty and no law save the law of expediency. If there are\nany characters to admire at all, they are certainly not his good men; for\nthey, and those of Dickens also\u2014Tom Pinch, for instance\u2014are the most\ninsipid numskulls that ever crossed our vision; the most wretched\ncaricatures of goodness that could possibly be conceived. Very truly might\nhe say that, \u201cwhen he started a story, he was very dubious as to the\nmorality of his characters.\u201d We respect his good men infinitely less than\nhis rogues. Among them he is at home: in his Lord Steynes, his Becky\nSharpes, his drunken parsons, his wicked gray\u2010hairs, his asses or black\u2010\nlegs among the young, his solemn humbugs, his tuft\u2010hunters, his silly,\nuseless, vain, untruthful women, his worldly mammas who hold up their\ncharming daughters at auction; those charming daughters who submit to it\nwith such good grace, who simper so chittishly under their pink bonnets\nand look for soft places on the sofa to faint; his designing and\nunprincipled adventuresses, to whom the world is as a market, a betting\nring, or a faro\u2010table, and the thing to be sold, the stake to be played\nfor, is the virtue they never possessed. Such is Thackeray\u2019s world; and he\nhas done well to show it up so openly and unsparingly in all its\nnakedness. But is it altogether a true portrait; could he do no more than\nthis? Is this the true world, after all\u2014so utterly depraved and given over\nto evil? Are there no such things as truth, honesty, morality, religion,\namong us? Are there no men and women, no bodies, endowed with sense\nenough, power enough, and wit enough to give the lie to this, and bring\nthis false world with shame to their feet? If there be, it is not to be\nfound in the pages of Thackeray.\n\nIn Bulwer, it is the same story told in Bulwer\u2019s way, with less of heart\nand more of licentiousness. Thackeray was, we believe, a virtuous man, as\nthe phrase goes; that is, he was contented with one wife, paid his bills,\nkept his word, and very rarely woke with a headache. But Bulwer rather\nglories, or was wont to do, in the opposite character. He used to be fond\nof telling us that he knew the world; had mixed in, shared, felt its vices\nand its follies. He comes out of this world of his, sits down, and tells\nus all about it; what sort of men and women he found in it; what motives\nactuate them; what they live for, what code of morality they follow. Taken\nas a whole, their code of morality is fashion; their temple is the world;\ntheir religion, worldliness; their god, themselves. Crime is only crime in\nthe humble; in the wealthy it is elevated into vice. Such is the doctrine\nof the Bulwer world; the doctrine that our children imbibe unconsciously,\nwhile only diverted momentarily by the interest of the story. So far,\nthen, notwithstanding grace of style, elegance of diction, happiness of\nconception\u2014all which may be found in a hundred writers infinitely\nsuperior, essayists and historians\u2014we have nothing but a very doubtful\nnegative gain.\n\nAnd Dickens\u2014who has made us weep over fireside virtues, the hardness and\nquiet nobleness of humble struggle, and the greatness of spirit that beats\nas strong in the cottage as on the throne\u2014must we cast him into the same\ncategory? Hard as it is to say, we find him wanting, though in a less\ndegree than the two above\u2010mentioned. He has fought sham, and fought it, as\nfew others have done, successfully. He did not take up the whole world and\nfight it as one gigantic falsehood. This is useless. The world is large\nenough and strong enough to withstand the mightiest single\u2010handed and hold\nits own. It will not be put down in this way, and it only laughs at the\ntooting tin whistles that are continually blowing such shrill but tiny\nblasts of regeneration at it, till they crack and are silenced for ever.\nDickens fought it as the first Napoleon fought the combinations arrayed\nagainst him; he cut them off in detachments. So with the world; you must\ntake it by pieces. Show it one sham, and all the other shams will cry\nshame. The silks, and the satins, and the perfumed licentiousness of the\ndrawing\u2010room, Dickens left to other hands. But he opened up to the eyes of\nthese fine folk, who sinned so elegantly in their carriages and palaces, a\nblack, yawning, startling gulf right under their feet; with its hot\nelements seething in corruption and danger beneath them, because they\nwould not look at it; because they would not recognize this other nation,\nas Disraeli called it in _Sybil_; because that world was to them as far\noff and unknown as Timbuctoo. He showed them the thieves\u2019 and harlots\u2019\ndens, and how they were fed; by the innocent and pure, brutalized by the\nsystem of the jail, school, and workhouse, presided over by such men as\nhave lately stood unabashed in the broad light of day before us, and\nopenly confessed to cruelties that Squeers would have blushed at; who\npassed unharmed and triumphant from the court of justice, and found\nlawyers and excellent \u201cministers of God\u2019s Word\u201d to uphold them, and\nproclaimed in the press and elsewhere that they were honest, humane men\nand maligned saints. Dickens showed us what these Squeerses and Stigginses\nwere made of. He showed us what the jails were made of, the asylums, the\nworkhouses, the schools; and undoubtedly aided in effecting many a reform.\nHe warmed our hearts towards each other, and towards the unfortunates to\nwhom all life was a bitter trial from birth to the grave. He undoubtedly\ndid great good; and many a book of his is a never\u2010ending, never\u2010wearying\nsermon, preached to a broad humanity. As Catholics we owe him a deep debt\nfor never having systematically or seriously abused his talents by abusing\nus, where abuse is ever welcome and well rewarded. But he has given us so\nmuch that we look for more from him; for some great, broad, sound\nprinciples to guide us through the hard battle of life; since his problem\nwas life, human nature, its difficulties and its dangers. While confessing\nour debt to him for what he has done, we find a good deal in Dickens that\nwe do not like. His code of ethics is a very easy one, and a very\ndangerous one, running into that indifferentism so prevalent and\ndemoralizing to\u2010day. We find, after reading him, that there is a great\namount of evil in the world counterbalanced by a tolerably fair amount of\ngood, and that it is useless to hope for anything more. That, so far as\nreligion goes, mankind may be divided into two classes\u2014the humbugs and the\nhumbugged: the humbugs\u2014the Chadbands, the Stigginses\u2014getting decidedly the\nbetter of the bargain. That, provided a man is not intolerably bad, he is\nas good as the generality of his neighbors, and has a fair chance of\narriving safe at the end of life\u2019s journey, wherever or whatever that end\nmay be, without being extraordinarily particular about it. That\ndrunkenness is not a vice unworthy of man, it is rather an amiable\nweakness, a good joke, something funny, something to be laughed at;\nsomething that you and ourselves might fall into now and again without\ndoing much harm. Nowhere in Dickens, as far as we recollect, does\ndrunkenness appear as what it is, a vice lower than the appetite of the\nbrute. As for our quarrel with him as Americans, though a grievous and a\njust one, we will let that pass now. He endeavored to atone for it at the\nend, so let it rest with him in his grave. In considering his works as a\nwhole, his almost unrivalled power of moving us to laughter or to tears,\nwe cannot help contrasting what he has done, great as it is, with what he\nmight have done had he been endowed with a clear religious belief, and not\na heart open only to mere human goodness.\n\nTo conclude, then: the point of our article is this. The novel is a power\namong us to\u2010day: a new weapon thrown into the midst of the strife of good\nand evil, to be taken up by either party. Those who would uproot all\nmorality, all law, all faith, the basis of humanity, have been quick to\nsee its efficacy, seize upon it, and turn it to a terrible account. It is\nnot so much the open direct teachings of heathen, pagan,\nrationalistic\u2014call it what you will, it means the same in the long\nrun\u2014philosophy that we are to fear. The intellects that breathe in that\natmosphere are few and far between. But when this heathenism comes\nfiltered down to us through sources that meet us at every turn, and\nimpregnates and poisons the innocent streams that ought to beautify and\nfertilize the intellect of the mass\u2014when it comes to us half disguised in\nthe literature that we place in the hands of our sons and daughters, it is\ntime for us to purge this poison out.\n\nStop novels we cannot. Let preachers thunder as they may, they will be\nwritten, and they will be read. It is for us to seize upon that weapon,\nand turn it to our own purpose. We have already done so to a degree. Our\ngreat thinkers, Wiseman, Newman, have recognized the necessity of this,\nand themselves set us the example. But not to such men as these are we to\nlook for a Catholic school of novelists: their duties are higher, their\nwork more laborious, though not, and we may say it advisedly, from the\nnecessities of the day more important. We want a crowd of such writers as\nGerald Griffin, Bernard McCabe, Lady Fullerton, the authoress of _The\nHouse of Yorke_. In France, Belgium, Germany, Italy, and Spain, we have\nbeen more successful. The Countess of Hahn Hahn, Bolanden, Mrs. Craven,\nConscience, Manzoni, Fernan Caballero, show us that Catholic writers who\ngive themselves to this necessary and noble work can make the novel their\nown, and compete successfully even in the matter of sale with the Dumases,\nthe Eugene Sues, George Sands, Wilkie Collinses, Charles Reades, Miss\nBraddons. Their works are received with heartfelt approval by the critics\nof the Protestant press. And we cannot refrain from thanking these\ngentlemen for the very fair, honest and manly, and conscientious use they\nmake of their pens in this particular at least. Critics are heartily weary\nof the mass of rubbish they are compelled to wade through week after week,\nmonth after month. If anything, they are too mild. We lack something of\nthat hearty knock\u2010down criticism which prevailed in the palmy days of the\nquarterlies; which killed or cured; which lashed Byron into savagery and\nbrought out his true genius; which crushed the weakly and the worthless.\n\nCatholic novelists, and Protestant also, have a noble field before them\nwherein to sow and reap. It is for them to show that vice and unchastity\nare not the only subjects which can interest us; that godliness and _true_\nlove are not such dull, insipid, everyday things; that suffering and self\u2010\ndenial and sacrifice for a noble purpose, the soul\u2010conflict of human\npassion against the eternal decrees, and its mastery after much struggle\nand weary strife, are full of the profoundest interest for man; that\nhistory is but the chronicle of this conflict, and when rightly read shows\nit forth in every page; that our souls can be fired, our flagging senses\nstimulated, our admiration aroused, by the well\u2010told story of the struggle\nof right when we see a God moving and acting in it all, far more than by\nthe adoration of indecency deified.\n\n\n\n\nReview Of Vaughan\u2019s Life Of S. Thomas: Concluded.(114)\n\n\nIn our last number, we endeavored to give our readers some idea of Prior\nVaughan\u2019s _Life of S. Thomas of Aquin_. We purposely omitted, however, to\nsay anything of his treatment of the personal history of the saint\nhimself. The name of Thomas of Aquin belongs to church history, to\ntheology and philosophy; but it also belongs to what is known by the\nsomewhat uncouth name of hagiography; and the story of the _saint_ is more\nengaging to the greater number of readers, than the history of the\ntheologian or the philosopher. We have already hinted that some of Prior\nVaughan\u2019s best pages are to be found in the narrative of the saint\u2019s\npersonal story.\n\nBiography is as old as the days of Confucius, or at least as the times of\nhis early disciples; and whilst its object has been, on the whole, the\nsame in all ages, its forms have undergone infinite variety. Men have\nwritten Lives in order to cheat Death of his victims. They have tried to\nkeep heroes alive by embalming them in incorruptible and imperishable\nspeech, that all time might know them, and their influence might reach\nfrom age to age. Biography has always had a moral purpose: to make men\npatriotic, or brave, or virtuous\u2014to make them better in heart, rather than\nmore subtle in intellect. Example being the great motive power in the\nworld, the images of men in books have done much to shape the world\u2019s\ncourse. But the books that have preserved the memory of heroic men have\nbeen of many different sorts. In old times, they used to be books of\nanecdote\u2014books which were a threaded series of pithy sayings and generous\ndeeds, each with a point of its own, and altogether tending to form the\ncitizen, the soldier, or the virtuous man. And the style of Plutarch and\nof Diogenes Laertius was continued by Ven. Bede, by William of Malmesbury,\nby Froissart, and by the innumerable chroniclers of the middle ages. The\nbiographer speaks in his own person now and then, but his words are very\nbrief, and are often not so much an assistance to the tale, as a break in\nit or a sort of private _aside_ with the reader. The personal features of\nthe hero, his mind or his body, are not made much of by the old\nbiographers. You hear about his height, his complexion, the color of his\nhair, or the length of his chin; but you are never told when his eye\nflashes or his lip curls. Dates are not matters of importance. You have\nhis birth and his death, but there is none of that curious comparative\nchronology which modern readers know of. And as for any sense of the\npicturesque, any idea of scene\u2010painting or putting in backgrounds, it need\nnot be said that the old biographies are as plain as the background of a\nGreek theatre. They now and then give particulars of time, place, and\ncircumstance which their modern transcribers seize upon as a miner seizes\non the rare and welcome nugget; but these are entirely beyond their own\nintention. The historical and the moral are the only two elements to be\nfound in lives from Xenophon down to Dr. Johnson. The latter biographer\nsuggests that, in his days, the _moralizing_ element had developed out of\nthe merely moral. But the life of Prior and the life of Alcibiades are not\nvery distantly related. The time was coming when lives began to be\npicturesque. The growth of the propensity to the picturesque is a curious\nproblem. Why is it that Homer never describes Troy, that Herodotus never\ngives us a picture of Marathon, that C\u00e6sar has no eye for the Rhine, and\nthat Froissart does not paint St. Denis on the day of the Oriflamme,\nwhilst, on the other hand, Montalembert stops his story to describe the\nWestern Isles, De Broglie lets us see the Council of Nicea as it sat,\nStanley consecrates pages to paint Jud\u00e6a and Carmel, and every writer of a\nsaint\u2019s life at the present hour provides for a picture or two in every\nchapter? Who began this? We do not mean who began the picturesque in\nliterature, for that question, though a curious one is not so difficult to\nanswer; but who began the picturesque in biography? It is Chateaubriand\nwho usually gets the credit of having initiated all the romance and\nsentimentality that has crept into serious literature during the last\nhalf\u2010century. Chateaubriand has only left, if we remember rightly, one\nattempt at biography, and the _Vie de Ranc\u00e9_ contains certainly sentiment\nand romance enough, but it is not graphic in the way that modern\nbiographies are. The author dashes off brilliant sketches of society, he\nrecites imaginary scenes, or rather episodes, in which nature plays her\npart, he makes incisive remarks, and utters beautiful poetry; but when he\ncomes face to face with De Ranc\u00e9, the penitent and the monk, his hand\nseems to falter, and he grows feeble and disappointing, just where a\nmodern writer would have seized the opportunity of powerful painting and\nstrong situation. For ourselves, whatever influence Chateaubriand had\u2014and\nhe had much\u2014in directing men\u2019s thoughts to analogies that lie beneath the\nsurface of nature, of history, and of the human heart, we are inclined to\nattribute the modern craving for the picturesque to the development of a\nquality in which Chateaubriand did not especially excel; we mean,\nearnestness and reality. Many causes, and most of all, perhaps, that\nseries of political and religious phenomena which is summed up in the word\n_revolution_, have combined, during the present century, to take\nliterature out of the hands of merely professional writers, or to make\nthose only choose it as a profession who have something earnest to say.\nStyle and thought have come to be considered one thing. As De Quincey\nobserves, style is not the mere alien apparelling of a thought, but rather\nits very incarnation.\n\nIt is easy to see how earnestness leads to the picturesque in biography.\nIn proportion as the writer is able to fix his mind upon his hero, in the\nsame proportion he comes to realize him, as the phrase is. Not only are\nall the facts and circumstances collected with the care of a lawyer\ngetting up a brief, but words and names that look dead and speechless are\nanalyzed as with magnifying power, till they take significance and life.\nEvery name, as Aristotle saw, is itself a picture; but it is a picture\nthat only requires a more powerful imaginative lens to grow greater,\nfuller, and more living. And therefore the earnest writer, because he\nlooks more intently at his subject, sees more in it to put upon his\ncanvas; and the reader, struck by the significance that he cannot gainsay,\nand moved by the pictures, as pictures always move the human fancy, is\nheld in bonds by the writer, and remembers long and vividly what impressed\nhis thought so strongly at the first. He is like one who has seen the site\nof a great battle, and has once for all fixed for himself, as he gazed,\nthe relative positions and movements of the fight; he will not easily\nforget it. Something must, no doubt, be added to this; something must be\nallowed to modern culture, to modern appreciation of art as art, to modern\nlove of landscape, and to the general _romanesque_ tendency begun by\nChateaubriand. But so far from the tendency to picturesque biography being\nwholly attributable to sentiment, we hold that it is precisely our modern\nearnestness that makes us demand to see things nearer and more real.\nDoubtless the picturesque biographer is exposed to many dangers, and his\nreaders to many trials. He may \u201crealize\u201d what does not exist; he may\n\u201canalyze\u201d out of his inner consciousness alone; he may usurp what is the\nprivilege of the poet and the romancer, and give names and habitations not\nonly to airy nothings, but, what is much more serious, to unsubstantial\nmistakes. And therefore we do not wonder that many well\u2010meaning people,\nwith the results of romantic biography or history before their eyes, and\nyouthful remembrances of Lingard and Butler, have come to distrust every\naccount of a personage or of a fact which contains the smallest mixture of\nimagination.\n\nThe length of these prefatory remarks may lead the reader to suppose that\nPrior Vaughan has written picturesquely and sensationally about S. Thomas\nof Aquin. Yet this, stated absolutely, would by no means be true. We shall\npresently give one or two passages, in which a fine imaginative and\ndescriptive power, we think, is displayed. But the book bears no sign of a\nstraining after pictorial effect. Yet its whole idea is pre\u2010eminently\npicturesque. Prior Vaughan has written with the idea of not merely giving\nthe history of his chosen saint, but of localizing it in time and in\nspace. It is with this view that he enters into descriptions of Aquino, of\nMonte Cassino, of Paris and its University; it is for this that he brings\nS. Dominic and S. Francis on the canvas, and sketches the figures of\nFrederick II., of Abelard, of S. Bernard, of William of Paris. Each of\nthese names has some connection with Thomas of Aquin, and each throws\nfresh light on the central object, when it is analyzed with care.\n\nHere is the description, taken from the opening pages of the first volume,\nof the town of Aquino, which was, if not the birthplace of the saint, at\nleast the principal seat of his family:\n\n\n    \u201cThe little town of Aquino occupies the centre of a vast and\n    fertile plain, commonly called Campagna Felice, in the ancient\n    Terra di Lavoro. This plain is nearly surrounded by bare and\n    rugged mountains, one of which pushes further than the rest into\n    the plain; and on its spur, which juts boldly out, and which was\n    called significantly Rocca Sicca, was situated the ancient\n    stronghold of the Aquinos. The remnants of this fortress, as seen\n    at this day, seem so bound up with the living rock, that they\n    appear more like the abrupt finish of the mountain than the ruins\n    of a medi\u00e6val fortress. Yet they are sufficient to attest the\n    ancient splendor and importance of the place; and the torrent of\n    Melfi, which, tumbling out of the gorges of the Alps, runs round\n    the castellated rock, marks it out as a fit habitation for the\n    chivalrous and adventurous lords of Aquino, Loreto, and\n    Belcastro.\u201d\u2014i. 3, 4.\n\n\nPrior Vaughan, as a Benedictine, is naturally drawn to dwell upon the fact\nof S. Thomas having lived as a boy for five or six years in the Abbey of\nMonte Cassino. It certainly seems true that the child was placed by his\nparents in the abbey with a view to his continuing there after he came to\nyears of discretion; just as so many children had been from the days of S.\nBenedict downwards. \u201cTo all intents and purposes,\u201d says the author, \u201cS.\nThomas of Aquin was a Benedictine monk. Had he continued in the habit till\nhis death\u2014without any further solemnity beyond the offering of his\nparents\u2014he would have been reckoned as much a Benedictine as S. Gregory,\nS. Augustine, S. Anselm, or S. Bede\u201d (i. 20). We do not think that this\ncan be denied. It was affirmed on oath, in the process of canonization, by\nan exceedingly trustworthy witness, that the saint\u2019s father \u201cmade him a\nmonk\u201d at Monte Cassino. And a monk he was, no doubt, as much as a boy of\ntwelve can be a monk\u2014and the Council of Trent, be it remembered, had not\nthen fixed the age of religious vows at sixteen. But the frightful\nconfusion of the times brought his Benedictine days to a premature close.\nMonte Cassino was pillaged and nearly destroyed, the community was\nscattered, and Thomas of Aquin went to Naples to study\u2014and to find the\nhabit of S. Dominic.\n\nThe personal character which is drawn in this work is that of a large\u2010\nminded, serene man, of powerful natural genius and winning character, who\nsteps forth from the ranks of medi\u00e6val nobility, and, turning his back on\nsword and lance, and giving no heed to the tumult of war and rapine,\ndeliberately consecrated himself wholly to God, and, grace being added to\nnatural gifts, illuminates the world as a doctor and as a saint. It would\nbe interesting to dwell, if we had space, upon the circumstances of S.\nThomas joining the Order of S. Dominic. The opposition of his family, the\nutter unscrupulousness with which they carried out their opposition, the\nquiet yet fervent persistence of the saint\u2014feudal violence, maternal\ndesperation, and ecclesiastical interference\u2014all this makes up a scene of\nwonderful reality and deep suggestiveness. But we must pass it over. S.\nThomas became a Dominican, and we follow him from Naples to Cologne, from\nCologne to Paris. We follow the course of his academical life, his\nwritings, his teaching, his promotion to the grade of bachelor, of\nlicentiate, of doctor. The first chapter of the second volume is entitled\n\u201cS. Thomas made doctor.\u201d It contains a lively picture of the great\nUniversity of Paris and its life from day to day; and with it, moreover,\nthe author gives an eloquent summary of the character of his hero, part of\nwhich we extract, because it is in some sort a key to the whole story of\nhis life.\n\n\n    \u201cA man with the power possessed by the Angelical could afford to\n    be serene and tranquil. He lived, as it were, behind the veil; he\n    saw through, and valued at its intrinsic worth, this earth\u2019s\n    stage, and took the measure of all the actors on it. Like Moses,\n    he came down from the mountain, into the turmoil of the chafing\n    world below, and, enlarged by the greatness of the vision in which\n    he habitually lived, it shrank into insignificance before his eye;\n    and those events or influences which excited the minds of others,\n    and disturbed their peace, were looked upon by him somewhat in the\n    same way as we may imagine some majestic, solitary eagle surveys\n    from his high crag, with half\u2010unconscious eye, the world of woods\n    below him. The Angelical himself had drawn his first lessons from\n    a mountain eyrie. His elastic mind, even as a boy, had expanded,\n    as he looked down from the mighty abbey, on teeming plain and\n    rugged mountain, with the far\u2010distant ranges of the snowy\n    Apennines standing up delicate and crisp against the sky. God, who\n    made all this, had drawn him to himself, and the fingers of a\n    heavenly hand, striking on his large, solitary heart, had sealed\n    him imperially, for all his life to come, as the great master of\n    the heavenly science, and as the gentle prince of peace....\n    Immense weight of character, surpassing grasp of mind, and\n    keenness of logical discernment, added to a sovereign benignity\n    and patience, and to a gentleness and grace which spoke from his\n    eyes and thrilled in the accents of his voice, made men conscious,\n    when in contact with him, that they were in presence of a man of\n    untold gifts, and yet of one so exquisitely noble as never to\n    display them, save for the benefit of others. Men knew that he had\n    the power to crush them; but since he was so great, they knew also\n    that he never would misuse it; they found him ever self\u2010forgetting\n    and self\u2010restrained. A character with such a capability of\n    asserting itself, and yet ever manifesting such gentle self\u2010\n    repression, must have acted with a singular fascination on any\n    generous mind that came into relation with it.... He was a vast\n    system in himself, and appears to have been specially created for\n    achieving such an end. He was one single, simple man\u2014doubtless.\n    But he was a \u2018system,\u2019 or the representation of a system\u2014the\n    highest type of what heroism can do in human heart and mind.\n    Christ, in choosing him, had chosen the most majestic of human\n    creations, converting it into a powerful exponent of the light,\n    peace, and splendor which strike out from the cross. He, if any\n    man, had rested on the bosom of his Lord. He, the great Angelical,\n    with the golden sun flashing from his breast, and the fire of\n    heaven scintillating round his massive brow\u2014he, if any man, had\n    broken the bread of the strong, and had refreshed his lips with\n    the blood of the grape, and had been transfigured by the draught.\n    There is a largeness about him which, whilst it expands the heart,\n    seems almost to take away the breath. We look up at him, and say:\n    \u2018How great art thou! how gently courteous, and how tenderly true!\n    Sweet was the power of God, and the grace of Christ, which made\n    thee all thou art. O gentle mighty sun, shine on in thy sweet\n    radiance, spread thy pure invigorating rays amidst the deep sad\n    shadows of the earth!\u2019... Such was his character. And, prescinding\n    from his natural gifts, how did he become so mighty? The cause has\n    been touched on and partially developed already. The reader,\n    adequately to realize it, would do well to study and master, with\n    his heart as well as with his head, the monastic theology of S.\n    Victor\u2019s\u2014the Benedictine science of the saints. Grasp the spirit\n    of S. Anselm, S. Bernard, and the Victorines, weigh it as a whole,\n    follow its drift, mark its salient points, learn to recognize the\n    aroma of that sweet mystic life of tough yet tender service and\n    self\u2010forgetfulness, and you will have discovered that spring of\n    living waters which ran into the heart and mind of the great\n    Angelical, and lent to all his faculties\u2014aye, and even to his very\n    person and expression\u2014a warmth and glow which seemed to have come\n    direct from heaven. From the rock, which was Christ, flowed\n    straight and swift into the paradise of his soul four crystal\n    waters: Love\u2014fixing the entire being on the sovereign good, and\n    doing all for him alone; Reverence\u2014that is, self\u2010distrust and\n    self\u2010forgetfulness, produced by the vision of God\u2019s high majesty\n    awfully gazed on with the eye of faith; Purity\u2014treading all\n    created things, and self first, under the feet, and, with entire\n    freedom of spirit, basking and feeding in the unseen world;\n    Adoration\u2014love, reverence, and purity, combined in one act of\n    supreme worship, as the creature, with all he has and all he is,\n    bends prone to the earth, and with a feeling of dust and ashes\n    whispers to his soul: \u2018The Lord he is God, he made us, and not we\n    ourselves!\u2019 \u201d (ii. 31\u201048.)\n\n\nThe mind and heart are both fond of dwelling on the heroic; and the heroic\nis met with at every step in the life of S. Thomas. We are reminded, as we\nread, of that Achilles on whose prowess hangs the fate of Troy and of the\nGreeks,\n\n\n    \u201cFull in the midst, high\u2010towering o\u2019er the rest,\u201d\n\n\nhis limbs encased in an armor that is more divine than that which the\nfather of fire forged for the son of Peleus, the gold upon his breast, the\nsword of the Spirit by his side, the \u201cbroad refulgent shield\u201d of heavenly\nfaith upon his arm, and in his hand the great paternal spear that none but\nhe can wield\u2014not a \u201cwhole ash\u201d felled upon Pelion by old Chiron; but the\nseven gifts of the Christian doctorate wielded by the force of seraphic\nlove. His appearance in the lists of argument, in the contest of the\nschools, in the field of intellectual strife, has all the _quelling_ power\nthat is ascribed to the greatest heroes of the battle\u2010field; and his place\nin the records of mental and theological history is that of a discoverer,\na conqueror, and a king. Here is a scene which is perhaps more or less\nfamiliar, but it is a type of many scenes in this wonderful life. It\noccurred whilst Thomas was under Albertus Magnus, at Cologne:\n\n\n    \u201cMaster Albert had selected a very difficult question from the\n    writings of Denis the Areopagite, and had given it to some of his\n    scholars for solution. Whether in joke or in earnest, they passed\n    on the difficulty to Thomas, and begged him to write his opinion\n    upon it. Thomas took the paper to his cell, and, taking his pen,\n    first stated, with great lucidity, all the objections that could\n    be brought against the question; and then gave their solutions. As\n    he was going out of his cell, this paper accidentally fell near\n    the door. One of the brothers passing picked it up, and carried it\n    at once to Master Albert. Albert was excessively astonished at the\n    splendid talent which now, for the first time, by mere accident,\n    he discovered in that big, silent student. He determined to bring\n    out, in the most public manner, abilities which had been for so\n    long a time so modestly concealed. He desired Thomas to defend a\n    thesis before the assembled school, on the following day. The hour\n    arrived. The hall was filled. There sat Master Albert. Doubtless\n    the majority of those who were to witness the display imagined\n    that they were about to assist at an egregious failure. How could\n    that heavy, silent lad\u2014who could not speak a word in\n    private\u2014defend in public school, against the keenest of opponents,\n    the difficult niceties of theology? But they were soon undeceived,\n    for Thomas spoke with such clearness, established his thesis with\n    such remarkable dialectical skill, saw so far into the coming\n    difficulties of the case, and handled the whole subject in so\n    masterly a manner, that Albert himself was constrained to cry\n    aloud, \u2018_Tu non videris tenere locum respondentis sed\n    determinantis_!\u2019 \u2018Master,\u2019 replied Thomas with humility, \u2018I know\n    not how to treat the question otherwise.\u2019 Albert then thought to\n    puzzle him, and show him that he was still a disciple. So, one\n    after another, he started objections, created a hundred\n    labyrinths, weaving and interweaving all manner of subtle\n    arguments, but in vain. Thomas, with his calm spirit and keen\n    vision, saw through every complication, had the key to every\n    fallacy, the solution for every enigma, and the art to unravel the\n    most tangled skein\u2014till, finally, Albert, no longer able to\n    withhold the expression of his admiration, cried out to his\n    disciples, who were almost stupefied with astonishment: \u2018We call\n    this young man a dumb ox, but so loud will be his bellowing in\n    doctrine that it will resound throughout the whole world\u2019 \u201d (i.\n    321, 322).\n\n\nHow exactly this prophecy was fulfilled need not be said. S. Thomas was\nsoon employed in speaking to the world what God had given him to say. He\nspoke in the class\u2010hall and in the church; he wrote for young and for old;\nand wherever his voice was heard men wondered as at a portent. The\nstudents of Paris, the professors of France and of Italy, his fellow\u2010\nreligious, the intimate friend of his privacy, the rough people round his\npulpit, the pope himself as he sat and heard him preach, every one said\nover again the wondering words that Albert the Great had used in the hall\nat Cologne. And if we had no record of what men thought, we should still\nbe secure in saying that they were astonished; for we are astonished\nourselves. Many men who have made a great noise in their lifetime have\nleft posterity to wonder, not at themselves, but at their reputation. But\nthe writer of the _Summa_ _must_ have been great even in his lifetime.\nThat breadth of view, that keenness of analysis, that comprehensive reach\nof thought, that enormous memory\u2014we can see it for ourselves, and every\nstory of his prowess we can readily credit from what the imperishable\nrecord of his written works attests to our own eye. Prior Vaughan relates\ninteresting anecdotes of his power of discussion, and of his influence\nover the irreverent world of his scholastic compeers, filling up the\noutlines of the annalist with no greater exercise of imagination than is\nfairly permitted to the serious biographer.\n\nBut the heroic in the life of the Angel of the Schools would not be\nperfect unless the giant strength had been joined to the gentleness of the\nservant of Christ. There is nothing, perhaps, that will so strike a reader\nof this Life as his mild, equal, and gentle spirit. It does not seem that\nS. Thomas was naturally of a quick and impetuous nature, like S. Ignatius\nor S. Francis of Sales. From his youth he had been a contemplative in the\ncloisters of Monte Cassino; when but a child he had charmed his teachers\nby asking with childish meditative face, \u201c_What was God?_\u201d His quiet\ndetermination had conquered his mother when she opposed him being a\nDominican; his calm courage had converted his sisters and shamed his\nbrothers. And in the schools, his silence and his humility, virtues never\nmore difficult to be practised than in the field of intellectual combat,\nhad soon become the marvel of all who knew him. A great natural gift\u2014the\ngift of a changeless serenity of heart and temper\u2014was perfected in him by\ngrace, until it became heroic. The contest he once had in the Paris\nschools with Brother John of Pisa, a Franciscan friar who afterwards\nbecame Archbishop of Canterbury, is typical of what always happened when\nthe Angelical discussed:\n\n\n    \u201cJohn of Pisa, though a keen and a learned man, had no chance with\n    the Angelical. It would have been folly for any one, however\n    skilled\u2014yes, for Bonaventure, or Rochelle, or even Albert the\n    Great himself\u2014to attempt to cross rapiers with Br. Thomas. He was\n    to the manner born. Br. John did all that was in him, used his\n    utmost skill\u2014but it was useless: the Angelical simply upset him\n    time after time. The Minorite grew warm; the Angelical, bent\n    simply on the truth, went on completing, with unmoved serenity,\n    the full discomfiture of the poor Franciscan. John of Pisa at\n    length could stand it no longer. In his heat he forgot his middle\n    term and forgot himself, and turned upon the saint with sarcasm\n    and invective. The Angelical in his own gentle, overpowering way,\n    giving not the slightest heed to these impertinences, went on\n    replying to him with inimitable tenderness and patience; and\n    whilst teaching a lesson which, after so many hundred years, men\n    can still learn, drew on himself, unconsciously, the surprise and\n    admiration of that vast assembly. Such was the way in which the\n    Angelical brought the influence of Benedictine _quies_ and\n    _benignitas_ into the boisterous litigations of the Paris schools.\n    And what is more, Frigerio tells us that the saint taught the\n    great lesson of self\u2010control, not only by the undeviating practice\n    of his life, but also by his writings; that he looked upon it as\n    an \u2018ignominy\u2019 (ignominia) to soil the mouth with angry words; and\n    contended that \u2018quarrels,\u2019 immoderate contentions, vain\n    ostentation of knowledge, and the trick of puzzling an adversary\n    with sophistical arguments\u2014such as is often the practice of\n    dialecticians\u2014should be banished from the schools\u201d (ii. 57\u201059).\n\n\nThe appearance of such a man as S. Thomas, in the midst of the scholastic\nagitation of the XIIIth century, partakes of that providential character\nwhich the eye of faith sees in the lives of all the great saints. We have\nalready, in a former notice, touched upon the marvellous way in which he\nturned the current of thought against rationalism, heresy, and impiety.\nBut his personal influence was no less than what we may term his official.\nAt the moment when theology was beginning, with philosophy as her\nhandmaid, to enter on that course of development in which system, on the\none hand, advanced in equal steps with discovery on the other, it was the\nwill of God that a saint should show the world in his own person a perfect\nmodel of the Catholic scholastic theologian. His powers were undeniable,\nhis genius imperial, his rights undoubted; and he used his privileges and\nhis grand position to enforce upon the noisy spirits of the time, and upon\nall generations of students yet to be, that the true type of theological\ndiscussion was \u201c_humilis collatio, pacifica disputatio_.\u201d\n\nThe theologian was to be no proud dogmatist, laying down the law as if he\nhad discovered all truth, but one who, taking the faith for his standing\u2010\npoint, humbly put forth and peacefully discussed the views that he thought\nto be true. This was his great lesson; he taught it in the tone of his own\nlectures and discussions, in the turn of his phrase when he wrote, in the\nmeekness of his answers, and in the moderation of his conclusions. And we\nmay thank the Providence that sent S. Thomas for that calm and judicial\nserenity which has ever been the prevailing character of Catholic\ntheology. The great Dominican school that he founded carried on the\ntraditions of their master; and (to take an example not far from our own\ndays) the weighty and admirably clear pages of a Billuart are not\nunworthy, in their broad, searching, yet tranquil argument, of the master\nwhom they follow. A troubled reach of time separates Paris in the XIIIth\ncentury from Douay in the XVIIth; yet the spirit of S. Thomas had been\nliving over it all. Not only in his own religious family was his influence\nstrong. The Franciscan Order has its own tradition; but it is a tradition\nthat sprung up side by side with the Dominican. It was the seraphic\nBonaventure that sat beside Thomas of Aquin in the hall of the University\nof Paris on the day when each of them received the insignia of the\ndoctorate. They were friends\u2014more than friends, for each knew the other to\nbe a saint. Each heard the other speak, and the spirit of one was the\nspirit of both. And in spite of divergences and varieties, such as our\nLord permits in order to draw unity from diversity or good from evil, the\ntwo Orders have taught in harmonious spirit during all the long centuries\nthey have been before the world. S. Thomas, who reverenced S. Bonaventure,\nhas had the reverence of all S. Bonaventure\u2019s children; and we have before\nus as we write the _Cursus Theologi\u00e6_ of a venerable bearded Capuchin,\nconsiderably esteemed in the theological classes of the present day, who\nstops in his enumeration of fathers and of doctors to add his emphatic\ntribute of veneration to the Angelic Doctor, who, he reminds us, is, with\nS. Augustine, \u201c_pr\u00e6cipuus theologorum omnium temporum magister_\u201d\u2014the great\nmaster of theologians of all ages. And what we say of the Franciscan Order\nwe may say of that great school which dates its traditions from that\nCardinal Toletus who was the pupil of the Dominican Soto. It is not that\nthe Jesuit theologians, even the many\u2010sided Suarez, have looked up to S.\nThomas as to their prince and teacher: this they have done; but even if\nthey had left his teaching, or where they have left his teaching, they\nhave followed his spirit. That spirit we might name the spirit of\n_conciliation_. We do not mean the spirit of compromise, or of going only\nhalf\u2010way in matters of truth. S. Thomas was as downright as Euclid. But\nwhat we refer to is that readiness to admit all the good or the true in an\nopposite view, the shrinking from forcing a vague word upon an adversary,\nthe impartial dissection of words and phrases which issues from the\nscholastic and Thomistic method of _distinction_. The _distinguo_ of the\ntyro or the sophist is a trick that is easily learned and easily laughed\nat; but we claim for the scholastic method that its _distinguo_ is the\ntouchstone of truth and of falsehood; it requires acuteness and stored\u2010up\nlearning to make it and sustain it; but it requires, above all, that\nperfect fairness of mind, that judicial impartiality of view, which calms\nthe promptings of ambitious originality; it requires that patience which\nseeks only the truth and cares nothing for the victory, and that honesty\nwhich is afraid of declamation, and sets its matter out in unadorned and\ncolorless simplicity. This is the true scholastic spirit, and it is pre\u2010\neminently the spirit of S. Thomas. If we might personify that grand\nscience which has been so high in this world, and seems now to have sunk\nso low (yet, with the signs around us, we dare hardly say so now), it\nwould be under the figure of him who is its prince and lawgiver.\n\n\n    \u201cSee him, then, our great Angelical, as with calm and princely\n    bearing he advances, a mighty\u2010looking man, built on a larger scale\n    than those who stand around him, and takes the seat just vacated\n    by Bonaventure. His portrait as a boy has been sketched already.\n    Now he has grown into the maturity of a man, and his grand\n    physique has expanded into its perfect symmetry and manly\n    strength, manifesting, even in his frame, as Tocco says, that\n    exquisite combination of force with true proportion which gave so\n    majestic a balance to his mind. His countenance is pale with\n    suffering, and his head is bald from intense and sustained mental\n    application. Still, the placid serenity of his broad, lofty brow,\n    the deep gray light in his meditative eyes, his firm, well\u2010\n    chiselled lips, and fully defined jaw, the whole pose of that\n    large, splendid head\u2014combining the manliness of the Roman with the\n    refinement and delicacy of the Greek\u2014impress the imagination with\n    an indescribable sense of giant energy of intellect, of royal\n    gentleness of heart, and untold tenacity of purpose. That sweet\n    face reflects so exquisite a purity, that noble bust is cast in so\n    imperial a mould, that the sculptor or the painter would be struck\n    and arrested by it in a moment; the one would yearn to throw so\n    classical a type into imperishable marble, and the other to\n    transfer so much grandeur of contour, and such delicacy of\n    expression, so harmonious a fusion of spotlessness with majesty,\n    of southern loveliness with intellectual strength, to the enduring\n    canvas\u201d (ii. 108, 109).\n\n\nThe angelic quality of the Angel of the Schools\u2014his calmness and his power\nover men\u2014was not bought without a price. Like all the saints, he too had\nto bear the cross, and like all the saints he was not content with\nsuffering the cross, but he sought it and courted it. We cannot quote much\nmore of Prior Vaughan\u2019s narrative, or else we would fain draw attention to\nthe account he gives from authentic sources of Thomas\u2019 holy distress of\nmind, and his midnight prayer the night before he received the doctorate.\nBut the following paragraph must be transcribed:\n\n\n    \u201cLet the carnal man, after looking on the sweet Angelical\n    fascinating the crowded schools, take the trouble to follow him,\n    as silently, after the day\u2019s work, he retires to his cell,\n    seemingly to rest; let him watch him bent in prayer; see him take\n    from its hiding\u2010place, when all have gone to sleep, that hard iron\n    chain; see him\u2014as he looks up to heaven and humbles himself to\n    earth\u2014without mercy to his flesh, scourge himself with it,\n    striking blow upon blow, lacerating his body through the greater\n    portion of the sleepless night: let the carnal man look upon this\n    touching sight; let him shrink back in horror if he will\u2014still let\n    him look on it, and he will learn how the saints labored to secure\n    a chaste and spotless life, and how a man can so far annihilate\n    self\u2010seeking as to be gentle with all the world, severe with\n    himself alone. If in human life there is anything mysteriously\n    adorable, it is a man of heroic mould and surpassing gifts showing\n    himself great enough to smite his own body, and to humble his\n    entire being in pretence of his Judge\u201d (ii. 60, 61).\n\n\nS. Thomas died in the prime of life\u2014when scarcely forty\u2010eight years old.\nHe was called away a little before his great work, the _Summa_, was\ncompleted, as if his Master wished to show the lamenting world that his\nown claims were paramount to every other thing. But it was that divine\nMaster himself who had rendered it necessary to take away his servant when\nhe did; for S. Thomas could write no more. After that vision and ecstasy\nwhich rapt his soul in the chapel of S. Nicholas at Naples, he ceased to\nwrite, he ceased to dictate; his pen lay idle, and the _Summa_ stood still\nin the middle of the questions on penance. It was, as he said to his\ncompanion Reginald, _Non possum!_ \u201cI cannot! Everything that I have\nwritten appears to me as simply rubbish.\u201d From that day of S. Nicholas he\nlived in a continual trance: he wrote no more. As the new year (1274) came\nin, he set out, at the pope\u2019s call, to attend the general council at\nLyons: but he was never to get so far. He had not journeyed beyond\nCampania\u2014he was still travelling along the shores of that sunny region\nwhich had given him birth, when mortal illness arrested him, and he was\ntaken to the Abbey of Fossa Nuova to die.\n\n\n    \u201cThe abbot conducts him through the church into the silent\n    cloister. Then the whole past seems to break in upon him like a\n    burst of overflowing sunlight; the calm and quiet abbey, the\n    meditative corridor, the gentle Benedictine monks; he seems as if\n    he were at Cassino once again, amidst the glorious visions of his\n    boyish days\u2014amidst the tender friendships of his early youth,\n    close on the bones of ancient kings, near the solemn tomb of\n    Blessed Benedict, in the hallowed home of great traditions, and at\n    the very shrine of all that is fair and noble in monastic life. He\n    seemed completely overcome by the memories of the past, and,\n    turning to the monks who surrounded him, exclaimed \u2018_This_ is the\n    place where I shall find repose!\u2019 and then ecstatically to\n    Reginald in presence of them all: \u2018_H\u00e6c est requies mea in s\u00e6culum\n    s\u00e6culi, hic habitabo quoniam elegi eam_\u2014This is my rest for ever\n    and ever; here will I dwell, for I have chosen it\u2019 \u201d (ii. 921).\n\n\nThe whole of this last scene of the great saint\u2019s pilgrimage is admirably\nand most touchingly brought out by the author, and our readers must go to\nit themselves. As we conclude the story, we are forced to agree with Prior\nVaughan when he exclaims, \u201cIt is but natural, it is but beautiful, that he\nwho in early boyhood had been stamped with the signet of S. Benedict,\nshould return to S. Benedict to die!\u201d\n\nWe are sure that this life of S. Thomas of Aquin will do good. It is a\nlarge book, but it deals with a large and a grand life. It is the work of\none who evidently has an interest in his subject far beyond that of the\nmere compiler. The earnestness, the warmth, the very redundancy and\nfulness of the author\u2019s style, leave the impression of one whose heart is\nstrongly impressed by the glorious career which he has been following so\nminutely, and there is little doubt that his readers will sympathize with\nhim. And there can be just as little doubt of the benefits which a\npractical study of the life of the great doctor will confer upon students,\nupon priests, and upon all serious men at the present day. Sanctity taught\nby example is always an important lesson; but the saintliness of learning\nand genius is still more important and still more rare. We live in an age\nwhen there are numbers of men who are profoundly scientific and splendidly\naccomplished in the different branches of knowledge which they profess;\nand there is no one who is more sure of the world\u2019s attention and\nreverence than the man who can show that he knows something which other\nmen do not. The present time, therefore, is one at which we are to look\nfor and to hope for men who in theology and Catholic philosophy shall be\nas able and as learned as are the leaders of profane science. Hard work\nand unwearying devotedness are essential to this; and the example of S.\nThomas shows us what these things mean. But there is something which is\nmore necessary still; something which is especially necessary in sacred\nscience. \u201c_In malevolam animam non intrabit Sapientia, nec habitabit in\ncorpore subdito peccatis._\u201d There is no such thing as the highest wisdom\nwithout the highest purity of heart. The perfection of the Christian\ndoctorate is the consequence of the perfect possession and exercise of the\nSeven Gifts of the Holy Ghost. And the holy fathers who have written on\nChristian wisdom tell us repeatedly, using almost identical words, that a\nman might as well try to study the sun with purblind eyes as to be perfect\nin theology with a heart defiled. There has been no greater example in the\nrange of sanctity of what S. Augustine calls the \u201c_mens purgatissima_\u201d\nthan that of him who on account of his purity has been called the\nAngelical. Leaving the world as a child, his heart hardly knew what\nearthly concupiscence was. With his loins girded by angels\u2019 hands, with\nhis body subdued by hard living, with his thought always ranging among\nhigh and elevating things, the soul of S. Thomas lived in a region that\ndid not belong to the world. He learnt his wisdom of the crucifix, he\nfound his inspirations at the foot of the altar; and the same lips that\ndictated the _Commentaries on Aristotle_ were ready to break forth with\nthe _Lauda Sion_ and the _Pange Lingua_. If he taught in the daytime, he\nchastised his body during the watches of the night. Born to a gentle life,\nwith powerful friends, with the world and its attractions within his\nreach, he lived in his narrow cell, cleaving to his desk and to his\nbreviary, walking the streets with a quick step and downcast eye, letting\nthe world go on its way. He wanted only one thing\u2014not as a reward for his\nlabor, because his labor was only a means to a great end\u2014he wanted only\nthat one object which he asked for when the figure spoke to him from the\nCross, \u201cThee, O Lord! and thee alone!\u201d\n\nPrior Vaughan has accomplished a task for which he will receive the thanks\nof all English\u2010speaking Catholics. His book will be read, and will be\ntreasured; for it is a book with a large purpose, carried out with\nunwearying labor, presenting the results of wide reading, and offering the\nstudent and the general reader a large variety of solid information and of\nsuggestive thought. If the book were less honestly wrought out than it is,\nwe could excuse the author, in consideration of the heart and soul he has\nthrown into it. S. Thomas of Aquin is evidently a very real, living being\nwith him. His hero is no abstraction of the past, no quintessence of a\nscholastic that must be looked at as one looks at an Egyptian papyrus in a\nmuseum. He is a man to _know_, not merely to know about; a man who taught\nin Paris and who reigns in heaven; a man who led an angel\u2019s life here\nbelow, and who can help us to lead a life more or less angelic from his\nplace above. To have worked with such a spirit is to have worked in the\ntrue spirit of the Catholic faith. The saints are our teachers and\nmasters; and, what is more, they are the trumpets that rouse us to battle,\nthe living voices that make our hearts burn to follow them. And therefore\na true life of a saint will live, and will do its work. Our wish is that\nPrior Vaughan\u2019s _S. Thomas_ may make its way into the hearts of earnest\nmen, and it is our conviction that it _will_ make its way, and that men\nwill be the better for it.\n\n\n\n\nTo S. Mary Magdalen.\n\n\n    \u2019Mid the white spouses of the Sacred Heart,\n    After its Queen, the nearest, dearest, thou.\n    Yet the aur\u00e9ola around thy brow\n    Is not the virgins\u2019. Thine a throne apart.\n    Nor yet, my Saint, does faith\u2010illumined art\n    Thy hand with palm of martyrdom endow:\n    And when thy hair is all it will allow\n    Of glory to thy head, we do not start.\n    O more than virgin in thy penitent love!\n    And more than martyr in thy passionate woe!\n    How should thy sisters equal thee above,\n    Who knelt not with thee on the gory sod?\n    Or where the crown our worship could bestow\n    Like that long gold which wiped the feet of God?\n\n\n\n\nGod\u2019s Acre.\n\n\nIn all countries and in all creeds, the dead have claimed the affectionate\nnotice of the living. The idea of housing them, deifying them,\npropitiating them, of remembering them in _some_ way, however diverse, has\nalways been a prominent one. The belief in the soul\u2019s immortality seems to\nhave been even more clear to the ordinary mind of the natural man than\nthat of a Supreme and Almighty Being. When Christianity appeared, the\ndeparted had a place assigned them among the members of the church, and\nwere commemorated as absent brethren gone before their fellows one stage\nfurther on the last great journey; when the Reformation disfranchised\nhuman nature in the XVIth century, and levelled all its hallowed\naspirations with the brute instincts of the animal kingdom, the dead,\nthough divorced from communion with the living, were yet remembered, and\nplaced in two categories\u2014the elect, or the precondemned. Another life was\neven then believed in, and later branches of the reforming sects all\ncondescended at least to theorize on the future state of disembodied\nspirits. It remained for our times to foster the cruel _un_belief that\ndooms our loved ones, not even to everlasting perdition, but to absolute\nannihilation. It was hard enough in Puritan days for a pious though\nmistaken mind to bring itself to the belief that possibly the loved\ncompanion of childhood, the chosen mate of youth, the venerable parent,\nthe upright teacher, was one of those predestined to eternal torments, one\nof the holocausts to the greater glory of God; but how far harder now for\na fond heart, a clinging nature, to see in those it loves so many\nperishable puppets, without future and without hope! But happily there is\na haven to which these storm\u2010tossed souls may come with the precious\nfreight of their love and their unerring Catholic instincts. Their\ncompanions and brethren are not gone into trackless chaos, they are not\nabsorbed into that monstrous \u201cnothing\u201d of which a false philosophy has\nmade a bewildering bugbear. Every year the church protests against such\nrevolting doctrines on the day which she publicly consecrates to prayers\nfor and remembrance of the departed. This festival is like a spiritual\nharvest\u2010home; coming as it does just at the close of the ecclesiastical\nyear, it marks an epoch in the life of the church suffering; and various\n\u201crevelations\u201d made to saints, as well as the collective belief of the\nfaithful, agree in considering it a day of liberation and rejoicing among\nthe souls in Purgatory. \u201cGod\u2019s Acre\u201d (according to the touching and\nsuggestive German idiom) is reaped on that auspicious day, though, like\nBoaz, the Divine Reaper leaves yet a few ears of corn to be gleaned into\nheavenly rest by the prayers of the faithful on earth.\n\nBefore we go further into our own beautiful view of the future life, let\nus stop to see how other races and religions have treated the dead.\n\nOf the Egyptians, it is difficult to speak except at too great a length,\nand, not having at hand sufficient authority, we can only set down what\nour recollection will supply. The readers of THE CATHOLIC WORLD will no\ndoubt remember some interesting articles published a few months since\nregarding the ancient civilization of Egypt, in which copious reference\nwas made to the esteem and respect paid to the dead in that country. The\nsingular custom of pledging the embalmed body of a father or ancestor, on\nthe receipt of a loan, was noticed; also the dishonor attaching to the\nnon\u2010redemption of such a pledge. A learned English author, speaking\nincidentally of Egyptian embalming, mentions that the word mummy is\nderived from \u201cmum,\u201d which, he says, is Egyptian for _wax_. Representations\nof the embalming process have been found on tombs and sarcophagi, in which\nthe men engaged in it are seen wearing masks with eagles\u2019 beaks, probably\niron masks, thereby denoting of what a poisonous and dangerous nature this\nabsolutely incorruptible embalmment must have been. The Pyramids are\nperhaps the most imposing funeral monuments ever raised to the memory of\nmortals, and even the famous Mausoleum of Artemisia can have had no more\nmassive or _eternal_ an aspect.\n\nTo pass from the cradle of older civilization to the land whose original\npeopling has sometimes been attributed, though we believe inaccurately, to\nEgyptian enterprise, the America of the Aztec and the Red Indian, we find\nin Parkman\u2019s _Jesuits in America_ some lengthy details on the funereal\ncustoms of the Huron tribe, now extinct. He says that \u201cthe primitive\nIndian believed in the immortality of the soul, but not always in a state\nof future punishment or reward. Nor was the good or evil to be rewarded or\npunished (when such a belief _did_ exist) of a moral nature. Skilful\nhunters, brave warriors, men of influence, went to the happy hunting\u2010\ngrounds, while the slothful, the weak, the cowardly, were doomed to eat\nserpents and ashes in dreary regions of mist and darkness.... The spirits,\nin form and feature, as they had been in life, wended their way through\ndark forests to the villages of the dead, subsisting on bark and rotten\nwood. On arriving, they sat all day in the crouching posture of the sick,\nand when night came hunted the shades of animals, with the shades of bows\nand arrows, among the shades of trees and rocks; for all things, animate\nand inanimate, were alike immortal, and all passed together to the gloomy\ncountry of the dead.\u201d The public ceremony of exhuming the dead, of which\nsome interesting details are given further on, was supposed to be the\noccasion of the beginning of the other life. The souls \u201ctook wing, as some\naffirmed, in the shape of pigeons; while the greater number believed that\nthey journeyed on foot ... to the land of shades, ... but, as the spirits\nof the old and of children are too feeble for the march, they are forced\nto stay behind, lingering near their earthly homes, where the living often\nhear the shutting of their invisible cabin doors, and the weak voices of\nthe disembodied children driving birds from their corn\u2010fields.... The\nIndian land of souls is not always a region of shadows and gloom. The\nHurons sometimes represented the souls of their dead as dancing\njoyously.... According to some Algonquin traditions, heaven was a scene of\nendless festivity, ghosts dancing to the sound of the rattle and the\ndrum.... Most of the traditions agree, however, that the spirits were\nbeset with difficulties and perils. There was a swift river which must be\ncrossed on a log that shook beneath their feet, while a ferocious dog\nopposed their passage, and drove many into the abyss. This river was full\nof sturgeon and other fish, which the ghosts speared for their\nsubsistence. Beyond was a narrow path between moving rocks which each\ninstant crashed together, grinding to atoms the less nimble of the\npilgrims who endeavored to pass. The Hurons believed that a personage\nnamed Oscotarach, or the Head\u2010Piercer, dwelt in a bark house beside the\npath, and that it was his office to remove the brains from the heads of\nall who went by, as a necessary preparation for immortality. This singular\nidea is found also in some Algonquin traditions, according to which,\nhowever, the brain is afterwards restored to its owner.\u201d\n\nLe Clerc, in his _Nouvelle Relation de la Gasp\u00e9sie_, tells a curious\nstory, which is mentioned in a foot\u2010note by Parkman. It was current in his\n(Le Clerc\u2019s) time among the Algonquins of Gasp\u00e9 and Northern New\nBrunswick, and bears a remarkable likeness to the old myth of Orpheus and\nEurydice. \u201cThe favorite son of an old Indian died, whereupon the father,\nwith a party of friends, set out for the land of souls to recover him. It\nwas only necessary to wade through a shallow lake, several days\u2019 journey\nin extent. This they did, sleeping at night on platforms of poles which\nsupported them above the water. At length, they arrived and were met by\nPapkootparout, the Indian Pluto, who rushed on them in a rage, with his\nwar\u2010club upraised, but, presently relenting, changed his mind and\nchallenged them to a game of ball. They proved the victors, and won the\nstakes, consisting of corn, tobacco, and certain fruits, which thus became\nknown to mankind. The bereaved father now begged hard for his son\u2019s soul,\nand Papkootparout at last gave it to him in the form and size of a nut,\nwhich, by pressing it hard between his hands, he forced into a small\nleather bag. The delighted parent carried it back to earth, with\ninstructions to insert it into the body of his son, who would thereupon\nreturn to life. When the adventurers reached home, and reported the happy\nissue, of their journey, there was a dance of rejoicing; and the father,\nwishing to take part in it, gave his son\u2019s soul to the keeping of a squaw\nwho stood by. Being curious to see it, she opened the bag, upon which it\nescaped at once, and took flight for the realms of Papkootparout,\npreferring them to the abodes of the living.\u201d\n\nThese superstitions, although they may make us smile, yet attest, through\ntheir rude simplicity, the _natural_ and deep\u2010rooted existence in all\nraces of a belief not only in the immortality of the soul, but in the\npossibility of communication with the departed. The Buddhist doctrine of\ntransmigration is but a distorted version of the truth we call purgatory,\nthat is, a state of temporary expiation and gradual cleansing. The\nEgyptian practice of embalming the dead and often of preserving the bodies\nof several generations of one\u2019s forefathers in the family house, is\nanother consequence of the primeval belief in the soul\u2019s immortality.\nEverywhere reverence for the dead implied this belief and symbolized it,\nand even the custom of placing in the mouth of the Roman dead the piece of\nmoney, _denarius_, with which to pay their passage over the Styx, is\nreferable to the true doctrine of good works being laid up in heaven and\nhelping those who have performed them to gain the desired entrance into\neternal repose.\n\nThe following minute description of the Indian feast of the dead, of which\nmention has already been made, is interesting, and is condensed from the\naccount given by Father Breb\u0153uf: \u201cThe corpses were lowered from their\nscaffolds and lifted from their graves. Each family claimed its own, and\nforthwith addressed itself to the task of removing what remained of flesh\nfrom the bones. These, after being tenderly caressed with tears and\nlamentations, were wrapped in skins and pendent robes of beaver. These\nrelics, as also the recent corpses, which remained entire, but were\nlikewise carefully wrapped in furs, were carried to one of the largest\nhouses, and hung to the numerous cross poles which, rafterlike, supported\nthe roof. The concourse of mourners seated themselves at a funeral feast,\nthe squaws of the household distributed the food, and a chief harangued\nthe assembly, lamenting the loss of the deceased and praising their\nvirtues. This over, the mourners began their march for Ossonan\u00e9, the scene\nof the final rite. The bodies remaining entire were borne on litters,\nwhile the bundles of bones were slung at the shoulders of the relatives,\nlike fagots. The procession thus defiled slowly through the forest\npathways, and as they passed beneath the shadow of the pines, the mourners\nuttered at intervals and in unison a wailing cry, meant to imitate the\nvoices of disembodied souls, ... and believed to have a peculiarly\nsoothing effect on the conscious relics that each man carried. The place\nprepared for the last rite was a cleared area in the forest, many acres in\nextent. Around it was a high and strong scaffolding of upright poles, with\ncross\u2010poles extended between, for hanging the funeral gifts and the\nremains of the dead. The fathers lodged in a house where over a hundred of\nthese bundles of mortality hung from the rafters. Some were mere shapeless\nrolls, others were made up into clumsy effigies, adorned with feathers,\nbeads, etc. In the morning (the procession having arrived over night at\nOssonan\u00e9) the relics were taken down, opened again, and the bones fondled\nanew by the women, amid paroxysms of grief. When the procession bearing\nthe dead reached the ground prepared for the last solemnity, the bundles\nwere laid on the ground, and the funeral gifts outspread for the\nadmiration of the beholders. Among them were many robes of beaver and\nother rich furs, collected and preserved for years with a view to this\nfestival. Fires were lighted and kettles slung, and the scene became like\na fair or _caravanserai_. This continued till three o\u2019clock in the\nafternoon, when the gifts were repacked, and the bones shouldered afresh.\nSuddenly, at a signal from the chiefs, the crowd ran forward from every\nside towards the scaffolding, like soldiers to the assault of a town,\nscaled it by the rude ladders with which it was furnished, and hung their\nrelics and their gifts to the forest of poles which surmounted it. The\nchiefs then again harangued the people in praise of the departed, while\nother functionaries lined the grave throughout with rich robes of beaver\nskin. Three large copper kettles were next placed in the middle, and then\nensued a scene of hideous confusion. The bodies which had been left entire\nwere brought to the edge of the grave, flung in, and arranged in order at\nthe bottom by ten or twelve Indians, stationed there for the purpose, amid\nthe wildest excitement and the uproar of many hundred mingled voices.\nNight was now fast closing in, and the concourse bivouacked around the\nclearing.... One of the bundles of bones, tied to a pole on the scaffold,\nchanced to fall into the grave. This accident precipitated the closing\nact, and perhaps increased its frenzy. All around blazed countless fires,\nand the air resounded with discordant cries. The naked multitude, on,\nunder, and around the scaffolding, were flinging the remains of their\ndead, relieved from their wrappings of skins, pell\u2010mell into the pit,\nwhere were discovered men who, as the ghastly shower fell around them,\narranged the bones in their places with long poles. All was soon over;\nearth, logs, and stones were cast upon the grave, and the clamor subsided\ninto a funereal chant, so dreary and lugubrious that it seemed like the\nwail of despairing souls from the abyss of perdition.\u201d\n\nThese processions and ceremonies relating to the bones of the dead remind\nus of the singular custom observed at the Capuchin Convent of the Piazza\nBarberini in Rome. The skeletons of the dead monks are robed in the habit\nof the order and seated in choir\u2010stalls round the crypt, until they fall\nto pieces, or are displaced by a silent new\u2010comer to their ghostly\nbrotherhood. The bones which are thus yearly accumulating are formed into\npatterns of stars and crosses on the walls of the crypt and surrounding\ncorridors, while the skulls are often heaped up in small mounds against\nthe partitions. The convent is strictly enclosed, and is only accessible\nto men during the rest of the year, but on All Souls\u2019 day and during the\noctave, the public, men and women alike, are allowed to visit this strange\nplace of entombment. Crowds flock to see it, especially foreigners.\nHawthorne, in his _Marble Faun_, has described it in terms that make one\nfeel as if _his_ impression were vivid enough to supply the place of a\npersonal one on the part of each of his readers.\n\nThe ancient Roman customs and beliefs concerning the dead are well worth\nnoticing, as embodying the essence of the utmost civilization a heathen\nland could boast. It is said that the Romans chose the cypress as\nemblematic of death because that tree, when once cut, never grows again.\nThe facts of natural history are sometimes disregarded by the ancient\npoets, but it is not with that that we now have to deal, but with the\nfalse idea symbolized by this choice. The Romans, nevertheless, fully\nbelieved in an after\u2010life, though one modelled much on the same principle\nas their life on earth. The unburied and those whose bodies could not be\nfound were supposed to wander about, unable to cross the river Styx, and\ntheir friends therefore generally built them an empty tomb, which they\nbelieved served as a retreat to their restless spirits. Pliny ascribes the\nRoman custom of burning the dead to the belief that was current amongst\nthe people, that their enemies dug up and insulted the bodies of their\nsoldiers killed in distant wars. During the earlier part of the Republic,\nthe dead were mostly buried in the natural way, in graves or vaults. Some\nvery strange ceremonies are recorded in Adams\u2019 _Roman Antiquities_\nconcerning the funeral processions, which usually took place at night by\ntorch\u2010light. (This was chiefly done to avoid any chance of meeting a\npriest or magistrate, who was supposed to be polluted by the sight of a\ncorpse, as in the Jewish dispensation.) After the musicians, who sang the\npraises of the deceased to the accompaniment of flutes, came \u201cplayers and\nbuffoons, one of whom, called _archimimus_ (the chief mimic), sustained\nthe character of the deceased, imitating his words or actions while alive.\nThese players sometimes introduced apt sayings from dramatic writers.\u201d\nActors were also employed to personate the individual ancestors, and\nAdams\u2019 commentator adds in a foot\u2010note: \u201cA Roman funeral must therefore\nhave presented a singular appearance, with a long line of ancestors\nstalking gravely through the streets of the capital.\u201d Pliny, Plautus,\nPolybius, Suetonius, and others are the authorities quoted on this curious\npoint. It is said by some authors that, in very ancient times, the dead\nwere buried in their own houses; hence the origin of idolatry, the worship\nof household gods, the fear of goblins, etc. Relations also consecrated\ntemples to the dead, which Pliny calls a very ancient custom, which had\nits share in contributing to the establishment of idol\u2010worship. In the\nBook of Wisdom(115) we find a reference to this in these words: \u201cFor a\nfather, being afflicted with bitter grief, made to himself the image of\nhis son, who was quickly taken away, and him who then had died as a man,\nhe began now to worship as a god, and appointed him rites and sacrifices\namong his servants. Then in process of time, wicked custom prevailing,\nthis error was kept as a law.\u201d Adams tells us that \u201cthe private places of\nburial of the Romans were in fields or gardens, usually near the highway\n(such as the Via Appia near Rome, the Via Campana near Pozzuoli, the\nStreet of Tombs at Pompeii), to be conspicuous and remind those who passed\nof mortality. Hence the frequent inscriptions\u2014_Siste, viator_,(116)\n_Aspice, viator_.\u201d(117) Games of gladiators were frequently held both on\nthe day and the anniversaries of great funerals; and on the pyre slaves\nand clients were sometimes burnt with the body of their deceased master,\nas also all manner of clothes and ornaments, and, \u201cin short, whatever was\nsupposed to have been agreeable to him when alive.\u201d As the funeral cort\u00e9ge\nleft the place where the body had been burnt, they \u201cused to take a last\nfarewell, repeating several times _Vale_, or _Salve \u00e6ternum_,\u201d(118) also\nwishing that the earth might lie light on the person buried, as Juvenal\nrelates, and which was found marked on several ancient monuments in these\nletters, S.T.T.L.(119) \u201cThis is a very remarkable instance of the dead\nbeing considered, in one sense, as conscious, sentient beings, and\nevidently has an origin which can hardly be disconnected from some remote\nor indistinct recollection of the true religion.\u201d\n\nAdams goes on to say that \u201coblations or sacrifices to the dead were\nafterwards made at various times, both occasionally and at stated periods,\nconsisting of liquors, victims, and garlands, as Virgil, Tacitus, and\nSuetonius tell us, and sometimes to appease their _manes_, or atone for\nsome injury offered them in life. The sepulchre was bespread with flowers,\nand covered with crowns and fillets. Before it there was a little altar,\non which libations were made and incense burnt. A keeper was appointed to\nwatch the tomb, which was frequently illuminated with lamps. A feast was\ngenerally added, both for the dead and the living. Certain things were\nlaid on the tomb, commonly beans, lettuce, bread, and eggs, or the like,\nwhich it was supposed the ghosts would come and eat. What remained was\nburnt. After the funeral of great men,... a distribution of raw meat was\nmade to the people.\u201d\n\n\u201cImmoderate grief was thought to be offensive to the manes, according to\nTibullus, but during the shortened mourning that was customary, the\nrelations of the deceased abstained from entertainments or feasts of any\nsort, wore no badge of rank or nobility, were not shaved, and dressed in\nblack, a custom borrowed (as was supposed) from the Egyptians. \u2018No fire\nwas ever lighted, as it was considered an ornament to the house.\u2019 \u201d\n\nThe common places of burial were called _columbaria_, from the likeness of\ntheir arrangement to that of a pigeon\u2010house, each little niche scooped out\nin the walls holding the small urn in which the ashes of the dead were\ndeposited. These _columbaria_, Adams tells us, were often below ground,\nlike a vault, but private tombs belonging to wealthy citizens were in\ngroves and gardens; as, for instance, that of Augustus, mentioned by\nStrabo, who calls it a hanging garden supported on marble arches, with\nshrubs planted round the base, and the Egyptian obelisks at the entrance.\nThe tomb of Adrian, now the Castel S. Angelo, was a perfect palace of\nwealth and art, and supplied many a later building with ready\u2010made\nadornment before it became what it now is, a fortress. The tomb of Cecilia\nMetella, on the Via Appia, was also used as a medi\u00e6val stronghold, and\nlooks more fit for such a use than for its former funereal distinction.\n\nFrom ancient and imperial, we now pass to modern and Christian Rome, so\nundistinguishable in the chronology of their first blending, so widely\napart in the moral order of their succession.\n\nThe subject of the catacombs and the early inscriptions on Christian\ngraves is one so widely known and so copiously illustrated by many learned\nworks, both English and foreign, that it would be superfluous to say much\nabout it. Yet Cardinal Wiseman is so popular an author, and _Fabiola_ so\nstandard a novel, that we may be forgiven for drawing a little on\ntreasures so temptingly ready to our hand. There is in the first chapter\nof the second part of _Fabiola_ an interesting reference to the old\nestablished craft of the _fossores_, or excavators of the Christian\ncemeteries. Cardinal Wiseman says that some modern antiquarians have based\nupon the assertion of an anonymous writer, contemporary with S. Jerome, an\nerroneous theory of the _fossores_ having formed a lesser ecclesiastical\norder in the primitive church, like a _lector_ or reader. \u201cBut,\u201d he adds,\n\u201calthough this opinion is untenable, it is extremely probable that the\nduties of this office were in the hands of persons appointed and\nrecognized by ecclesiastical authority.... It was not a cemetery or\nnecropolis company which made a speculation of burying the dead, but\nrather a pious and recognized confraternity, which was associated for the\npurpose.\u201d Father Marchi, the great Jesuit authority on ancient\nsubterranean Rome, says that a series of interesting inscriptions, found\nin the cemetery of S. Agnes, proves that this occupation was continued in\nparticular families, grandfather, father, and sons having carried it on in\nthe same place. The _fossores_ also transacted such rare bargains as were\nknown in those days of simplicity and brotherly love, when wealthy\nChristians willingly made compensation for the privilege of being buried\nnear a martyr\u2019s tomb. Such an arrangement is commemorated in an early\nChristian inscription preserved in the Capitol. The translation runs thus:\n\u201cThis is the grave for two bodies, bought by Artemisius, and the price was\ngiven to the _fossor_ Hilarus\u2014that is ... (the number, being in cipher, is\nunintelligible.) In the presence of Severus the _fossor_, and Laurentius.\u201d\n\nCardinal Wiseman, jealous of Christian traditions, particularly notes that\nthe theory of the subterranean crypts, now called catacombs, ever having\nbeen heathen excavations for the extraction of sand, has been disproved by\nMarchi\u2019s careful and scientific examination. He then describes the manner\nof entombment used in these underground cemeteries: \u201cTheir walls as well\nas the sides of the staircases are honeycombed with graves, that is, rows\nof excavations, large and small, of sufficient length to admit a human\nbody, from a child to a full\u2010grown man.... They are evidently made to\nmeasure, and it is probable that the body was lying by the side of the\ngrave while this was being dug. When the corpse was laid in its narrow\ncell, the front was hermetically closed either by a marble\u2010slab, or more\nfrequently by several broad tiles put edgeways in a groove or mortise, cut\nfor them in the rock, and cemented all round. The inscription was cut upon\nthe marble, or scratched in the wet mortar.... Two principles, as old as\nChristianity, regulate this mode of burial. The first is the manner of\nChrist\u2019s entombment; he was laid in a grave in a cavern, wrapped up in\nlinen, embalmed with spices, and a stone, sealed up, closed his sepulchre.\nAs S. Paul so often proposes him for the model of our resurrection, and\nspeaks of our being buried with him in baptism, it was natural for his\ndisciples to wish to be buried after his example, so as to be ready to\nrise with him. This lying in wait for the resurrection was the second\nthought that regulated the formation of these cemeteries. Every expression\nconnected with them alluded to the rising again. The word to _bury_ is\nunknown in Christian inscriptions: \u2018_deposited_ in peace,\u2019 \u2018the\n_deposition_ of ...\u2019 are the expressions used; that is, the dead are left\nthere for a time, till called for again, as a pledge or precious thing,\nentrusted to faithful but temporary keeping. The very name of cemetery\nsuggests that it is only a place where many lie, as in a dormitory,\nslumbering for a while, till dawn come and the trumpet\u2019s sound awake them.\nHence the grave is only called the \u2018place,\u2019 or more technically \u2018the small\nhome,\u2019(120) of the dead in Christ.\u201d\n\nThe old Teutonic _Gottes\u2010Acker_, the acre or field of God, denotes the\nsame eminently Christian idea; the dead are thus likened to the seed\nhidden in the ground for a while, to ripen into a glorious spiritual\nharvest when the last call shall be heard. We have read somewhere, in an\nEnglish novel whose name has escaped our memory, the same beautiful idea\nmost poetically expressed. It was something to this effect: \u201cWe put up a\nstone at the head of a grave, just as we write labels in the spring\u2010time\nfor the seeds we put into the earth, that we may remember what glorious\nflower is to spring from the little gray, hidden handful that seems so\ninsignificant just now\u201d\u2014a Catholic thought found astray in a book that had\nnothing Catholic about it save its beauty and poetry; for beauty is a ray\nof truth, and truth is one and Catholic. One other remark is worth\nremembering about the early Christian inscriptions on the tombs of the\ndeparted. There is generally some anxiety to preserve a record of the\nexact date of a person\u2019s death, and, in modern days, if it happened that\nthere was no room for both the day and the year, no doubt the _day_, would\nbe left unnoticed, and the year carefully chronicled. \u201cYet,\u201d says Cardinal\nWiseman, \u201cwhile so few ancient Christian inscriptions supply the year of\npeople\u2019s deaths, thousands give us the very day of it on which they died,\nwhether in the hopefulness of believers or in the assurance of martyrs. Of\nboth classes annual commemoration had to be made on the very day of their\ndeparture, and accurate knowledge of this was necessary. Therefore it\nalone was recorded.\u201d\n\nO ages of faith! when it was the ambition of Christians to be inscribed in\nthe Book of Life, instead of leaving names blazoned in gold in the annals\nof an earthly empire!\n\nPrayers for the dead were in use among the primitive Christians, and in\none of the inscriptions mentioned by Cardinal Wiseman the following\nreference to these prayers is found: \u201cChrist God Almighty refresh thy\nspirit in Christ.\u201d That this hallowed custom is akin to the natural\nfeelings of a loving heart is self\u2010evident; the coldness of an \u201cage of\nphilosophy\u201d alone could doubt it. Well might it be called the age of\ndisorganization and not of philosophy (which is \u201clove of wisdom\u201d), for the\nwisdom that seeks to pull down instead of building up is but questionable.\nThe disorganization of political society which we see at work through the\nInternational and the Commune; the disorganization of moral society which\nwe behold every day increasing through the ease with which the marriage\u2010\ntie is dissolved, and the hold the state is claiming on children and even\ninfants; the disorganization of religious society which we find in the\never\u2010multiplying feuds of sects, like gangrene gradually eating away an\nunsound body; these are all fitting companions to that most ruthless\nsevering of this world from the next which pretends to isolate the dead\nfrom the spiritual help and sympathy of the living, and to dwarf in the\nsouls of men what even human laws commanded, or at least protected,\nconcerning their bodies. The want of our age is a want of heart;\nheartlessness and callousness to the most sacred, the most _natural_\nfeelings, is shown to a fearful extent among our modern mind\u2010emancipators\nand reformers. On the one hand, nature is held up as a god to which all\nmoral laws are to be subject, or, rather, before whose _fiat_ they are to\ncease to exist, while, on the other, nature (in everything lawful,\ntouching, noble, generous) is told that she is a fool, and must learn to\nsubdue \u201cchildish\u201d aspirations and outgrow \u201cchildish\u201d beliefs!\n\nBut the belief of a communication between the living and the departed is\nnot only a _natural_ one; it is also Biblical. S. Matthew speaks of the\nmiddle state of souls when he mentions the strict account that will have\nto be rendered of \u201cevery idle word.\u201d(121) S. Paul says that \u201cevery man\u2019s\nwork ... shall be tried in _fire_: and the fire shall try every man\u2019s work\n_of what sort it is_. If any man\u2019s work burn, he shall suffer loss, but he\nhimself shall be saved; yet so as by fire.\u201d(122) S. Peter makes mention of\n\u201cthe spirits in prison,\u201d(123) and S. John, in the Apocalypse, implies a\nstate of probation when he says that \u201cthere shall not enter into it [the\nNew Jerusalem] anything defiled or that worketh abomination, or maketh a\nlie.\u201d(124) In the Second Book of Machabees, one of the most national of\nthe Jewish records, and the most favorite and consolatory of the religious\nbooks held by the Jews as infallible oracles, the whole doctrine of\npurgatory and prayers for the departed is most plainly adverted to.\n\nAfter a great battle and victory, Judas Machabeus searches the bodies of\nhis slain warriors, and finds that some of them had appropriated heathen\nvotive offerings made to the idols whose temples they had burnt at Jamnia\na short time before. Upon this discovery, according to the sacred text,\nwhich is here too precious a testimony to be condensed, he, \u201cmaking a\ngathering, sent twelve thousand drachms of silver to Jerusalem for\nsacrifice to be offered for the sins of the dead, thinking well and\nreligiously concerning the resurrection. (For if he had not hoped that\nthey that were slain should rise again, it would have seemed superfluous\nand vain to pray for the dead.) And because he considered that they who\nhad fallen asleep with godliness, had great grace laid up for them. It is\ntherefore a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead, that they may\nbe loosed from their sins.\u201d(125)\n\nIt may not perhaps be generally known that, among the Jews, the custom of\npraying for the dead exists, and has always existed uninterruptedly. Some\nof the supplications are very beautiful, and we do not hesitate to give\nthem here, as an interesting corroboration of the assertions we have made\nthroughout.\n\nThe chief prayers for the dead are contained in the \u201cKaddisch\u201d for\nmourners, which forms part of the evening as well as the morning service\nfor the Jewish Sabbath. Although the dead are not mentioned by name, it is\nto them alone that the prayers apply, as we understand from persons of\nthat persuasion. The text is the following:\n\n\u201cMay our prayers be accepted with mercy and kindness; may the prayers and\nsupplications of the whole house of Israel be accepted in the presence of\ntheir Father who is in heaven, and say ye Amen. [The congregation here\nanswer Amen.] May the fulness of peace from heaven with life be granted\nunto us and to all Israel, and say ye Amen.\u201d \u201cMy help is from the Lord,\nwho made heaven and earth. May he who maketh peace in his high heavens\nbestow peace on us and on all Israel. And say ye Amen.\u201d\n\nDuring these prayers, the mourners stand up and answer. Other invocations\nmention \u201cthe soul of my father\u201d or \u201cmother,\u201d etc., as the case may be. In\nthe service for the dead read over the corpse, these words occur: \u201cO Lord\nour God, cause us to lie down in peace, and raise us up, O our King, to a\nhappy life. I laid me down fearless and slept; I awoke, for the Lord\nsustained me.\u201d All through the Old Testament we constantly find \u201csleep\u201d\nused as a synonym for death. Scattered through the morning and evening\nservices of the Hebrew liturgy there are invocations, frequently repeated,\nreferring to the dead, such as these: \u201cThou, O Lord, art for ever\npowerful; thou restorest life to the dead, and art mighty to save. Thou\nart also faithful to revive the dead: blessed art thou, O Lord, who\nrevivest the dead.\u201d God is also said \u201cto hold in his hands the souls of\nthe living and the dead,\u201d thus giving at least equal prominence to the\ndeparted and those they have left in their place. The Jews believe and\nhope that their prayers on earth benefit and refresh their lost brethren,\nand pray daily for them. The bodies of the departed are plainly dressed in\na linen shroud without superfluous ornamentation, but many of the old\nceremonies and purifications enjoined in the old law are now dispensed\nwith. The old manner of burial was in a cave or spacious sepulchre in a\nfield or garden, and the body was wrapped in spices, which were often\nburnt around it. The double cave of Mambre, bought for Sarah by Abraham,\nstood at the end of a field, and the sepulchres of the kings were also in\na field. The garden where Our Lord was laid is another instance of the\nuniversality of this custom. In the Second Book of Chronicles(126) we read\nof King Asa that \u201cthey buried him in his own sepulchre which he had made\nfor himself in the city of David: and they laid him on his bed full of\nspices and odoriferous ointments, which were made by the art of the\nperfumers, and they burnt them over him with great pomp.\u201d This burning (of\nspices) is often mentioned throughout Holy Writ. Rachel, says the Book of\nGenesis,(127) was buried \u201cin the highway\u201d that led to Bethlehem, and Jacob\nerected a pillar over her sepulchre; Samuel, \u201cin his own house at\nRamatha\u201d; and Saul, beneath an oak near the city of Jabes Galaad, the\ninhabitants of which place provided for his burial, and fasted seven days\nin sign of mourning for their sovereign. Joram, king of Juda, was punished\nfor his misdeeds by exclusion from the sepulchre of his fathers, \u201cand the\npeople did not make a funeral for him according to the manner of burning\n[spices], as they had done for his ancestors.\u201d(128) Ozias, being a leper,\na disease which came upon him in punishment for having usurped sacerdotal\nfunctions, was buried \u201cin the field\u201d only \u201cof the royal sepulchre.\u201d Thus\nwe see the immense importance attached to the place of burial under the\nold Jewish dispensation, and how it was an eternal disgrace to be expelled\nin death from the neighborhood of one\u2019s family and their hereditary place\nof entombment. This feeling has continued very strong in most civilized\nand in all savage races; the graves of their forefathers are even more\nsymbolical of home and fatherland to the wandering desert tribes of\ndifferent nations, than what we should call their hearths and firesides.\nIn later times, how often have we not seen gorgeous and imposing\nbuildings, especially cathedrals and abbeys, built over the shrine of a\ndead king or bishop, canonized by that popular veneration whose last\nexpression was the public honor decreed them by the Roman Pontiff? In\nplaces where these monuments are not dedicated to the sainted dead whose\nshrines they guard, we often find them burdened with the condition of\nMasses being perpetually offered within their walls for the soul of the\ndead founder; others are memorial churches to friends or relations of the\nfounder. Public charities, doles of bread and money, annual distributions\nof clothing, hospitals, schools, or municipal institutions, etc., spring\nchiefly from the desire of the survivors to have their loved ones\nremembered to all future ages, while sometimes a generous testator himself\nwill take this simple and practical means of recommending himself to the\nprayers of unborn generations. Family names are perpetuated in remembrance\nof the departed; family records are valuable only in proportion as they\nembody a proof of longer or shorter descent from the distinguished dead.\nThere is no test of success or popularity so sure as that of death, and no\none can tell which of our living friends will be known to and loved by\nfuture nations, and which other will be passed by in obscurity and\nsilence, until long after our exit and their own from this present life\u2010\nscene. _Real_ life is centred in the dead, it revolves around them, it\ndepends on them. They are the root of which we are the leaves and flowers.\nThe life of fame is theirs, while only the life of struggle is ours; they\nare victors calmly bearing their palms, umpires gently encouraging their\nsuccessors, but we are only striving competitors, who know not and never\nwill know our fate till we have gone with them beyond the veil.\n\nGermany is, above all, the home of these beautiful traditions of an\nunbroken communion between the souls who have left earth and those who\nremain behind. _There_ are the churchyards most loved, and the\nanniversaries of deaths most remembered, even among Protestants. It is a\ncustom in Germany to wear black and to keep the day holy every recurring\nanniversary, were it twenty, forty, fifty years after the death of a\nrelative or beloved friend. The cemeteries are always blooming with every\nflower of the season, the crosses or headstones always hung with wreaths\nof immortelles. In Catholic German countries, such as Bavaria, the\nfestival of All Souls\u2019 is one of the most interesting, because the most\nindividual of the ecclesiastical year. We happened to be in Munich on one\nof these occasions, and had been there for a week previous, visiting the\ngalleries and inspecting the art\u2010manufactures for which that city is\nworld\u2010famous. But rich as it is in such treasures, the hand of its old\nKing Louis\u2014the grandfather of the present sovereign, and whom in his\nretirement we have met at Nice some few years before his death\u2014has effaced\nmuch of its medi\u00e6val stamp, and attempted to varnish it over with a\nRenaissance coating very uncongenial to the northern character of its\npeople and the northern mistiness of its atmosphere. Here we have again\nthe wretched imitation in plaster of the marble Parthenon and Acropolis;\nthe cold stuccoed pillars looming like huge bleached skeletons through a\nNovember fog, and yet supposed to represent the sun\u2010tinted columns of\nexquisite workmanship that rear themselves against the purple sky of\nGreece; the vast desert\u2010looking streets which, bordered by \u201cHaussmann\u201d\npalaces, seem intended for _future_ rather than present habitation, and\neach of which, if cut into a dozen equal parts, would furnish any capital\nwith twelve good\u2010sized public squares; above all, a stuccoed church,\ndazzlingly, painfully white, the _Theatiner\u2010Kirche_, a sort of S. Paul\u2019s\n(London) without the smoky coat thrown over it by the chimneys of the busy\ncity. Then, turning with relief to the little that is left of the old\ntown, we find a few quaint streets leading to the cathedral, a plain but\ngrand building, very fairly \u201crestored\u201d and adorned with the distinctive\nMunich statues of angels and saints, which are now sold all over the\nworld, as the worthy substitutes of plaster\u2010of\u2010Paris images of the Bernini\ntype of sculpture. A very interesting old triptych stands over the altar,\nwith its strange medley of figures forming a striking and novel reredos. A\nprocession was slowing winding its way down the aisles as we entered the\ncathedral one afternoon, and though the congregation was not numerous it\nwas very devout. A few comfortable\u2010looking old houses and quiet streets\nsurround the cathedral, and form quite an oasis in the midst of the\nmodernized city. Indeed, the monotonous stretch of apparently uninhabited\nmansions was really wearying to look at, and we began to think that King\nLouis had built his town as if he expected its population to increase at a\n_Chicagoan_ rate! It is true the season of f\u00eates had not come, and,\naccording to the recognized phrase, \u201call the world\u201d had left Munich for\nthe country villas and hunting\u2010boxes in its neighborhood, but on the day\nof All Saints, the vigil of All Souls, how magically the scene changed!\nAfter Mass in the Royal Chapel, which, by the way, is beautifully\ndecorated with frescoes of medi\u00e6val saints on a gilt background, we\nstarted for the great \u201cGottes\u2010Acker\u201d (churchyard.) We had been told that\nthis was worth seeing, and so it proved. The desert seemed to have\nblossomed like the rose. The road leading to the cemetery was crowded with\ncarriages, carts, horsemen, and foot passengers. Every one, especially\nthose on foot, carried wreaths of immortelles and small lanterns. The\ncarriages were mostly laden with wreaths. Every one looked cheerful, but\ngreat quiet prevailed throughout the crowd. It seemed to us that until the\ndead called for a visit, the living in Munich must have been well hidden,\nso great were now the numbers that incumbered the hitherto lonely road.\nAll were going in the same direction, and once there the scene was almost\nfestive. Military bands (the best, we believe, next to the Austrian) were\nstationed near the cemetery gates. The \u201cGottes\u2010Acker\u201d itself is an immense\nsquare, the length being about twice the breadth of the inclosure. Round\nthe four sides runs a covered cloister, under which are all the graves,\nmonuments, and vaults of the more wealthy part of the Munich population.\nEach of these was a perfect forest of evergreens and hot\u2010house plants,\nartistically heaped up around a vessel of holy water, from which any pious\npasser\u2010by was free to sprinkle the grave while repeating a prayer for its\noccupant. The large square in the centre was crossed and recrossed by\nnarrow paths between the serried files of graves. Nearly all were\ndistinguished by a cross, of stone, marble, wood, or metal. To these the\nwreaths and lamps were hung, and here and there a kneeling figure might be\nseen. Within the covered cloister a dense crowd promenaded slowly, while\nthe bands played unceasingly, not always, however, appropriately. It was a\nstriking scene, the like of which we do not remember to have ever\nwitnessed elsewhere. At Innsbruck, in the Tyrol, the cemetery is similar\nto this in construction and arrangement, though it is, of course, smaller\nin size. Night fell gradually as we were admiring this peculiar expression\nof national idiosyncrasy, but the crowd did not seem to grow less dense.\nIt was a remembrance worth carrying away from that old Munich whose\nspirit, though outwardly imprisoned in a pseudo\u2010classic shape, lives yet\nin the simple Christian instincts of its laboring classes. At this time,\nwhen it threatens to become another Wittenberg, have we not also seen the\nunconscious and magnificent protest of its inveterately Catholic feelings\nin the unique Passion Play, that worthily kept relic of the heroic ages of\nfaith and chivalry? Kings and philosophers cannot change the world as long\nas peasants like those of Ammergau, and artisans such as work in the\nMunich manufactories\u2014that should not be degraded to comparison with the\nmaterialistic establishments of Manchester or Sheffield\u2014are yet to be\nfound bearing through the present times the banner of their forefathers\u2019\nundying traditions. There is more simple faith among the German people,\nincluding also the Slavic and Hungarian races, than among some other\nmodern Christian nations, and no doubt there must be a hidden law of\ngracious compensation in this fact, since the same country has been the\ncradle and the teacher of almost every modern heresy and philosophical\n(_sic_) aberration. No doubt the faith of the masses is intimately\nconnected with their wonderful love of home and fatherland, their domestic\ninstincts, their love of quiet family gatherings. All this easily leads to\ngreat love and tenderness for the departed, and it reads almost more like\na German than a French saying, that \u201cthe dead are not the forgotten, but\nonly the absent.\u201d(129) Love for the dead and a reverent, prayerful\nremembrance of them are as much bulwarks to the morality of the living, as\nthey are spiritual boons to the departed themselves. We would not speak\nill of an absent friend, or break our word with one who had gone on a long\njourney; even a short earthly distance seems to make a pledge more sacred.\nHow much more when the distance is the immeasurable breadth of the valley\nof the shadow of death! We all of us remember promises once made to those\nwho have fallen asleep in Christ: those promises will be guardian angels\nto us, if we keep them; they will be so many drops of refreshing dew to\nthose who are perhaps suffering at this moment for the unfulfilled\npromises once made by them in life. Shall we whose faith includes the\ncommunion of saints as a vital dogma, and whose humble hope it must ever\nbe to become one of the church suffering after having done our weak share\nin the cause of the church militant\u2014shall we be no better for this belief\nthan are those who have it not? Let the dead be guides to us, while we are\nhelps to them; let us each remember that besides the angel we have at our\nside, there is another spirit who rejoices or grieves for and with us\u2014a\ncompany of spirits perhaps, but seldom less than one.\n\nMother or father, sister, brother, husband, wife, or child, that spirit\nfrom its prison looks sadly and lovingly earthward, marking our every step\nfrom its own patient haven of suffering sinlessness. No longer racked by\nthe personal fear of falling away, no longer haunted by the possibility of\ntemptation, it concentrates its loving anxiety on the soul whom it will\nperchance precede to heaven, but on whom it is yet dependent; let us not\ngrieve it, let us not willingly or knowingly wound it, but rather let us\ntake heed that we fit ourselves to go and bear it company in the new and\nglorious God\u2019s\u2010Acre to which we hope to be called when that \u201cwhich was\nsown in mortality shall be raised in immortality, and that which was sown\nin dishonor and weakness shall be raised in glory and in power.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nPersonal Recollections Of The Late President Juarez Of Mexico.\n\n\n\nI. The President In The Reception\u2010Room.\n\n\nWe saw President Juarez for the first time in the fall of 1865. He was\nthen temporarily established with his government in the town of El Paso,\non the northern frontier of Chihuahua, and within almost a stone\u2019s throw\nof American soil. Fort Bliss, Texas, then recently reoccupied by the Union\ntroops, was not more than ten minutes\u2019 distance from the Plaza of El Paso.\n\nThe prospects of the Mexican Republic were not then very bright; the\ntreasury was almost exhausted, the government was barely on Mexican soil,\nand on the American side of the Rio Grande it was generally looked upon as\na question of time when President Juarez would have to seek safety on our\nown side of the boundary. It is needless to say that he would have been\nreceived by the Americans of that region with right royal hospitality.\n\nAmerican sympathy and material aid were looked for, and Americans were\nvery popular with all the followers of the Mexican president.\n\nShortly after the arrival of President Juarez and his cabinet in El Paso,\nwe joined a party of American gentlemen who paid him a visit. The party\ncomprised, we think, nearly all the Americans of any standing about El\nPaso. There were the American consul, the collector of customs, three or\nfour army officers from Fort Bliss, some local civil officials, and one or\ntwo leading business men.\n\nPresident Juarez and his cabinet occupied a house on the Plaza\u2014a large\nbuilding constructed in the usual Mexican fashion. On announcing ourselves\nas a party of American citizens desirous of paying their respects to the\nchief of a sister republic, we were immediately ushered into a room where\nwe found President Juarez with most of the members of his cabinet\u2014notably\nhis successor Se\u00f1or Lerdo de Tejada, then Secretary of State, and Se\u00f1or\nYgl\u00e9sias, Secretary of the Treasury\u2014now also named for the\npresidency\u2014rather a sinecure office at the time.\n\nWe were presented in turn to the president by Se\u00f1or Ygl\u00e9sias, the only\nperson present attached to the president who spoke English. President\nJuarez spoke neither English nor French. He shook hands cordially with\neach of us, and expressed through Se\u00f1or Ygl\u00e9sias the very great pleasure\nit gave him to receive our visit. We were sufficiently familiar with the\nPueblo type to recognize Juarez immediately on entering.\n\nPresident Juarez was low in stature, rather stout, but dignified, and at\nthe same time easy in his manners. The Pueblo Indian was marked in every\nlineament of his face\u2014the aquiline nose, the small bright black eyes, the\nstraight cut mouth showing no trace of redness in the lips, the coal\u2010black\nhair, the swarthy complexion. Yet he was, as it were, an Indian idealized;\nhis forehead was high, capacious, and the light of intellectual\ncultivation illuminated his face. He was dressed in plain black.\n\nThe secretary of state, Se\u00f1or Lerdo de Tejada, is evidently, judged merely\nfrom externals, a man of great intellectual ability. His skin is as white\nas that of the fairest daughter of the Anglo\u2010Saxon. A forehead, so high as\nto seem almost a monstrosity, and of a marble whiteness, towered above a\nface that gleamed with the glance of the eagle.\n\nSe\u00f1or Ygl\u00e9sias was of a darker complexion than his colleague in the\ncabinet. He seemed to be in rather indifferent health. The expression of\nhis face was remarkably gentle and pleasing. We have already said that he\nacted as interpreter. He spoke English with a very marked accent, but with\ngreat care and correctness. We happened to be seated next him on a sofa,\nPresident Juarez being on his right. He told us that he learned to speak\nEnglish in the city of Chihuahua, and that he had never been a day in an\nEnglish\u2010speaking country.\n\nNotwithstanding that President Juarez did not speak English, and the\nnecessity of an interpreter naturally causes some embarrassment, yet his\nmanners were so pleasant and affable that he placed us at our ease at\nonce. He spoke about our war, and asked with much interest about our great\nmilitary leaders, Generals Grant, Sherman, and Sheridan. He seemed to feel\nsome sympathy with Gen. McClellan. A very pleasant half\u2010hour was spent in\nconversation on these and kindred subjects. It was at length interrupted\nby the entrance of a _p\u00e9on_ bearing a tray with quite a generous number of\nbottles of champagne on it.\n\nWe were invited to partake of the Green Seal. We stood around the table,\nPresident Juarez standing at the head. Toasts were drunk to the lasting\nfriendship of the two North American republics, to the independence of\nMexico, etc. The p\u00e9on, who was not a very bright specimen of his tribe,\nexerted himself to his utmost to open the bottles sufficiently fast. In\nhis tremulous hurry he got within point\u2010blank range of the president, and\na peculiarly excited bottle going off prematurely, discharged about half\nits contents into the president\u2019s shirt\u2010bosom. Juarez looked at the poor\n_p\u00e9on_\u2014whose swarthy face grew sickly pale, and who seemed about to sink\nto the ground with terror and confusion\u2014neither in sorrow nor in anger. He\ntook no notice whatever of the incident, but went on talking cheerfully as\nbefore. Such an accident happening to most men would have been laughable\nin the extreme. It did not seem to us to place Juarez in a ludicrous\nposition at all, his self\u2010command was so perfect, his dignity so\nthoroughly preserved.\n\nAfter all the patriotic toasts proper to the occasion had been drunk, we\ntook our leave. The president again shook hands with us, again expressed,\nthrough Se\u00f1or Ygl\u00e9sias, his gratification at meeting American citizens and\nofficers, and hoped that he should receive further visits from us.\n\nWe departed very greatly prepossessed in favor of the Mexican president.\nWe agreed in thinking that there was a simplicity and honesty of purpose\nabout him which made him the best man for the difficult position of chief\nmagistrate of the struggling republic in her great hour of trial.\n\n\n\nII. The President In The Ball\u2010Room.\n\n\nSome time after the visit just described, President Juarez gave a ball in\nhonor of the anniversary of Mexican independence. We had the honor, in\ncommon with some other Americans, of receiving an invitation to the ball,\nwhich, of course, we accepted.\n\nThere were four American ladies in our party\u2014two the wives of infantry\nofficers stationed at Fort Bliss, the post surgeon\u2019s wife, and the wife of\none of the leading citizens of Franklin. We were all invited to pass the\nnight\u2014or such portion of it as would remain after the close of the ball\u2014at\nthe mansion of a lady, a native of El Paso, of American descent.\n\nWe were bestowed in three or four vehicles, and forded the Rio Grande\nsuccessfully a little before dark. We found El Paso in festal array. The\ncathedral was covered with shining lamps from foundation to steeple. The\nPlaza was brilliantly illuminated, and crowds of both sexes were already\nassembling for the grand open\u2010air _baile_ of the _profanum vulgus_. Class\nlines of demarcation are very sharply drawn in El Paso, and the _gente\nfina_ alone were admissible to the president\u2019s ball.\n\nWe dined at the Se\u00f1ora L\u2014\u2014\u2019s, where we had the pleasure of meeting several\nMexican officers of high rank. Among them were General Ruiz, the\nPostmaster\u2010General (another sinecurist just then), and other staff\nofficers, whose names we have forgotten. A little son of one of the\nofficers at Fort Bliss\u2014a child of five or six, who spoke Spanish very\nwell, having passed nearly all his little life in New Mexico, only\nremaining sufficiently long in New York to set all doubts at rest as to\nhis being born in the Empire State\u2014became a very great favorite with the\nMexican officers.\n\nBetween ten and eleven P.M. our vehicles were again in requisition, and\naway we went to the ball. It was given in the spacious house of a wealthy\ncitizen, the front of which was brilliantly illuminated. A guard of\nMexican soldiers was posted in front of the house, and lined the long hall\nleading to the ball\u2010room. Their pieces were at order, and they saluted the\nchief officers by striking the butt of their muskets against the ground.\nThey were dressed in gray jackets, like the undress of the New York\nNational Guard, white cross belts, white trousers, and a leather cap,\nsomewhat Hussar shape.\n\nWe had the honor of giving an arm to one of the four American ladies on\nentering. Arrived at the door of the ball\u2010room, four white\u2010vested and kid\u2010\ngloved Mexican gentlemen offered an arm each to the four American ladies,\nbowing at and smiling most sweetly on us the while. At first, we were\ndisposed to resist \u201cthe deep damnation of this taking off.\u201d The ladies\nhesitated and drew back. The situation would have become remarkably comic;\nbut Don Juan Z\u2014\u2014, well\u2010known to all Americans who visit El Paso, seeing\nthe critical state of affairs, came to us and whispered that it was the\n_costumbre del pais_\u2014the custom of the country. We submitted, but, we\nfear, not with a good grace. By the way, we only saw our American ladies\nat a distance for the rest of the evening. The Mexican gentlemen took\nentire charge of them. Don Juan informed us that we were expected to take\nour revenge among the se\u00f1oras and se\u00f1oritas.\n\nThe ball\u2010room was very tastefully arranged. The _placeta_, or open square\nin the centre of all Mexican houses, on which all the rooms in the\nbuilding open, was roofed and floored for the ball\u2010room. The window\u2010\ncurtains were hung outside the window of the house; mirrors, paintings,\netc., were hung on the outer walls, making the illusion that you were\ninside the house instead of outside of it, complete. American and Mexican\nflags were festooned around the walls. The music, softly and sweetly\nplayed, was placed in a side room, entirely out of sight. No braying\ncornet flayed your ears, and no howling fiddler, calling out the figures\nfrom a position dominating everything and everybody, gave you an _attaque\nde nerfs_. The fiddlers would be heard, not seen. The waltz, the national\ndance of Mexico, was, of course, the terpsichorean _pi\u00e8ce de r\u00e9sistance_;\nbut a fair number of quadrilles were sprinkled through the programme, in\ncompliment to the Americans.\n\nWe have seen many balls in the Empire City\u2014some given under \u201cmost\nfashionable auspices\u201d\u2014but we must in justice declare that we have seen\nnone which surpassed the Mexican President\u2019s ball. There may have been\nmore glare, more glitter, more diamonds, if you will, but there certainly\nwas not more good taste, more elegance and refinement, more genuine good\u2010\nbreeding and gentlemanly and ladylike good\u2010humor. There was no rushing,\nsteam\u2010engine fashion, the length of the ball\u2010room; knocking couples to the\nright and left, and tearing dresses, without even an apology. The ladies\nwere richly but not gaudily dressed, and made no barbaric display of\ngolden ornaments, as their New Mexican sisters are wont to do on _bail\u00e9_\noccasions. The gentlemen\u2014except the army officers\u2014wore the traditional\nblack dress\u2010coat and pantaloons, with white vest and gloves, clothes and\ngloves fitting admirably, for the _gente fina_ of El Paso got both from\nParis. The army officers were, of course, in full uniform, the American\nuniform looking rather sombre compared with the red\u2010leg top trousers, with\nbroad gold or silver stripes, and the magnificent gold\u2010embroidered sashes\nof the Mexican general and field officers. By the way, the lowest officer\nin rank of the Mexicans in the ball\u2010room was a colonel. The only captains\nand lieutenants admitted were the Americans. Juarez\u2019 son\u2014\u201cthe image of his\nfather\u201d\u2014though somewhat shorter in stature, in the undress uniform of a\nsecond lieutenant of artillery was in the vestibule with the guard.\n\nThe president, with his cabinet and staff, was already in the ball\u2010room\nwhen we arrived. After being dispossessed of our fair companions, we were\nushered to the portion of the room in which the president sat. We paid our\nrespects in turn, and were kindly and cordially welcomed. Juarez was\ndressed in plain black, except his gloves, which, of course, were white.\n\nThe male portion of the American party then broke ranks, and spread\nthemselves through the ball\u2010room, enjoying themselves each after his\nfashion; some in the fascinating \u201csee\u2010saw\u201d of the Spanish dance, others in\nthe apartments off the ball\u2010room where exhilaration of a different kind\nwas provided.\n\nWe passed a very agreeable hour with Signor Prieto, a Mexican poet and\norator of distinction. Signor Prieto was then known as the \u201cHenry Clay\u201d of\nMexico. He spoke French very well. He told us with just pride that he\nconsidered the highest recognition his efforts had received was the\ntranslation of one of his poetical pieces by our American patriarch\u2010poet,\nWilliam Cullen Bryant.\n\nJust before supper\u2010time, an official came with President Juarez\u2019\ncompliments, to say that President Juarez and the members of his cabinet\nwould take the American ladies in to supper, and requesting the American\ngentlemen to take in Mexican ladies. We immediately sought our friend Don\nJuan T\u2014\u2014, and begged him to find us some Mexican lady who could talk\neither English or French. He found compliance with our request impossible,\nbut gave into our charge the Se\u00f1ora S\u2014\u2014, a magnificent beauty of the\nSpanish type, with coal\u2010black hair and large lustrous black Juno\u2010like\neyes\u2014_fendus en amande_. The other gentlemen of the American party were\nsoon provided with supper partners, and we began our march for the supper\u2010\ntable, President Juarez taking in Mrs. Capt. O\u2014\u2014; the secretary of state,\nSe\u00f1or Lerdo de Tejada, Mrs. Capt. B\u2014\u2014; the secretary of the treasury, Mrs.\nDr. S\u2014\u2014; and the secretary of war, Mrs. W\u2014\u2014, of Texas. The first table was\nfor the president and cabinet, with the American party. The supper was\nrather a solemn affair. It consisted of nine courses, though the courses\nseemed as like each other as railway stations on the plains. All seemed to\nbe desiccated, and reminded us somewhat of what we had read about Chinese\nfeasts. When a course was served to every guest, the President looked down\nthe table to his right and bowed; he then looked to his left and bowed.\nThen, and not before, knives and forks were observed, and the guests\nattacked the viands. This repeated nine times was not calculated to impart\ngaiety to the repast. It was slow, but ended at last, and we retired in\nthe same order in which we entered, making way for the ladies and\ngentlemen of the second table.\n\nAfter the supper, President Juarez sat for over an hour with the American\nladies, chatting pleasantly with them in the simplest Spanish phrases he\ncould devise. Seeing him chatting away and laughing gaily, no one could\nhave imagined that he had the cares of a tottering government with an\nempty treasury upon his shoulders.\n\nCapt. O\u2014\u2014 asked us to go out with him and have a look at the great\n_bronco_, the public fandango, on the Plaza. As we passed out through the\nhall, the Mexican guard\u2014now lying on their arms\u2014jumped up and brought\ntheir muskets to the ground with a crash to salute our companion, much to\nhis discomposure, as he wished to go out without attracting attention.\n\nThe great fandango was a sight worth seeing. A leviathan Spanish dance\nwound its way around and through the Plaza, filling to overflowing the\nmarket\u2010place, the sidewalks, and the arcades. Swarthy Mexicans with\nimmense sombreros, with cigarettes of corn\u2010husks in their mouths,\nabandoned themselves to the swaying movements of the slow waltz, their\ndark\u2010eyed partners\u2014often partners in the cigarette as well as the\ndance\u2014now moving with a graceful languor, now dashing out with wild and\nunrepressed vigor to the clattering of a thousand castanets.\n\nUnusual gambling facilities were to be found everywhere, of course. Cake\nmerchants, fried hot cakes in the open air, lemonade, _vino del pais_,\nfresh _queso_, fruits, _puros_, were to be had for the paying.\n\nHaving seen sufficient of the great unwashed fandango, we returned to the\nball\u2010room. Our companion was again the object of another demonstration of\nrespect on the part of the guard. \u201cI wish,\u201d said he, \u201cthose fellows would\ngo to sleep; this begins to be unpleasant.\u201d\n\nA waltz was in full gyration when we returned to the ball\u2010room. We took\nchairs and sat near the door chatting. Suddenly we became aware that some\none stood behind us, placing a hand on either chair. Looking round, we saw\nthat it was President Juarez. We immediately arose, but he insisted on our\nbeing seated, and resumed his former attitude. He talked with us for half\nan hour, in Spanish well adapted to our limited knowledge of the language,\nand which we had no difficulty in understanding.\n\nDuring the evening, from time to time, we had received invitations from\nthe president to drink wine with him\u2014invitations which, of course, we did\nnot refuse. Many patriotic toasts and sentiments were offered on both\nsides. It must have been in one of those festive moments that an\nenthusiastic gentleman of our party slapped the president on the back,\ncalled him \u201cBen\u201d (Juarez\u2019 Christian name was Benito), said he was \u201ca\nbrick,\u201d and bade him \u201cnever say die\u201d till he was dead! We were not a\nwitness to this scene. It was described to us by members of our party.\n\nBetween two and three P.M. the president\u2019s party left the ball\u2010room.\nShortly after, the American clans were gathered, we got our fair ones back\nagain, and set out for the hospitable dwelling of the Se\u00f1ora L\u2014\u2014.\n\nThere was plenty of bustle and activity there. It seemed to us that half\nthe people at the ball must have been guests of this house. All the rooms\nopening on the large _placeta_ were turned into lodging\u2010rooms. There was\nhurrying to and fro with lights in hand, putting every one in his place.\nSome people put themselves in other people\u2019s places. Notably our\nenthusiastic friend, who had taken up his quarters in a room intended for\nF\u2014\u2014 and his new Spanish bride. He was found by the happy pair, just as\nhappy as they were, sleeping the sleep of the just. In the meantime, the\npartner of his joys and sorrows sat solitary and alone in the room\nintended for her and her spouse, on the other side of the _placeta_,\nwondering at his absence and anxiously awaiting his return. This\ncomplication, however, was settled by transferring the lady to the room in\nwhich lay her sleeping lord, and bestowing the F\u2014\u2014s in the room she had\noccupied.\n\nAfter a good breakfast, we set out on our return to the Land of the Free,\nforded the Rio Grande at about noon, under a September sun\u2014no contemptible\nluminary about latitude 32\u00b0, let us assure the reader. We sought our\n_casas_, darkened up our respective rooms, and shut the venetian blinds to\nkeep out the flies, and having turned night into day, proceeded to turn\nday into night.\n\n\n\n\nNew Publications.\n\n\n    ELEMENTS OF LOGIC. Designed as a Manual of Instruction. By Henry\n    Copp\u00e9e, LL.D., President of the Lehigh University. Revised\n    edition. Philadelphia: E. H. Butler & Co. 1872.\n\n\nPresident Copp\u00e9e has carefully excluded from this edition of his Logic\neverything which could give offence to a Catholic. The main part of the\nwork, treating of formal logic, is of course substantially the same with\nother treatises of this kind, and is written in a clear, simple style,\nwell adapted to an elementary text\u2010book. But here our approbation must\ncease. The history of logic is altogether defective. The author advocates\nthe doctrine derived by Hamilton from Kant, that our rational knowledge is\nmerely \u201cconditioned,\u201d which is pure scepticism, and confounds Christian\nphilosophy with theology, which is effectually to subvert both sciences.\nTeachers may find some useful assistance from this book in explaining the\nlaws of thought; but it is altogether unfit to be placed in the hands of\nCatholic pupils. We reiterate the desire we have so often expressed, that\nsome competent person would translate one of our standard Latin text\u2010books\nof logic, for the use of pupils and teachers who cannot read them in the\noriginal language.\n\n\n    THE POCKET PRAYER\u2010BOOK. Compiled from approved sources. New York:\n    The Catholic Publication Society. 1872.\n\n\nThis is certainly the most complete little manual we have seen, and,\nalthough it contains 650 pages, is small enough for the pocket; and gives,\namong other things, the three indulgenced litanies, the entire Mass in\nLatin and English, Vespers, and the Epistles and Gospels for the Sundays\nthroughout the year. The type, moreover, is singularly large and good.\nThus the book supplies a long\u2010felt want; and ought to become very popular\namongst Catholic men, for whose especial benefit it was compiled. There is\nanother edition without the Epistles and Gospels, which fits the vest\npocket, and can therefore be made emphatically a daily companion.\n\n\n    ENGLAND AND ROME. By the Rev. W. Waterworth, S.J. London: Burns &\n    Lambert. 1854. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication\n    Society.)\n\n    A COMMENTARY BY WRITERS OF THE FIRST FIVE CENTURIES ON THE PLACE\n    OF S. PETER IN THE NEW TESTAMENT, AND THAT OF S. PETER\u2019S\n    SUCCESSORS IN THE CHURCH. By the Very Rev. J. Waterworth, D.D.,\n    Provost of Nottingham. London: Richardson. 1871. (New York: Sold\n    by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\n\nThe reader will perceive, if he takes notice of the titles of these two\nbooks, that they are by two different authors, both bearing the name of\nWaterworth. They are brothers, and one of the two is a Jesuit, the other\nbeing a dignitary of the Catholic Church in England. The work whose title\nstands first in order at the head of this notice, is not a recent\npublication, having been issued as long ago as 1854. We think it, however,\nnot unsuitable to recall attention to it as a work specially useful at the\npresent time. About one\u2010third of the volume is taken up with a very solid\nand scholarly disquisition on the general topic of the Papal supremacy.\nIts principal and special topic is, however, the relation of the church in\nEngland to the Holy See from the year 179 to the epoch of the schism of\nHenry VIII. It is handled with great learning and ability, and the\nsophisms and perversions of those disingenuous or ill\u2010informed\ncontroversialists who pretend to establish the original independence of\nthe British Church are scattered to the winds.\n\nThe work of Dr. Waterworth, the Provost of Nottingham, was published last\nyear. This learned divine is the author of the celebrated treatise\nentitled _The Faith of Catholics_, and is well known as a most profound\nand accurate patristic scholar. The present volume was prepared by him for\nthe press before the publication of the Decrees of the Vatican Council;\nbut its issue having been delayed by an accident, the author took the\nopportunity of making a re\u2010examination of its contents, with special\nreference to the objections raised by Dr. D\u00f6llinger, and of adding some\nnew prefatory remarks. The result of his revision did not suggest to him\nthe necessity of any alteration whatever, or show anything in the cavils\nof the petulant old gentleman, who has so completely stultified himself by\nretracting the deliberate convictions of his better days, worthy of any\nspecial refutation.\n\nAs for Dr. Waterworth\u2019s work itself, it is quite unique in English\nCatholic literature, and different from the other works on the Papal\nsupremacy, able and learned as these are, which we have hitherto\npossessed. It is literally an exhaustive collection of all the sayings of\nfathers and councils on the two topics discussed, during the first five\ncenturies of the Christian era, by one who has mastered the whole of this\nvast body of literature. One hundred and seven fathers and councils are\nquoted, and copious tables at the end of the volume place the whole array\nof authorities in a convenient order for reference under the eye of the\nreader. It is needless for us to expatiate on the value of such a work, or\nto say anything more to recommend it to the attention of all who wish to\nstudy this great subject of the Papal supremacy.\n\n\n    THE TROUBLES OF OUR CATHOLIC FOREFATHERS, RELATED BY THEMSELVES.\n    First Series. Edited by John Morris, Priest of the Society of\n    Jesus. London: Burns & Oates. 1872. (New York: Sold by The\n    Catholic Publication Society.)\n\n\nOne of the outward and by no means the least significant signs of the\nrevival of religion in England is the appearance in rapid succession of a\nmost useful class of books, having for their main object the vindication\nof the character and constancy of the Catholics of that country during and\nsubsequent to the so\u2010called Reformation. We have had occasion elsewhere to\nrefer to Father Morris\u2019 work on the _Condition of Catholics under James\nI._ The book before us may be considered a continuation of that\nexceedingly interesting contribution to history, and, as it is the first\nof a series, we may expect at an early day others equally valuable from\nthe same painstaking and indefatigable student.\n\nUntil lately, with very few exceptions, historical works relating to Great\nBritain have been the composition of prejudiced, anti\u2010Catholic writers,\neach in his turn guilty of the same omissions while servilely copying the\nmisrepresentations of his predecessors; so that the public mind has at\nlength become impressed with the conviction that, when the tocsin of\nrebellion against God\u2019s law was sounded by Henry Tudor, the people of the\nwhole of his dominions arose in hostile opposition to the authority of the\nchurch. None but a critical few, familiar with foreign contemporary\nauthorities, were aware that, while the nobles who hungered for the spoils\nof convents and monasteries, and the suppliant courtiers, lay and\necclesiastical, whose fortunes depended upon the smiles of the sovereign,\nbasely bowed down before the brutal passions of Henry and Elizabeth, the\nmass of the people, particularly the educated and moral middle class, held\nfirmly to the faith, braving persecution, poverty, imprisonment, and even\ndeath, in defence of Catholicity. England, in fact, can count her\nthousands of uncanonized martyrs, priests and laity, men and women, who,\nin common with their co\u2010religionists of the Continent, fell victims to the\nlust, cupidity, and inhumanity of the \u201cReformers.\u201d Some of their most\nglorious achievements will probably never be recorded in this world, but\nthere is every hope that, through the exertions of such conscientious\nsearchers as this learned Jesuit, a flood of light will be thrown ere long\non the darkest, but not least edifying, days of the Christian Church in\nEngland. Heretofore this noble work has been delayed for various reasons.\nContemporary documents were either in the hands of the Government, or were\nscattered among many convents and private libraries, and from long neglect\nhad become almost forgotten; and it required so much industry as well as\nknowledge to search for and utilize them, that until lately no one was\nfound equal to the task. Besides, the English Catholics of the last\ngeneration were so few and so lukewarm that it was difficult to find a\npublisher willing to risk his money and his reputation in bringing out\nbooks that were considered neither profitable nor politic. A change has\ncome over the spirit of their dream, as the appearance of late of so many\nCatholic works, well printed and handsomely bound, from some of the first\npublishing houses in Europe, amply testifies; and the ancient faith is\nfast regaining its power in what, for three centuries, has been considered\nthe stronghold of dissent. While of primary interest to English readers,\nworks of this character will also have peculiar attractions for Americans,\nmany of whom by blood and affinity are as much heirs to the virtues and\ncourage of the British Catholics of the XVIth and XVIIth centuries as\nthose born on that soil. No historical library in our language would be\ncomplete without such works as those of F. Morris, containing as they do\noriginal, authentic documents which hitherto have never appeared in print,\nin whole or in part. Such documents, carefully annotated, and modernized\nonly as regards their obsolete orthography, are the true materials of\nhistory, worth an infinity of commentaries and second and third hand\nstatements filtrated through the minds of ignorant or partial writers.\n\nThe present volume contains the memoirs of Mother Margaret Clement; a\nsketch of the history of the Monasteries of SS. Ursula and Monica at\nLouvain; an account of the dissolution of the Carthusian Monastery of the\nCharter House, London, and the execution of several of its monks, in the\nreign of Henry VIII.; a detailed narrative of the imprisonment of Francis\nTregian for sixteen years; some additional particulars relating to the\nmissions of Fathers Tesimond and Blount; the trial of the Rev. Cuthbert\nClapton, chaplain to the Venetian ambassador, as related by himself, and\nthe correspondence of that official with his government from A.D. 1638 to\n1643; with several interesting details of the sufferings and persecution\nof some noble Catholic families. These documents were procured in various\nplaces\u2014in the Public Record Office; S. Mary\u2019s College, Ascott; Stonyhurst;\nthe Archives de l\u2019Etat, Brussels; S. Augustine\u2019s Priory, Abbotsleigh;\nArchives of the Archbishop of Westminster, and in numerous private MS.\ncollections; each original being preceded by a short but comprehensive\nintroduction from the pen of the learned editor.\n\n\n    PETERS\u2019 CATHOLIC CLASS BOOK: A Collection of copyright Songs,\n    Duets, Trios, and Choruses, etc., etc. Compiled and arranged by\n    William Dressler. New York: J. L. Peters.\n\n\nThe first half of this work is a reproduction of ballads of sentiment of\nno special merit, issued, as the foot\u2010notes ingeniously advertise to the\npurchaser, \u201cin sheet\u2010music form, with lithograph title\u2010page,\u201d by the\npublisher. The latter half is chiefly a reprint of so\u2010called religious\nsongs which persistently return to us under one or another guise in\npublications of this class, like poor relations, and with as hearty a\nwelcome as such visitors proverbially receive.\n\nTHE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY has fixed upon the 5th of November as the\npublication day of _The Illustrated Catholic Family Almanac_ for 1873:\nover 35,000 copies have already been ordered by the different booksellers.\nThe Society has just published an edition of _The Little Manual of\nDevotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and Spiritual Bouquet_, formerly\npublished by John P. Walsh, of Cincinnati; and will soon issue in book\u2010\nform _Fleurange_, by Mrs. Craven; Col. Meline\u2019s translation of _Hubner\u2019s\nLife of Sixtus V.; Myrrha Lake, or Into the Light of Catholicity. All\u2010\nHallow Eve and Unconvicted_ will appear early in November. Canon Oakeley\u2019s\nwork on _Catholic Worship_ is in press, and will be published uniform with\nhis excellent treatise on _The Mass_.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD. VOL. XVI., NO. 93.\u2014DECEMBER, 1872.\n\n\n\n\nThe Spirit Of Protestantism.\n\n\nRecent events in Europe, particularly in Prussia and Italy, have done much\nto awaken the attention of thinking men in this country to the true spirit\nof what is known as Protestantism. While they have once more presented to\nour view humiliating spectacles of human weakness, injustice and downright\ntyranny under the guise and in the sacred names of religion and liberty,\nthey have confirmed with remarkable force all that has been alleged\nagainst the spirit that actuates and has always governed the enemies of\nthe Catholic Church.\n\nWhen the revolt against Catholic doctrine and the spiritual authority of\nthe See of Rome was first inaugurated in the XVIth century under the\nbanner of liberty of conscience and freedom of thought, it was asserted by\nthose who then upheld the ancient faith that these were specious pretexts\ninvented to cover ulterior designs, which, by giving full scope to the\nworst passions of our nature, would inevitably fix in the minds and in the\nhearts of mankind a moral slavery more debasing, and a servitude more\nirradicable, than even the most astute pagans of ancient times ever\ndreamed of; that dissent from the dogmas and discipline of the universal\nchurch did not in itself constitute a creed, but simply the negation of\nall Christian truth, and that the right of private judgment in matters of\nfaith meant in reality the right, when seconded by the power, to pull down\nand destroy, to persecute and proscribe, to desecrate and desolate the\nChristian temples and charitable institutions which pious hands had reared\nand richly endowed throughout Europe. How sadly prophetic were the\nsagacious champions of true liberty and divine authority, the history of\nthe last three centuries fully attests.\n\nWhoever has studied the career of modern civilization, either in the\ndetached records of nations and dynasties, or by following the course of\nthe church herself from her foundation to the present day, cannot fail to\ndiscover that the advance of Europe from the epoch of the disruption of\nthe Roman Empire until the commencement of the XVIth century was a steady,\nconstant, and rapid march towards true civil polity and enlightenment;\nfrequently checked, it is true, by wars and local schisms, but ever\nflowing onward in an irresistible and majestic flood.\n\nFrom the barbarism and chaos incident to the disappearance of the central\nauthority of the empire, Europe emerged into the preparatory condition of\nfeudalism, at that time another name for order; and, through this state of\norder, the first necessity of freedom, she was fast acquiring that second\nessential element of political excellence\u2014liberty. Already the humble\npeasants of Helvetia were as free as the air of their romantic mountains;\nItaly was dotted with republics; the Spanish peninsula was ruled more by\nits cortes than by its sovereigns; France had her several \u201cestates\u201d;\nPoland her elective monarchy; and Germany and the North were fast becoming\nimbued with liberal and constitutional ideas; England, the last to adopt\nthe feudal system, had by degrees abrogated its slavish restraints and\ncommercial restrictions, and, with justice, boasted of her great charters\nand independent parliaments; while over all a species of international law\nwas established, the chief executive of which sat in the chair of S.\nPeter, before whose moral power warriors sheathed their swords and crowned\nkings bowed their heads in submission. Municipalities, the germs of which\nhad first clustered around the monasteries, had become numerous and\npowerful enough to defy and, on occasion, to curb the power of the feudal\nnobles, and, under the protection of the guilds, the mechanical arts had\nacquired a degree of perfection fully equal if not superior to that of our\nown time. Those workers in wool, cotton, and silk, stone, metal, and wood,\nhave left us lasting monuments of their skill not only in the productions\nof the looms of Flanders and Italy, and the forges of Spain and England,\nbut, better still, in the multiplicity of magnificent cathedrals and\nbasilicas, in the contemplation of which the artisan of this generation,\nwith all his supposed advantages, is lost in silent admiration. Poetry,\npainting, architecture, and sculpture, the four highest developments of\ncreative genius, may be said to have reached, at the period immediately\nanterior to the Reformation, the acme of glory and greatness, never before\nnor since excelled or even equalled by man; while the discovery of the art\nof printing had given a new impetus to literature, and commerce spread her\nwhite wings in the Indian Ocean and along the shores of the New World.\n\nNow, all these beneficent results were directly and indirectly the work of\nthe Catholic Church. From the details of ordinary life to the more\nprofound schemes of state policy, her animating presence was felt, and her\ninfluence cheerfully recognized and obeyed, for it was always exercised\nfor the benefit of humanity and the greater glory of God. From the forging\nof the Toledo blade that flashed in the dazzled eyes of the Saracen, to\nthe rearing aloft of that wonder of the Christian and pagan world, S.\nPeter\u2019s; from the humble Mechlin girl meshing a robe for a statue of the\nVirgin, to Columbus exploring unknown seas in search of treasure to ransom\nthe holy shrines; from the poor friar teaching the child of the degraded\n_villein_, to Archbishop Langdon framing _Magna Charta_; from the\nenfranchisement of a serf, to the organization of the crusades, there was\nno step in human progress that was not inspired and directed by the church\nfor the wisest and most exalted purposes. Guided by the spirit of\nreligion, the amount of solid happiness, simple virtue, and rational\nliberty enjoyed by the people of Europe at the opening of the XVIth\ncentury was greater, far greater, than their descendants possess at the\npresent time, after nearly four hundred years\u2019 experience, and countless\nattempts at religious, social, and political revolutions.\n\nYet, under the name of Reformation and greater liberty, this grand march\ntowards human perfection and eternal bliss was to be stayed, and even for\na time turned backwards, so that morally and politically Christendom has\nnot yet, nor is it likely for a long time, to recover from the shock which\nit experienced at the hands of the Protestant reformers, their aiders and\nabettors. The motives which actuated these reactionists were neither new\nnor doubtful. Under various names and pretences, bodies of fanatics or\nknaves swayed by the same inducements had appeared from time to time in\ndifferent parts of the world, generally causing much local disturbance,\nbut always suppressed by the authority of the church or the strong arm of\nthe state. They were simply detached efforts on the part of the worst\nportion of the population to throw off all spiritual restraint as well as\ntemporal authority, and, by being thus freed both from moral and civil\nlaw, to give full scope to their passions, undeterred by either religious\nor social considerations. The history of fanaticism, of the Albigenses,\nthe Fratricelli, and the Lollards, proves that the leaders in such\nmovements were invariably the enemies of existing civil authority, and\nthat profligacy and plunder were the lures by which they drew around them\ntheir deluded followers. The \u201cReformation,\u201d as the last and greatest\nrebellion is called, forms no exception to the rule.\n\nIn the early part of the XVIth century it broke out in Germany under the\nauspices of three or four Saxon ecclesiastics, principal among whom were\nLuther and Melanchthon. The former schismatic, who was a preacher of some\neminence, commenced by inveighing against the abuse of indulgences, and by\nrapid transitions ended by totally denying the authority of the church in\nevery point of doctrine and discipline. He bases man\u2019s salvation on faith\nalone regardless of works, proclaimed the right of every individual to\nmake his own religion according as it seemed best to himself, and boldly\nadvocated the massacre of priests and bishops and the pillage of churches\nand religious homes\u2014the existence of all of which he declared to be\ncontrary to Holy Writ. \u201cNow is the time,\u201d he wrote, at the commencement of\nhis crusade, \u201cto destroy convents, abbeys, priories, and monasteries\u201d; to\nwhich advice he added a little later, \u201cThese priests, these Mass\u2010mumblers,\ndeserve death as truly as a blasphemer who should curse God and his saints\nin the public streets.\u201d A system of belief at once so convenient and so\nconformable with the greatest license, so free from all moral\nresponsibility and so suggestive of rapine and spoliation, could not but\nattract followers, and Luther became so popular with the more debased of\nhis countrymen and with the rapacious among the nobles, that rivals soon\nsprang up, who, accepting his premises, quickly outstripped him in the\nrace of fanaticism. The Anabaptists under M\u00fcnzer, thinking that they also\nhad a right to private judgment, declared against infant baptism, demanded\na reorganization of society on what would now be called a socialistic\nbasis, and proceeded to put the heresiarch\u2019s theory into practice by\noverrunning the fairest provinces of Germany with fire and sword,\ndestroying alike feudal castles and Catholic churches, and slaughtering\nwith unheard\u2010of barbarity every one who opposed them, whether layman or\ncleric.\n\nThis practical commentary on the new doctrine affrighted even its founder,\nso he hastened to implore the interposition of his friends among the\nGerman nobility. Accordingly, Philip of Hesse, in 1625, marched an army\nagainst them, and, meeting their main body under M\u00fcnzer, a quondam friend\nand pupil of Luther, at M\u00fclhausen, cut them to pieces and subsequently\nhanged their leader. About thirty thousand peasants are stated to have\nbeen slaughtered on this occasion, when the new Reformation may be said to\nhave been baptized, and the right of private judgment according to Luther\nfully vindicated. Nearly at the same time another scene of even greater\nbarbarity was enacted at the other extremity of the Continent. Attracted\nby reports of rich spoil to be obtained in Italy during the wars of the\nemperor and the French king for the possession of that lovely but\nunfortunate country, sixteen thousand German Lutheran mercenaries crossed\nthe Alps and joined the forces of Constable de Bourbon, himself a traitor\nin arms against his country. Under the command of that gifted apostate,\nthey marched on Rome, and, though their leader fell in the attack, the\ncity was captured. Had he survived, the fate of the Eternal City might\nhave been sad enough, but, unrestrained by superior authority, the conduct\nof the victors was simply diabolical. For weeks and months the city was\ngiven over to plunder, and the inhabitants to every species of outrage by\nthose wretches, who, true to their master and his teachings, even went to\nthe extent, in mockery of the church, to formally suspend Clement VII.,\nand elect in his stead their new apostle. How Luther must have chuckled at\nthe news!\n\n\n    \u201cNever perhaps, in the history of the world,\u201d says a distinguished\n    historian, \u201chad a greater capital been given up to a more\n    atrocious abuse of victory; never had a powerful army been made up\n    of more barbarous elements; never had the restraints of discipline\n    been more fearfully cast aside. It was not enough for these\n    rapacious plunderers to seize upon the rich stores of sacred and\n    profane wealth which the piety or industry of the people had\n    gathered into the capital of the Christian world; the wretched\n    inhabitants themselves became the victims of the fierce and brutal\n    soldiery; those who were suspected of having hidden their wealth\n    were put to the torture. Some were forced by these tortures to\n    sign promissory notes, and to drain the purses of their friends in\n    other countries. A great number of prelates fell under these\n    sufferings. Many others, having paid their ransom, and while\n    rejoicing to think themselves free from further attacks, were\n    obliged to redeem themselves again and died from grief or terror\n    caused by these acts of violence. The German troops were seen,\n    drunk at once with wine and blood, leading about bishops in full\n    pontifical attire, seated upon mules, or dragging cardinals\n    through the streets, loading them with blows and outrages. In\n    their eagerness for plunder, they broke in the doors of the\n    tabernacles and destroyed masterpieces of art. The Vatican library\n    was sacked; the public squares and churches of Rome were converted\n    into market\u2010places, where the conquerors sold, as promiscuous\n    booty, the Roman ladies and horses; and these brutal excesses were\n    committed even in the basilicas of S. Peter and S. Paul, held by\n    Alaric as sacred asylums; the pillage which, under Genseric, had\n    lasted fourteen days, lasted now two months without\n    interruption.\u201d(130)\n\n\nHaving disposed of his rivals the Anabaptists and set afloat his anathemas\nagainst the church, Luther proceeded systematically to disorganize society\nand obstruct the efforts of the sovereign pontiff and the Catholic princes\nto save Europe from the horrors of a Mahometan invasion, at that time most\nimminent. He formed a league among the semi\u2010independent German princes\nfavorable to his views, particularly on the matter of confiscation, and\nthe power he had denied to the pope and bishops of the church he assumed\nto himself by forthwith creating a number of evangelical ministers to\npreach the new gospel. In 1529, the members of this league, with other\nnobles of the empire, were summoned by the Emperor Charles V. to a diet at\nSpires to concert means for the general defence of Christendom against the\nTurks, then threatening it by the way of Hungary. The Lutherans, taking\nadvantage of the critical condition of affairs, and not being particularly\nadverse to the success of any movement that would destroy Christianity,\ndemanded the most unreasonable terms as the price of their active co\u2010\noperation. On the part of the emperor, it was proposed that all questions\nof a religious nature should remain _in statu quo_ pending the struggle\nagainst the infidels, and be submitted as soon as practicable thereafter\nto a general or \u0153cumenical council of the church, at which all parties\nwere to be represented. \u201cThe edict of Worms,\u201d they proposed, \u201cshall be\nobserved in the states in which it has already been received. The others\nshall be free to continue in the new doctrines until the meeting of the\nnext general council. However, to prevent all domestic troubles, no one\nshall preach against the sacrament of the altar; the Mass shall not be\nabolished; and no one shall be hindered from celebrating or hearing it.\u201d\nBut these concessions to heresy for the general good, this weak\nrecognition of an unlawful assumption of ecclesiastical and political\nauthority, were not what the reformers desired. Not even toleration or\nequality would satisfy them. They wanted the right to persecute, to\neradicate by forcible means and as far as their power extended, every\nvestige of Catholicity. They declared that in their opinion \u201cthe Mass is\nan act of idolatry, condemned by a thousand passages of Sacred Scripture.\nIt is our duty and our right to overthrow the altars of Baal.\u201d Thus\n_protesting_ their duty and right to persecute, they retired from the\ndiet, left the Mahometans, as far as they were concerned, free scope to\ndestroy Christianity wherever they pleased, and Lutheranism, or rebellion,\nwas henceforth known by the generic title of Protestantism.\n\nSo far from Protestantism being, as popularly represented, the assertion\nof liberty of conscience in religion, it originated in the denial of that\nliberty, by asserting the right to persecute those who differed from them\nin religion.\n\nFrom this time the Reformation under its new and more comprehensive name\nmade vast strides on the Continent, its path being everywhere marked by\nthe same spirit of fanaticism, sacrilege, and destruction of property\ndevoted to religion, learning, and charity; the insane dissensions of the\nCatholic rulers granting it immunity, if not positive encouragement.\nGeneva and part of Switzerland first embraced the gloomy doctrines of\nCalvin, and made active war on the church; spreading into France, the\nNetherlands, and the northern countries, their adoption by the ignorant\nand venal was invariably followed by the greatest atrocities and the\nwildest anarchy. Europe was shaken to its centre, and wars, the worst of\nwars, because waged in the name of religion, desolated the entire\nContinent for over a century with but pause enough to enable the\ncombatants to rest and recruit their strength. The destruction of life\nduring this period must have been immense, morals degenerated, industry\nlanguished, and the principles of rational freedom, which had been\nsteadily gaining ground, were lost sight of in the clash of arms and the\nangry conflict of contending systems. From this epoch we may date the rise\nof modern C\u00e6sarism and revolutionary ferocity which at the present moment\nare contending for supremacy in the Old World.\n\nBut it was not continental nations alone that suffered from the blight of\nthis stupendous curse. Great Britain and Ireland soon experienced its\nbaleful influence. Henry VIII., in order to be able to divorce his lawful\nwife and marry a mistress, cut himself loose from the See of Rome, and\nbecame, by act of parliament, head of the church in his own dominions.\nHenry was no mean reformer, as the record of his life testifies. He\nmarried in succession six wives, two of whom he repudiated, two beheaded,\nand his sudden demise alone prevented the execution of his surviving\nconsort, whose death\u2010warrant had been signed by his royal and loving hand.\n\u201cFor the glory of Almighty God and the honor of the realm,\u201d he seized upon\nall the churches in England, as well as nearly four hundred religious\nhouses, and confiscated their property \u201cfor the benefit of the crown\u201d\u2014that\nis, for his own use and that of his facile courtiers and parliament. With\nthe same pious purpose, we suppose, he ordered for execution, at different\ntimes, besides his wives, a cardinal, two archbishops, eighteen bishops,\nthirteen abbots, five hundred priors and monks, thirty\u2010eight doctors,\ntwelve dukes and counts, one hundred and sixty\u2010four noblemen of various\nranks, one hundred and twenty\u2010four private citizens, and one hundred and\nten females. If all of those did not suffer the fate of the Charter\u2010house\nmonks, Sir Thomas More, Bishop Fisher, and the Countess of Salisbury, it\nwas not his fault, but theirs who were ungrateful enough to fly their\ncountry and perish in poverty and exile, thus robbing the Reformation in\nEngland of half its glory.\n\nUnder his daughter Elizabeth, nearly two hundred ecclesiastics are known\nto have suffered for their faith on the scaffold, besides laymen, and the\nmultitude who died in prison: and if her successor, James I., does not\npresent as striking a record of his zeal, it was because there were very\nfew priests left to be hunted down, and very little Catholic property to\nbe confiscated. To do that light of the Reformation justice, wherever he\ncould catch a priest he hanged him, and, with a keenness eminently\nnational, wherever a penny could be squeezed out of a recusant Papist he\nor his friends were sure to have it. Still he was only a gleaner in the\nfield so cleanly reaped by his predecessors; for even in unhappy Ireland\nElizabeth\u2019s captains had done their work so thoroughly that he had nothing\nto seize upon or give away but the uninhabited and desolated lands.\n\nHowever, lest the traditions of the early fathers of his church\u2014Luther,\nCalvin, and the royal Henry\u2014should be forgotten, and having no longer any\nCatholics to persecute, he turned his attention to the Presbyterians,\nCovenanters, and Puritans with some effect. The humanizing custom of\ncropping the ears and slitting the noses of those dissenters became\ngreatly the fashion in this reign; for, though James acknowledged the\nright of private judgment in the abstract, the exercise of the right was\nfound by his subjects to be a very dangerous pastime. The Puritans, who\nalso based their religion on the same right, improved on the lessons thus\ntaught; for, when in the next reign it became their turn to persecute and\npunish, instead of cutting off the ears or the nose of his son and\nsuccessor, they took off the entire head, and gave to the English Church\nits first and only martyr. Oliver Cromwell and the Long Parliament\ninterpreted \u201cKing James\u2019 Version\u201d too literally, and of course, believing\nin freedom of conscience, swept away episcopacy, kings, bishops, and all.\nAfter the Restoration, the English Church was again in the ascendant. Then\nthey dug up the bones of the Puritan regicides, scattered them to the\nwinds, and ever since the followers of John Knox and the believers in the\n_Westminster Catechism_ have held a very subordinate place under the feet\nof \u201cthe church as by law established.\u201d\n\nIf the fell spirit of Protestantism, which, as we have seen, was bloody\nand cruel in its inception and growth, had been confined to the eastern\nhemisphere, we, as Americans, feeling grateful to Providence for the\nexemption, might have less cause of complaint against it. But\nunfortunately it was not so. The virgin soil of the New World, from the\nfirst consecrated to freedom, we are often told, was destined to be\npolluted by the evil genius evoked by the apostate monk of Wittenberg.\nEvery breeze from the east that wafted hither an immigrant\u2010ship bore on\nits wings the deadly moral pestilence of intolerance and persecution. It\naccompanied the Huguenots to the Carolinas, landed at Jamestown with the\nroyalists, went up the Delaware with the Swedes and Quakers, up the Hudson\nwith the Hollanders, and pervaded the hold of the _Mayflower_ from stem to\nstern. Whatever physical, mental, and moral qualities those early\nadventurers, of many lands and divers creeds, may have possessed,\nChristian charity was certainly not of the number, and though they each\nand all proclaimed the right of every one to be his own judge in matters\nof religion\u2014and most of them claimed to have suffered for conscience\u2019s\nsake\u2014not one had the consistency or the courage to tolerate, much less\nprotect, the expression of an opinion or the observance of a form of\nworship differing from his own. So completely had the rancor of the\nfounders of Protestantism eaten up whatever of Christianity it retained of\nthe church\u2019s teaching, that each of the sects, having no common enemy to\nprey upon, turned round, and, like hungry wolves, were ready to tear and\nrend each other. With the exception of one small settlement, there were no\nCatholics in the early colonies; but still, the Puritan found it as unsafe\nto live in Virginia as the Episcopalian did in New England, while the non\u2010\ncombatant Friend dared not risk his life in either locality. There was one\nlittle bright spot in the darkened firmament that hung over the infant\nsettlements, and that was near the mouth of the St. Mary\u2019s, on the\nPotomac. Here Lord Baltimore had planted a colony of Catholics which soon\nshowed signs of life and vigor, worshipping according to the old faith,\nand proclaiming the doctrine of charity and religious toleration to all\nChristians. But it was not long allowed to enjoy its honors in peace. Its\nvery existence was a reproach to its bigoted neighbors. Taking advantage\nof its humane and equitable laws, Protestants of the various\ndenominations, persecuted in the other colonies, flocked to it as to a\ncity of refuge, abused its hospitality, when strong enough in numbers\nchanged its statutes, and actually commenced to persecute the very people\nwho had sheltered them.\n\nAs the colonies grew in population and extent, we do not find that they\nincreased in equity or liberality. Many of them were even at the pains of\npassing laws prohibiting the settlement of Catholics within their limits;\nand now and then we hear of some solitary priest being executed or a group\nof humble Catholics driven into further exile. The dawn of our Revolution\ncreated some change in religious sentiment, but it was more on the surface\nthan in the heart. England, the oppressor, was the champion of\nProtestantism; France, the ally, was as essentially Catholic; so it was\nnot considered politic to manifest too openly that bigotry of soul which\npervaded all classes of society in those days, though even in the\ncontinental congress there were found some candid enough to object to\nasking the assistance of Catholic Frenchmen to help them to wrest their\nliberties from their Protestant enemy. These patriots preferred the\nHessians and their Lutheranism to Lafayette and Rochambaud.\n\nOur independence once gained by the efficient aid of the troops of the\neldest son of the church, a pause appears to have occurred in the\npersecuting progress of the sects. Common decency required as much, but\ncommercial interest demanded it. Our finances were in a ruinous condition,\nand it was only among the Catholic nations of Europe that we could look\nfor sympathy and support. Then the new states very generally repealed the\ncolonial penal laws, and finally the amended constitution prohibited the\ninterference of the general government in matters of religion. Still,\nthough we owe much to French sympathy and influence in placing us, as\nCatholics, free and equal before the law, we owe more to those of our own\ncountrymen who actually had no religion at all. We would rather, for the\nhonor of human nature, that the benefits thus received had been derived\nfrom another source; but it is an historical fact that the minds of many\nof the leaders of the Revolution, before and during that struggle, had\nbecome deeply imbued with the false philosophy then prevalent among the\nintellectual classes in Europe, and, believing in no particular\nrevelation, dogma, or religion, they could see no reason why one party\ncalling itself Christian should ostracise another claiming the same\ndistinction. To their credit, be it said, our countrymen never carried\ntheir theories to the same extent as their fellow\u2010philosophers across the\nAtlantic, and their impartiality, which we would fain hope to have been\nsincere, took a direction in accord with the spirit of justice and\nimpartial legislation.\n\nIf, then, our young Republic has not been disgraced by such penal\nenactments against Catholics as have long disfigured the statute\u2010books of\nEngland, and which are yet in force in Holland, Denmark, Sweden, and\nNorway, the Protestant sects, as such, deserve neither credit nor\ngratitude. The active Protestants of that day\u2014the ministers, deacons, and\npoliticians\u2014were just as narrow\u2010minded and as bigoted as were their\nancestors, and as would be their descendants if it were not for certain\ngood reasons best known to themselves. Witness the periodical outbursts of\nNativism or Know\u2010Nothingism which have from time to time disgraced our\nnational character. These have been directed invariably against\nCatholics\u2014not against foreigners as such, for with a Protestant or even\ninfidel foreigner their promoters have never professed to find fault. The\noccasional destruction of a convent, the burning of a church\u2014and we have\nhad many so dealt with\u2014or the mobbing of a priest may only show that\ndepravity exists in certain sections of the country, but the news of such\natrocities has been received with such ill\u2010concealed\nsatisfaction\u2014certainly with nothing like hearty condemnation\u2014by the\nclerical demagogues and the so\u2010called religious press, that we are forced\ninto the conviction that to the absence of opportunity and power on their\npart we alone owe our exemption from such villanies on a larger and better\norganized system.\n\nWe are told, in a tone of patronage, if not menace, that we ought to be\ncontent as long as the Catholics of America are free and enjoy equality\nunder the law. We grant the freedom and equality, but only so far as the\nletter, not the spirit, of the law is concerned. Let any one look at the\nway our Catholic missions in the far West have been defrauded for the\nbenefit of Methodist and Baptist preachers of the Word and cheaters of the\nIndians, and tell us are they free and equal? How many Catholic chaplains\nare there in the army and navy, the bone and sinew of which are mainly\nCatholics? For how many foreign consuls are we paying merely to act as\nagents for the Board of Foreign Missions, Bible Societies, and Book\nConcerns? How are our numerous state institutions\u2014penitentiary,\nreformatory, and eleemosynary\u2014attended to in the interests of their\nCatholic inmates? When these questions are satisfactorily answered, we\nwill be able to estimate the extent of the legal equality we possess. For\nso much of freedom and equality as we actually enjoy, we are thankful.\nGrateful not, however, to the Protestant sects, but to a benevolent\nProvidence who has vouchsafed it to us; and, under him, to our Catholic\npredecessors who helped to found, and our co\u2010religionists who have bravely\ndefended, our institutions, and who now stand ready to oppose with might\nand main any attempt to infringe upon our liberties.\n\nBut even as to the letter of the law we are not without just cause of\ncomplaint. For instance, we object most emphatically to the present school\nlaw of this state as unjust and inequitable in its provisions and method\nof administration. The state has no right to prescribe how or what our\nchildren shall be taught, and then make us pay for its so doing. We\nCatholics are unanimously in favor of educating our own offspring\naccording to our conception of the demands of religion and morality, and,\nas the artificial body called the state is a judge of neither, it is\nmanifestly incompetent to direct the training of our children. We are also\nwilling to pay, and are actually expending, large sums of money in this\ngood work; and while we are doing so, we hold it not just to tax us for\nthe support of schools we do not require. Our duty to the state and\nsociety is performed when we teach our children to obey the laws of one\nand respect the usages of the other, and, if parents and the ministers of\nreligion are unable to do this, mere officials and strangers certainly\ncannot. However, if the state will insist on levying a school\u2010tax, let it\nin justice give us a pro rata share of the money, and let the Evangelical\nAlliance of the sects take theirs and bring up their children in their own\nway. We ask nothing for ourselves that we would not willingly see granted\nto others, but, until one or other of these measures be adopted, we\nmaintain that a large class of the citizens of the United States is\ndeprived of one of its most vital and dearest religious rights.\n\nThen, again, look at the treatment meted out by the legislative\nauthorities to Catholic institutions, to our hospitals, foundling\u2010asylums,\nreformatories, and orphanages, which save annually to the state hundreds\nof thousands of dollars, and are daily conferring on society incalculable\nadvantages. What begging, petitioning, and beseeching must we not resort\nto, to get the least legislative favor for them, even to a bare act of\nincorporation! For a quarter of a century or more, irresponsible bodies\nunder the names of the sects, or even in no names but their own, have been\nfattening on the public money, our money, and no word of remonstrance has\nbeen uttered; but, as soon as anything is asked for our institutions, the\ncry of \u201csectarian appropriations\u201d and \u201cRomish designs\u201d is immediately\nraised and repeated along the line. Every petty bigot who misuses a pen\ngets up a howl about the \u201cPapists,\u201d and \u201cRomanism the Rock Ahead,\u201d etc.;\nthe pigeon\u2010holes of the _religious_ newspaper offices, and of newspapers\nthe contrary of religious, are ransacked for stale calumnies against the\nchurch, and slanders over and over refuted are launched at the most gifted\nand reputable of our citizens. This must all be changed before we can\nconsider that, as Catholics, we stand on an equality with non\u2010Catholic\nAmericans, and before we are prepared to admit that Protestantism,\nmollified by time and distance, has lost any of its pristine love of\npersecution and proscription. We would prefer to live at peace with every\nshade of Christians, but, if they will not let us, they must take the\nresponsibility.\n\nIn stating our grievance in this manner, we do not address ourselves\nspecially to the sense of justice or fair play of the leaders of\nProtestant opinion, but rather to the manhood and intelligence of our co\u2010\nreligionists who, by a more determined effort, might easily remove the\nevils of which we complain. We are more confirmed in this view by a recent\nevent which happened at the national capital. The force of well\u2010regulated\npublic opinion will always be very powerful in this Republic, and we are\nsatisfied that the opposition very generally expressed by the Catholics of\nthe country to the scheme of compulsory education by the general\ngovernment, some time ago introduced into Congress by some distinguished\nmembers, had a powerful effect in defeating, for a time at least, a\nmeasure fraught with the greatest danger to our rights, and to the general\nliberties of all the states.(131)\n\nWe expect little from the Protestant press or pulpits. The manner in which\nthe revival of religious persecutions in Europe has been looked upon by\nthem precludes the faintest hope that they will listen to the appeals of\nhumanity or justice where their passions, prejudices, or interests are\nconcerned. Not very long since, the schismatic king of Sardinia wantonly\nlevied war on the most defenceless and venerable sovereign in the world,\nand despoiled him of the larger half of his small dominions; yet there was\nnot a single Protestant voice heard among us in reprobation of the foul\nact. Two years ago the same royal _filibustero_, with, if possible, less\npretence, and without any warning, stealthily advanced his army on the\nEternal City, took possession of its churches and their sacred furniture;\nits convents, and turned them into barracks and stables; its treasures of\nart and literature, and sold them to the highest bidder; its colleges and\nschools, and drove out the students and poor children to wander on the\nface of the earth. Then the Protestant churches and meeting\u2010houses rang\nwith acclamations; and public assemblies were held by freedom\u2010loving\nAmerican citizens to congratulate the modern vandal on his \u201cvictory\u201d\nover\u2014justice, religion, and civilization.\n\nRome has again been sacked, this time not by the rude Lutheran\n_Landsknechte_, but by a more ruthless and more insidious foe, the\nGaribaldini, the enemies of all forms of revealed religion, the men who\nswear on the dagger and the bowl because they have no God to swear by. The\nsovereign pontiff is virtually a prisoner in his Vatican; monks and\npriests, passing along the streets to comfort the afflicted or administer\nthe sacraments to the dying, are set upon and slain at noon\u2010day; weak and\ndelicately nurtured ladies are turned out of their peaceful retreats into\nthe highways, to be insulted and derided by a crowd of vagabonds gathered\nfrom every quarter of Europe; the libraries, statuary, paintings,\ncastings, and all the treasures which made Rome the centre of Christian\nart, and the depository of the world\u2019s store of classic literature, lie at\nthe mercy of a horde of ruffians, the very offscourings of Italian\nsociety, called together to that devoted city by the hope of plunder and\nthe certainty of immunity for their crimes. All this and more is matter of\npublic notoriety, yet no word of execration, no wail of sorrow, at this\nworse than vandalism rises up from a country that boasts its love of\ncivilization, its chivalry to women, its respect for sacred things, and\nits patronage of the arts and letters. Why? They are only priests that are\nassassinated, only helpless nuns that are jeered at, only Catholic\ntreasures that are stolen, shattered, or destroyed; right, justice,\nliberty, and even ordinary humanity, can afford to suffer and be\nforgotten, so that Catholicity be thereby weakened and checked in its\nonward course. The force of bigotry can go no further.\n\nLate European mails bring us an account of a general election throughout\n\u201cUnited Italy\u201d on the universal suffrage plan\u2014that supposed panacea for\nall political ills. The Catholics in certain portions of the country, it\nseems, who had hitherto abstained from voting, resolved this time to take\npart in the contest. As soon as this became known to the ministry, a\ncircular was sent to even the local government officials, mayors of\ncities, magistrates, police captains, poll\u2010clerks, returning officers,\netc., warning them of the danger, and threatening the severest penalties\nif steps were not immediately taken to prevent the Catholics from electing\ntheir candidates. The result was what might have been expected. The\nofficials have done their duty to the government, and now feel secure in\ntheir places. The Catholics of one city, and that the largest, Naples,\ndid, however, despite of all official precautions to the contrary, carry\ntheir election by an overwhelming majority; but, being only Catholic\nvoters, the election has been set aside without even the mockery of an\ninvestigation or the least show of reason. Now, if such a thing had\noccurred in France, or any other country governed under Catholic auspices,\nwe would be treated by nine\u2010tenths of the press of this country to a\ndissertation on the inability of the Latin nations to understand free\ninstitutions, and the folly of expecting an ignorant and slavish multitude\nto be able to appreciate the right of suffrage; but, as this gigantic\nfraud was perpetrated by a government in direct hostility to the head of\nthe church, it is passed over in dignified silence. Not a syllable of\nremonstrance is uttered by our freedom\u2010shrieking friends\u2014our Beechers,\nFultons, and Bellowses\u2014who are so fond of interlarding their sermons with\npolitical appeals against ballot\u2010stuffing and intimidation at the polls.\n\nLet us turn for a moment to the present sad condition of Germany, the\ncradle and the victim of religious dissent and doubt. Prussia emerged from\nthe late war not only the victor of France, but the conqueror of the\nseveral independent states and cities of the late Germanic Confederation.\nHer capacious maw has engulfed them all. Prince Bismarck, whose absolutist\ntendencies have long been recognized, not content with his success in\ncreating an empire one and indivisible, desires to found a German church,\nto be conducted on strictly military and autocratic principles. Having\ndisposed of a good many of the bodies, and taken possession of a large\nshare of the property of the subjects of the new empire, he is now anxious\nto take care of their souls, and, whether they will or not, guide them in\nthe way of salvation and the Gospel\u2014according to Bismarck. Obedience to\nthe central civil head in Berlin is to be the leading feature in his new\nreligious system, and the emperor, like his brother of Russia and the\nGrand Lama, is to unite in himself absolute political and spiritual power,\ntempered by Bismarck.\n\nA large portion of the Germans, having great doubts as to whether or not\nthey have such things as souls to be saved, feel philosophically\nindifferent; the sects, being weak and without popular support, can make\nlittle resistance to the encroachments of the state; but the Catholic\nbody, powerful not less from its intelligence and independence than from\nits numbers, utterly refuses to recognize the right or the authority of\nthe chancellor to interfere in their spiritual affairs. That astute\nstatesman first tried to frighten them by abolishing the denominational\nschools, then by patronizing a few dissatisfied professors who call\nthemselves \u201cOld Catholics,\u201d but without avail; and now, like a genuine\nfollower of the teachings of Luther, he is resorting to expatriation and\npersecution. He has already attacked the religious orders, and, as is\ngenerally known, has procured a law to be passed expelling the Jesuits and\nall religious in affiliation with them from the empire. It is not\npretended that the members of that illustrious body, individually or\ncollectively, have committed any offence against the state, nor is it even\nproposed that a semblance of a trial should be granted them before\ncondemnation; but they have been guilty of opposing the designs of a\nconfirmed despot, and their removal from home, country, and the sphere of\ntheir duties is forthwith decreed, and effected with all that mean\nmalignity which subordinates who hope for future favor so well know how to\nexercise towards the victims of official oppression. The summary expulsion\nof so many learned and studious men from their schools and colleges has\nfilled Europe with disgust and amazement; and even the more enlightened\nclass of German non\u2010Catholics, who at least know the value of their\nacquirements and wonderful skill in training youth, have denounced, in the\nmost forcible terms, an act so detrimental to the true interests of their\ncountry.\n\nIn England, a meeting of prominent Catholics was lately held, to protest,\nin the name of religion and learning, against this exhibition of high\u2010\nhanded authority; but Protestantism, true to its instincts, took the\nalarm, and, lest the Prussian Government might in the slightest degree be\ninfluenced, hastened to send an address to Berlin to assure Bismarck of\nEnglish sympathy and support. This precious document was signed by fifty\u2010\nseven persons, including the Marquis of Cholmondeley, the Bishops of\nWorcester and Ripon, Lord Lawrence, Sir Robert Peel, Mr. Arthur Kinnaird,\nthe Archbishop of Armagh, the Moderators of the Established Church of\nScotland, of the United Presbyterian Church of Scotland, of the English\nand Irish Presbyterian Churches, and the President and Secretary of the\nWesleyan Conference. The reply of Bismarck, who is not remarkable for his\n\u201creligiosity,\u201d is full of sanctimonious cant and what, under the\ncircumstances, seems to us very like grim irony:\n\n\n    \u201cMost warmly do I thank you and the gentlemen who were co\u2010\n    signatories of the address you were good enough to present to me\n    for this encouraging mark of approval. Your communication, sir,\n    possesses a greater value, coming as it does from a _country which\n    Europe has learnt for centuries to regard as the bulwark of civil\n    and religious liberty_. Rightly does the address estimate the\n    difficulties of the struggle which has been forced upon us\n    contrary both to the desire and expectation of the German\n    governments. It would be no light task for the state to preserve\n    religious peace and freedom of conscience, even were it not made\n    more difficult by the misuse of legitimate authority and by the\n    artificial disturbance of the minds of believers. I rejoice that I\n    agree with you on the fundamental principle that in a well\u2010ordered\n    community every person and every creed should enjoy that measure\n    of liberty which is compatible both with the freedom of the\n    remainder, and also with the independence and safety of the\n    country. God will protect the German Empire in the struggle for\n    this principle, even against those enemies who falsely use his\n    holy name as a pretext for their hostility against our internal\n    peace; but it will be a source of rejoicing to every one of my\n    countrymen that in this contest Germany has met with the approval\n    of so numerous and influential a body of Englishmen.\u201d\n\n\nNow, all this simply means that the man who controls the affairs of\nGermany for the present is determined to destroy or to subject the\nspiritual order to the state; to enforce compulsory education, and\nprescribe forms of faith according to his ideas of what the \u201cindependence\nand safety of the country\u201d demand; the penalty of resistance, as in the\ncase of the Jesuits, being banishment, persecution, and perhaps worse,\nshould the necessities of the case, in his individual judgment, require\nit. In this as in every other respect his word is all\u2010powerful in the\nempire. Still, we have yet to learn that one advocate of the higher law in\nAmerica, one enemy of the union of church and state, one stickler for the\nrights of conscience, one believer in private judgment and religious\nfreedom, has raised his voice against this violation of every right said\nto be so dear to the Protestants of the United States. Not one Protestant\nhas _protested_ against this assumption of absolute power over the minds\nand consciences of forty millions of people. Why? The answer is simple:\nthe blow, in this instance, is aimed at Catholicity. Yes, the Republic is\nsilent when even monarchical England feels herself constrained to speak.\nIn a late number of the _Manchester Examiner_, a paper, we believe,\nanything but favorable to Catholics on general grounds, we noticed a very\npertinent article on the address alluded to, of which the following is an\nextract, and we recommend it to the serious consideration of the\nconductors of the sectarian newspapers:\n\n\n    \u201cWe cannot understand why bishops and deans of the English Church\n    should go into ecstasies over a united Germany, or why it should\n    furnish a theme for the pious applause of Wesleyan presidents and\n    Presbyterian moderators. Political changes concern politicians and\n    political societies. When the kingdoms of this world adopt a\n    different principle of grouping, all who take an interest in the\n    political concerns of mankind may find in the altered arrangements\n    abundant reason for gratulation or for dismay, but theological\n    creeds and spiritual interests have no direct concern in the\n    matter. If the unity of Germany were likely to give a great\n    impetus to Roman Catholic doctrine, and aid the extension of Papal\n    authority, Mr. Kinnaird would hardly have found in it a subject of\n    thanksgiving, though, as a political change, it might have been\n    equally desirable. Is it Prince Bismarck\u2019s assumed hostility to\n    the dogma of papal infallibility, and the trenchant steps he has\n    taken with the Jesuits, that constitute the real merit of his\n    policy in Protestant eyes? Well, then, to begin with, it is not at\n    all clear that Prince Bismarck has any absolute aversion either to\n    papal infallibility or to the Jesuits. If the pope had only thrown\n    his influence into the scale of German unity, and employed it to\n    further the new political policy in Fatherland, he might have made\n    himself as infallible as he pleased without provoking any\n    hostility from Prince Bismarck. If the Jesuits, instead of\n    fighting against him, had fought for him, he would have made them\n    welcome to as much power as they liked to grasp. At present, he\n    finds them in his way, and he sends them off about their business;\n    but our Protestant friends must not make too sure of him. He has\n    fourteen millions of Catholics to govern, and he has no wish\n    whatever to be at variance with the Pope. Besides, the necessity\n    for getting rid of the Jesuits by depriving them of their civil\n    rights is a thing to be deplored; since, so far as it does not\n    spring from political considerations, the acts to which it leads\n    are acts of persecution, and entitled to our regret, if not to our\n    reprehension. We like the Jesuits just as little as the Germans\n    do, but we allow them to settle amongst us, feeling sure that the\n    law is strong enough to keep them in order. The thing really to be\n    deplored is that Germany cannot afford to do the same, and it is a\n    proper subject for commiseration rather than for eulogy.\u201d\n\n\nWe have said more than enough to convince the most supine Catholic that\nProtestantism in this country has lost little if any of its anti\u2010Christian\nrenown, and, if it cannot persecute here, it is in full sympathy with\nthose in Europe who can; that, while it has lost much of its capacity, it\nhas given up none of its desire for proscription. Split, as it is, into so\nmany antagonistic sects, and constantly losing large numbers who are\nfollowing out its teachings logically and gliding into indifferentism and\ninfidelity, it is comparatively powerless to work us new injuries; but it\nis for us, by continued harmony, labor, and self\u2010sacrifice, to put beyond\nperadventure the question of our right to full and unqualified religious\nliberty and perfect impartiality in the administration of the laws.\n\n\n\n\nFleurange.\n\n\nBy Mrs. Craven, Author Of \u201cA Sister\u2019s Story.\u201d\n\nTranslated From The French, With Permission.\n\n\n\nPart Third. The Banks Of The Neckar.\n\n\nXLV.\n\n\nFleurange, as we have said, generally returned to Rosenheim in the\nevening, but that day she left the princess several hours earlier than\nusual, and it was not yet night when Clement, who was alone in a room on\nthe ground floor, absorbed in a large volume open before him, saw her\nsuddenly appear at an hour when he expected her the least. Perhaps,\ninstead of reading, he had really been dreaming over his cousin\u2019s gayety\nwhich made him so sad the night before. At all events, when she appeared\nso suddenly before him at this unusual hour, the same sensation contracted\nhis heart. There was, however, nothing in her appearance to justify his\npresentiment. He feared in seeing Fleurange again he might behold traces\nof the tears on her face which had probably succeeded her feverish and\ncauseless gayety. But now, if not smiling and gay as the evening before,\nif, on the contrary, she looked serious and grave, her brow nevertheless\nwas radiant, and in her brilliant eyes it was easy to read an expression\nof almost triumphant joy. All this by no means resembled the dejection\nthat usually follows a fit of factitious gayety.\n\n\u201cYou are alone!\u201d said she immediately. \u201cSo much the better, Clement. I\nhave something to tell you\u2014you first, before any one else. You will see,\u201d\nshe continued, throwing off her cloak, \u201cthat I am faithful to my promise.\nI come to you now as to my brother and my best friend.\u201d\n\nAs Clement looked at her and listened to this preamble, his heart\ninstinctively warned him more and more strongly a great trial was at hand\nand he must prepare to suffer. But when, without much circumlocution, she\ncame to the point; when she clearly laid before him her design; when, with\na simplicity fearful from the strength of affection and devotedness it\nrevealed, she unfolded the plan of her projected immolation\u2014an immolation\nlonged for, embraced, and decided upon\u2014Clement literally felt his hair\nstand on end and it seemed to him as if his reason was deserting him.\n\nWhat! lose one so dear, so precious, so adored!\u2014lose her forever!\u2014and in\nwhat way?\u2014To see her voluntarily embrace a destiny too horrible for the\nimagination to contemplate. And wherefore?\u2014wherefore?\u2014Ah! the cry of\nOthello now resounded in Clement\u2019s soul: \u201cThe cause\u2014the cause!\u201d Yes, the\ncause of this sacrifice was what added so much bitterness to his pain\u2014and\nstung him so sharply, so cruelly, so intolerably, that, overpowered by the\nunexpected disclosure, overcome by an emotion impossible to master,\nClement for a moment lost all control over himself. A smothered cry\nescaped him, and, leaning his head on his clasped hands, the tears he\ncould not repress fell on the floor at his feet.\n\nClement\u2019s firmness was so habitual that Fleurange was surprised at its\nfailing him now, and perhaps at the moment the hidden cause of this fit of\ndespair came over her like a momentary flash! But it was no time to dwell\non such a thought, and, besides, Clement did not give her the opportunity.\nHe rose and walked around the room in silence. His manly and courageous\nheart sought to regain self\u2010control, by an interior appeal to Him who\nalone could save it from bursting and renew its failing strength. He soon\napproached her, having triumphed over his emotion, and his first words\ngave an explanation quiet natural.\n\n\u201cPardon me, Gabrielle,\u201d said he, \u201cI beg you, for my inconceivable\nweakness. But I could not indeed have any\u2014any friendship whatever for you,\nto consider calmly the frightful perspective you so abruptly unfolded to\nme! You understand that, I imagine?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I expected to see all the rest greatly terrified. But you, Clement\u2014I\nthought you capable of listening coolly to anything?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, my dear cousin, you had, you see, too high an opinion of my\ncourage. However, I will endeavor to behave better in the future. Do not\ndeprive me of your confidence, that is all I ask.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! no, far from that, for it is on you I rely to inform the rest of the\nfamily of my resolution, and especially, and before any one else, your\nmother. You may imagine, Clement, that I must have her consent, and her\nblessing likewise. And you will plead my cause with her.\u201d\n\nClement was silent for some moments. He was trying to command his voice,\nbut it still trembled as he said: \u201cAnd when do you think of starting?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn a week, if I can.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn a week!\u2014That will be before the end of January! And have you thought\nof the means of making such a journey at this season?\u201d\n\nFleurange hesitated. \u201cI am quite well aware,\u201d said she, \u201cthat it will be\ndifficult for me to go alone.\u201d\n\nClement hastily interrupted her in a terrified tone: \u201cAlone!\u2014I declare,\nGabrielle, it is impossible to listen to you coolly, though I know your\nrash words must be taken seriously.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must, however, take them so,\u201d said she, in the same tone of energetic\ntenderness which had struck the Princess Catherine. \u201cYou must resign\nyourself to see me set out alone, if there is no other means of joining\nhim.\u201d\n\nOh! how willingly Clement would that moment have changed places with the\nprisoner! He was looking at Fleurange with sorrowful admiration when she\nresumed: \u201cI thought it would not be difficult to find some one travelling\nto Russia with whom I could make the journey.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo with strangers on so long and tedious a journey! That is impossible,\nGabrielle, more impossible than the rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d cried Fleurange then, \u201cwith what confidence I would have had\nrecourse to the kind friend Heaven once sent me. I feel his loss more now\nthan ever.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mean Doctor Leblanc?\u2014Yes, I render justice to his memory. I am sure\nhis devotedness would not have failed you under these circumstances. But\nyou try my patience indeed, Gabrielle; you are too cruel.\u201d\n\n\u201cClement!\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! you need a friend who has the unpretending merit of being faithful,\ndevoted, capable of protecting you in so difficult a journey, and ready to\nremain with you till\u2014till he can follow you no longer! And at such a time\nyou do not deign even to remember you have a brother! And do you not see\nthat, in thinking of others, you overlook what is at once his privilege\nand his duty?\u201d\n\n\u201cClement! my dear Clement!\u201d said Fleurange, with tearful surprise, \u201cwhat\ndo you say? and what answer can I make? Assuredly I relied, and do rely,\non you as a brother, and yet I confess I should not have ventured to ask\nyou to make such a journey with me.\u201d\n\nClement smiled bitterly. He could not help comparing what she was ready to\ndo for another with what she thought him incapable of doing for her.\n\n\u201cWell, my cousin,\u201d said he coldly, \u201cyou were wrong; it seems to me it was\nthe very time to remember the promise you made me. As to me, I am merely\nfaithful to the engagement I made the same day, that is all.\u201d\n\n\u201cGod bless you, Clement!\u2014bless and reward you!\u201d said she, much affected.\n\u201cYes, I acknowledge I was wrong. I should have known there was no kindness\non earth equal to yours.\u201d\n\nShe held out her hand. He pressed it in his without saying a word, and\nwithout looking at her; then they separated. Fleurange longed to be alone.\nClement went to fulfil her commission to his mother.\n\n\nXLVI.\n\n\nIt was the professor\u2019s regular hour of repose in the latter part of the\nmorning. Everything was quiet around him. His wife was seated at her wheel\nin the next room ready to answer the slightest call; for Madame Dornthal\nknew how to handle the spindle, and, in accordance with a custom kept up\nlonger in Germany than anywhere else, had spun with her own hands the two\nfinest pieces of linen for her daughter\u2019s trousseau. She looked up as her\nson entered, and saw by his face that something agitated him. She gave him\nan inquiring look.\n\n\u201cI wish to speak to you, mother,\u201d said he, in a low tone. \u201cLet us go where\nwe can talk freely.\u201d\n\nMadame Dornthal stopped spinning, immediately rose, and, ordering a young\nservant to take her place and call her if needed, she followed her son,\nsoftly closing the door behind her.\n\nThe opposite door, on the same corridor, opened into Clement\u2019s chamber.\nThey went there. Clement began to relate the conversation he had just had.\nHis first words were met by an exclamation of surprise, after which Madame\nDornthal listened without interrupting him. Her face by turns expressed\ninterest, pity, and admiration, as he spoke; and it was with tearful eyes\nand a faltering voice she finally replied:\n\n\u201cMy consent and blessing, do you say? You ask them for her? Poor child!\nhow can I refuse my blessing to such devotedness! But my consent,\u201d she\ncontinued gravely\u2014\u201cI cannot give that unconditionally.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! mother,\u201d said Clement earnestly, \u201ccan you think of refusing to let\nher go?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, dear Clement; but I can refuse to let you accompany her.\u201d\n\nClement started. \u201cMother!\u201d cried he with surprise.\n\nMadame Dornthal brushed back Clement\u2019s hair with her hand, and looked him\nin the face, as we know she loved to do when moved to unusual tenderness\ntowards him, then slowly said:\n\n\u201cAlone to St. Petersburg with Gabrielle! Have you reflected on this,\nClement?\u201d\n\nClement\u2019s face slightly flushed, but his eyes met his mother\u2019s with a\nbeautiful expression of candor and purity. \u201cMother,\u201d said he, \u201cGabrielle\nlooks upon me as a brother. As for me\u201d\u2014he hesitated a moment and turned\npale, but continued in a firm tone\u2014\u201cas for me, I regard her now as the\nwife of another. I hope you do not think it possible I can ever forget\nit!\u201d\n\nMadame Dornthal\u2019s eyes filled with tears, and for a moment she looked at\nher son silently. Never had she loved him so much! Never had she so fully\ncomprehended how worthy of affection he was! But the hour had come\u2014perhaps\nthe only period in life when the most passionate maternal love is\npowerless, and can do nothing, absolutely nothing, to comfort her\nsuffering child!\n\nShe realized this; she felt she must respect her son\u2019s secret sorrow, and\nrepress the impulse of her own affection. Neither compassion nor sympathy\ncould be of any avail at such a time. She therefore refrained with the\nsure instinct of a responsive heart, and Clement\u2019s agitation soon\nsubsided. He resumed in a calm tone:\n\n\u201cIf you think it indispensable on her account, or on account of others,\nthat a third person should go with us, then, mother, we will try to find\nsome one.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d said Madame Dornthal, \u201cif a cherished and paramount obligation did\nnot retain me here, you would not have far to go for some one.\u201d\n\nClement took his mother\u2019s hand and kissed it. \u201cI thought so,\u201d said he,\nsmiling. Then he continued: \u201cWe shall find some one, you may be sure, if\nnecessary. For the moment we will leave it; we have something else to do.\u201d\nAnd so to one after another the astonishing news was announced by him and\nhis mother: first to the professor, and then to all the other members of\nthe family. We will not describe their feelings individually, we will not\ntell how many tears were shed, what a succession of emotions poor\nFleurange had to pass through that day. We will only say that, on the\nwhole, they were all much more affected than surprised. So pure an\natmosphere pervaded this unpretending household that everything beautiful\nand noble was at once perceived and comprehended without difficulty. To\nlose this charming sister, who had grown dearer and dearer, was too\npainful to be concealed, but Madame Dornthal\u2019s daughters, like her, were\nready for any sacrifice. Therefore the young girl felt that they entered\ninto her feelings, and would regret, without blaming her. This sympathy\nnot only increased her affection for those she was to leave, but gave\ngreat support to her courage.\n\nThe only person who did not at first participate in this general heroism\nwas Mademoiselle Josephine. The knowledge of Fleurange\u2019s resolution threw\nher into a state of stupefaction that would have been comical under any\nother circumstances. Her eyes wandered from one to another with a\nperplexed expression of consternation, as if imploring an explanation\nwhich would enable her to comprehend so extraordinary a fact. When, at her\nusual time, she joined the family circle in the evening, she was still\nspeechless. She took her place among them, knitting\u2010work in hand, without\nsaying a word or looking at any one.\n\nThe professor, cautiously informed of this new separation, heard it with\nresignation\u2014a feeling that had grown upon him with respect to everything,\nin consequence of the increasing conviction that he had a long time to\nsuffer and should never be well. Fleurange was now sitting near him.\nMadame Dornthal and her daughters were at work beside the table where sat\nthe silent Josephine. Clement alone sat apart, talking in a low tone with\nhis little sister on his knee. She was in her turn asking an explanation\nwhich no one had thought of giving her. While he was replying in a\nwhisper, Frida\u2019s large eyes opened to their utmost extent, her little\nmouth contracted, and a flood of tears inundated her face; then she threw\nboth her arms around her brother\u2019s neck, and said in broken accents:\n\n\u201cO Clement! how can I do without her?\u2014I love her so much!\u2014I love her so\nmuch!\u2014\u201d\n\nClement hid his face in the child\u2019s long curls, pressed her in his arms,\nand kissed her affectionately, but he could not succeed in calming her\ntill he promised that Gabrielle should return, and that he would bring her\nback. At this assurance, the child\u2019s tears ceased to flow, she became\nquiet, and remained serious and thoughtful in her brother\u2019s arms.\n\nAll at once Mademoiselle Josephine broke her long silence: \u201cSiberia is a\ngreat way off, is it not?\u201d said she.\n\nA general smile accompanied the reply to this question, which was the\nfirst\u2010fruit of the elderly maiden\u2019s prolonged deliberations.\n\n\u201cAnd is Clement going to Siberia, also?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; he is going to St. Petersburg.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how far is to St. Petersburg?\u201d\n\nThey replied by giving her a full account of the way Fleurange would take\nto reach the end of her first journey. Being enlightened on this point,\nmademoiselle relapsed into her former silence, but not for a long time. A\nnew idea suddenly occurred to her. She snatched off her glasses hastily.\n\n\u201cBut those two children cannot travel all alone!\u201d she exclaimed.\n\nMadame Dornthal and Fleurange looked up, and Clement gave a start which\ndisturbed the sleep into which Frida had fallen: every one became\nattentive.\n\n\u201cNo, certainly not,\u201d said the old lady earnestly. \u201cHow would that look, I\nbeg to know?\u2014Excuse me, Clement, you know how I esteem and love you; but\nthen, my good friend, how old are you, pray? And as to Gabrielle, besides\nher age (which is equally objectionable), she has, as I have told her a\nthousand times, a dangerous face\u2014a face which will not allow her to do a\ngreat many things permissible to others not older than she\u2014I tell you the\ntruth, and defy any one to deny it.\u201d\n\nNo one attempted it, for the thought just expressed so characteristically\nwas the opinion of all.\n\n\u201cTherefore,\u201d continued mademoiselle, \u201cGabrielle must be accompanied by\nsome respectable person. Once more pardon, Clement; this does not imply\nyou can be dispensed with (you are a protector not to be easily replaced);\nbut, my dear friend, _les convenances_ require she should have at the same\ntime an elderly and reliable companion. Now, I propose that this reliable\nand elderly person be\u2014myself!\u2014\u201d\n\nThere was a general exclamation at these unexpected words. Every one spoke\nat once, and for some moments no one could be heard. The good Mademoiselle\nJosephine, however, comprehended at once that her proposition was\ngenerally approved. But before any one uttered a word, before Clement even\nhad time to go and grasp her hand, Fleurange sprang forward, and, throwing\nher arms around her old friend\u2019s neck, exclaimed: \u201cOh! how shall I thank\nyou?\u2014May God reward you for all it is his will I should owe you!\u201d\n\nThis signified that she accepted her generous offer without any formality.\nA few hours previous, her aunt, we know, had attached a condition to her\nconsent, and this was preoccupying Fleurange when her excellent old friend\nsuddenly decided the matter in so unexpected a way.\n\nFrom this moment, everything was plain to Mademoiselle Josephine. The\nopportunity she so greatly desired had not been long delayed. In this\nextraordinary phase of Gabrielle\u2019s life she found an opportunity of\nmanifesting the greatest devotedness, and of retarding still longer the\nhour of separation from her beloved _prot\u00e9g\u00e9e_. She felt comforted, and\nwas at once restored to her usual placid good humor. There remained,\nhowever, more than one misconception about the whole arrangement which she\ncould not seem to clear up.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d said she an hour after, when, following her servant, who had come\nfor her with a lantern, she took Clement\u2019s arm to go home\u2014\u201cwhy cannot we\nalso go to Siberia with her, if not disagreeable to this M. le Comte,\nwhose name I can never pronounce?\u201d\n\nClement could not repress a smile at this, but there was too much\nbitterness in it for him to wish to reply. She did not perceive it. She\nwas only thinking aloud without regard to him, and, following the course\nof her reflections, she soon made another, which, far from exciting the\nleast temptation to smile, made Clement shudder from head to foot.\n\n\u201cIf,\u201d she said, after a few moments\u2019 silence\u2014\u201cif this Monsieur George is\nonly worthy of the sacrifice she is going to make for him!\u2014If after\nleaving us all\u2014us who love her so much\u2014she does not hereafter discover he\ndoes not love her as much as we!\u201d\n\n\nXLVII.\n\n\nClement left Mademoiselle Josephine at her door, and hastened back,\nstruggling against the new tempest excited in his breast by the words he\nhad just heard. Hitherto, in consequence of the impressions left by his\nmeeting with Count George, and the prestige he had acquired in his eyes\nfrom the very attachment of his cousin, Clement had always regarded him as\na superior being, to whom it merely seemed right, in the unpretending\nsimplicity of his heart, that his humble affection should be sacrificed.\nTo doubt him worthy of her\u2014to fear that, beloved by her, he could cease to\nlove in return, had never occurred to him, and mademoiselle had quite\nunwittingly thrust a warm blade into his bleeding heart. To admit such a\nthought would absolutely shake the foundations of his devotion and add\ndespair to abnegation. He therefore repelled the thought with a kind of\nterror, and by way of reassuring himself he began to recall all the\nremembrances that once were so torturing. He took pleasure in dreaming of\nthe devotion of which his rival was the object, the better to persuade\nhimself it was absolutely contrary to the nature of things he could ever\nbe ungrateful.\n\nFleurange\u2019s reflections at the same hour were of a different nature.\nSomewhat recovered from the successive emotions of the day, she could now\nfreely indulge in the secret joy with which her heart overflowed. She was\nat last free!\u2014free to think of George\u2014at liberty to love him and to\nconfess it! The feeling so long repressed, fought against, and concealed,\ncould now be indulged in without restraint! A few weeks more, and she\nwould be with him!\u2014She would be his!\u2014All horror of the fate she was going\nto participate in was lost in the thought of bestowing on him, in the hour\nof abandonment and misfortune, all the treasures of her devotion and love,\nand this appeared a sweeter realization of her dreams than if united to\nhim in the midst of all the _\u00e9clat_ that rank and fortune surrounded him\nwith!\u2014\n\nAh! Madre Maddalena was right in thinking hers was not a heart called to\nthe supreme honor of loving God alone, of bestowing on him that ineffable\nlove which does not suffer the contact of any other affection, that unique\nlove which, if it has not always been supreme, blots out, as soon as it\nsprings up, all other love, as the sun causes the darkness to flee away\nand return no more to its presence!... \u201cWhosoever loveth, knoweth the cry\nof this voice.\u201d(132)\n\nIt was this voice which spoke directly to Madre Maddalena\u2019s heart.\nFleurange did not hear it so distinctly, even while silently listening to\nit apart from the noise of the world, though by no means deaf to the\ndivine inspirations. She was pure: she was pious and steadfast: she had a\nfervent and courageous heart\u2014a heart shut against evil, which preferred\nnothing to God, but which was ardently susceptible to affection when she\ncould yield to it without remorse. This is doubtless the appointed way for\nnearly all, even among the best, and it is the ordinary path of virtue.\nBut we would observe here that it is not the path of exquisite and\ninexpressible happiness already referred to, and we moreover add that,\nwhen a soul is inclined to make an idol of the object of its love, and\nplace it on too frail a foundation, it is not rare that\nsuffering\u2014suffering whose severity is in proportion to the beauty and\npurity of the soul\u2014leads it back sooner or later to that point where it\nsees the true centre to which, even unknown to ourselves, we all aspire,\nand which all human passion, even the most noble and most legitimate in\nthe world, makes us lose sight of.\n\nFleurange perhaps had a confused intuition of this, and it made her look\nupon the frightful conditions on which happiness was vouchsafed her as a\nkind of expiation, which she accepted with joy, hoping thereby to assure\nthe permanence of the love that overruled all other sentiments.\n\nAfter Gabrielle\u2019s conversation with Princess Catherine, the state of the\nlatter underwent a salutary change. Her physical sufferings, and her grief\nitself, seemed suspended. A fresh activity was aroused as soon as she\nperceived a way of exerting herself for her son, and entering into almost\ndirect communication with him. Let us add to these motives the princess\u2019\nnatural taste for the extraordinary, and we shall comprehend that\nFleurange\u2019s heroic resolution afforded her an interesting distraction,\nand, at the same time, a source of activity which was useful and\nbeneficial.\n\nShe made every arrangement herself. They were forced to allow her to\ndirect all the preparations for the long journey the young girl was going\nto undertake. She and her elderly companion were to go as far as St.\nPetersburg in one of the princess\u2019 best carriages, and everything that\nwould enable Fleurange to bear the severe cold on the way was anxiously\nprepared. At St. Petersburg, it was decided she should take up her\nresidence in the princess\u2019 house until the day\u2014the terrible day of the\ndeparture that must follow.\n\nAll this was transmitted by the princess to the Marquis Adelardi, whom she\ncharged to receive and protect Gabrielle. Moreover, he must find means of\nannouncing to George the unexpected alleviation Heaven granted to his\nmisfortunes.\n\nAs to the steps to be taken in order to obtain the necessary permission\nfor the accomplishment of this strange lugubrious marriage, and for the\nnewly\u2010made wife to accompany her condemned husband, the princess thought\nthe most successful course would be to obtain for Gabrielle an audience of\nthe empress.\n\n\u201cEither I am very much deceived,\u201d wrote the princess, \u201cor her heart will\nbe touched by such heroic devotion, by Gabrielle\u2019s appearance, and the\ncharm there is about her, and perhaps even by a remnant of pity for my\npoor George. Something tells me this pity still survives the favor he\nshowed himself unworthy of, and that the day will perchance come when I\ncan appeal to her with success. Obtain my son\u2019s pardon!\u2014behold him\nagain!\u2014Yes, in spite of everything, I hope, I believe, I may say I feel\nsure, that sooner or later this happiness will be granted me, unless so\nmuch sorrow shortens my life. Nevertheless, the effect of this terrible\nsentence, should he incur its penalty only for a day, will never be\neffaced. I feel it. My hopes for him have all vanished, never to return.\nHow, then, could I hesitate to accept Gabrielle\u2019s generous sacrifice\u2014to\naccept it at first with a transport of enthusiasm which, I confess, I was\nseized with when, with indescribable words and accents, she so\nunexpectedly begged my consent on her knees, but afterwards deliberately,\nand, in consideration of the strange and painful circumstances in which we\nare situated, with sincere gratitude?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo doubt,\u201d she added, with an instinctive and natural feeling, never\nwholly or for a long time dormant\u2014\u201cno doubt, when the time comes which I\nlook forward to with hope\u2014the time when he will be restored to me, other\nregrets will revive. But then, his condemnation, only too certain, puts an\nend to all hope in that direction. The conspirator acquitted, or even\npardoned, might win a heart in which love perhaps still pleads his cause;\nbut the haughty Vera will never bestow a thought on the returned exile\nfrom Siberia. I resign myself, therefore\u2014and, after all, Gabrielle is\ncharming, and, as far as I know, he never loved any one else as well. You\nwill perhaps say that a quick fire is soon extinguished in George\u2019s heart.\nI know that well, but it is very certain that this young girl\u2019s devotion\nis calculated to foster the love she has inspired, and even to revive it\nif deadened by the revolutionary tempest he has passed through. As for me,\nI know, if anything can make me endure this fearful separation, it is the\nthought that this beautiful and noble creature, who is better fitted than\nany one else to preserve him from despair, will be with him in his exile.\u201d\n\nIn the princess\u2019 eyes, Gabrielle was, in spite of the pure generosity of\nher love, only a _pis\u2010aller_, or rather she was only something relatively\nto herself. She overwhelmed her to\u2010day with attentions and caresses as\nbefore she abruptly dismissed her, and as she would be quite ready to do\nagain if a sudden turn of fortune brought about chances more favorable to\nher wishes. But, even if all these sentiments were evident, they could not\nchange Gabrielle\u2019s determination or diminish her courage. Her fate was\nalready united in heart to George\u2019s. Everything but this thought, and the\nanticipated joys and sacrifices connected with it, became indifferent to\nher. Calm and serene, she made all the preparations for her departure\nwithout haste or anxiety, and was equally mindful of her dear old friend,\nfor whom she reserved the rich furs and all the other things which the\nprincess had been careful to provide for herself as a protection against\nthe cold.\n\nThe days, however, passed rapidly away, and as the time of separation\napproached, more courage was required for those she was to leave behind\nthan for herself.\n\nAnd when the farewell hour at length arrived, and she knelt in church with\nClement, to utter a last prayer, the All\u2010Seeing Eye saw to which of the\ntwo belonged at that moment the palm of devotedness and sacrifice.\n\n\n\nPart Fourth. The Immolation.\n\n\n    L\u2019amour vrai, c\u2019est l\u2019oubli de soi.\n\n\nXLVIII.\n\n\nOur travellers were already far away, having pursued their journey for\nmore than twelve days without stopping. In spite of the increasing\nseverity of the weather, Fleurange and her companion went as far as\nBerlin, and even beyond, without suffering from the cold\u2014thanks to the\nnumerous precautions taken by the princess to protect them from it. But at\nK\u00f6nigsberg they were obliged to leave the comfortable carriage in which\nthey had travelled thus far, for they wished, above all things, to travel\nfast, and they had the Strand to cross (the only way to St. Petersburgh at\nthat season), that is to say, the narrow tongue of sandy soil that extends\nalong the Baltic as far as the arm of the sea which separates Prussia from\nCourland like a wide canal, and then forms the basin or inland lake of\nKurishe Haff. This bounds the Strand at the right, whereas at the left its\ndreary coast is shut in between the sea and the high dunes of sand which\nward off the winds from the scattered habitations of this desolate region,\nall situated so as to face the lake and turn their backs on the sea.\n\nThe princess\u2019 carriage remained, therefore, at K\u00f6nigsberg, to await the\nreturn of Fleurange\u2019s travelling companions. She took with her, however,\nthe rich furs, so warm and light, with which she had been provided, to\nwrap around Mademoiselle Josephine, in spite of her resistance. As for\nherself, she reserved a cloak of sufficiently thick material to protect\nher from the cold, not wishing to accustom herself to comforts she must\nafterwards be deprived of.\n\nThe change from one carriage to another was promptly effected, and the\nsmall cal\u00e8che in which they were closely seated was soon on its way over\nthe Strand towards Memel, which they hoped to reach the same evening.\nClement, in front, gazed with secret horror on the desolate aspect of\nnature. Everything around him seemed a fitting prelude to that Inferno of\nice towards which he was escorting her whom he would gladly have sheltered\nfrom too rude a summer breeze.\n\nThe weather was not as cold as on the previous day. The gray clouds\ncharged with rain seemed to indicate a sudden thaw, and through them the\nsun, veiled as before a coming storm, cast a pale light over the dark\nwaves and the sandy shore. The postilion, to favor his horses, rode so\nclose to the water that the waves broke over their pathway. To the right\nrose the dismal sand\u2010hills, and on that side, as well as before them,\nnothing was to be seen but sand as far as the eye could reach; to the\nleft, nothing but the tumultuous and threatening waves. Not a house far or\nnear, not a tree, not a blade of grass, not a living creature, save now\nand then some sea\u2010birds skimming wildly over the waves, adding another\nmelancholy feature to the dreariness of the scene, which with the storm\nwas a sufficiently exact image of the mental condition of him who was\nregarding it.\n\nAs to Fleurange, instead of looking around, she closed her eyes, the\nbetter to wander in imagination among the cherished scenes of the past and\nthose she looked forward to. She beheld again the blue waters of the\nMediterranean, and the radiant sky whose azure they reflect, and the\ngraceful undulations of the mountains veiled in a pearly mist; then\nFlorence, sparkling and poetical in the golden rays of departing light,\nand beside her she heard a voice murmuring words once dangerous to hear,\nbut now delicious to recall and repeat to herself. How much she then\nsuffered in struggling against her own impulses! Recalling those\nsufferings, how could she fear those she was about to brave?\u2014sufferings\nrepaid by the immense happiness of loving!\u2014of loving without fear!\u2014loving\nwithout remorse!\u2014Besides, they were both young.\u2014His mother\u2019s hopes might\nbe realized.\u2014Yes, perhaps some day they would again behold, and together,\nthat charming region, and then in the restored brilliancy of his former\nposition, with her beside him, he would be convinced, convinced beyond\ndoubt, that that was not the attraction which had won her, but really\nhimself, and only him, whom she loved!\n\nYes, she was now happy; no fears troubled her; she was full of hope; and,\nas it is said of the only great and true love that it \u201cbelieves it may and\ncan do all things,\u201d(133) so earthly love which is its pale but faithful\nreflection, made every earthly happiness appear possible and certain to\nFleurange, inasmuch as the greatest of all was in store for her.\n\nClement was still absorbed in silent contemplation, and Fleurange in her\nsweet dreams, when Mademoiselle Josephine awoke from the drowsiness\nfavored by the ample furs in which she was wrapped, which not only\nexcluded the air but the sight of outward objects. She looked up and\naround for the first time that morning, and gave a sudden start of\nsurprise.\n\n\u201cAh! mon Dieu! mon Dieu!\u2014\u201d she cried with alarm. \u201cGabrielle, what is\nthat?\u201d\n\nFleurange, suddenly recalled from the land of dreams to what was passing\naround her, replied: \u201cIt is the sea. Did you not notice it before?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe sea!\u2014the sea!\u2014\u201d repeated Mademoiselle Josephine, as if stupefied.\n\u201cNo, I had not seen it, and never imagined we should go on the sea in a\ncarriage.\u2014What a country! What a journey!\u201d murmured she to herself,\nendeavoring to conceal the terror she had not ceased to feel as they\nproceeded on their way and found everything so different from France, and\nconsequently the more alarming. But in her way she made an act of heroism\nin trying to overcome the surprise and fear caused by so many strange\nsights. She was especially desirous of not being troublesome to her\ncompanions. \u201cBesides,\u201d thought she, \u201cif these two children are not afraid,\nI must at least appear as brave as they.\u201d Nevertheless, she could not help\nrepeating with astonishment: \u201cGoing on the sea in a carriage\u2014it is really\nvery singular!\u201d\n\nFleurange laughed. \u201cHere, dear mademoiselle, look on this side, and you\nwill see we are not on the sea, but only on the shore.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery near it, however, for we are riding through the water.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is only the waves that break on the shore and then recede. There, you\nsee the land, now.\u201d\n\nMademoiselle felt somewhat reassured. She looked to the right, she looked\nto the left, she looked before her, then turned her eyes towards the\ngloomy immensity of the sea beside which they were riding.\n\n\u201cOh! how dismal, how repulsive it is,\u201d she exclaimed, at last.\n\nFleurange now gazed around. Her thoughts were no longer wandering. \u201cThe\nscene is indeed singularly gloomy,\u201d said she. \u201cThe leaden sky\u2014that mock\nsun\u2014the dark waters of that melancholy sea, and the interminable sand.\nYes, the whole region is frightful!\u201d And she slightly shuddered.\n\n\u201cI have always been told,\u201d said mademoiselle, \u201cthat the sea was glorious;\nbut it seems it was a traveller\u2019s tale for the benefit of those who never\ngo from home.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d cried Fleurange, \u201cdo not say so. The sea is really beautiful\nwhere it is as blue as the heavens above, and where its shores are\nluxuriant with trees, plants, and flowers; but not here, I acknowledge.\u201d\n\nAnd, in spite of herself, the sweet impression of her recent dreams,\ncaused by the contrast, entirely vanished. Her heart sank. She became\nsilent, and for a long time none of the three travellers spoke.\n\nThe Strand, about twelve or fourteen leagues in length, was divided into\nseveral stages by post\u2010stations on the other side of the sand\u2010hills,\nwhence were brought fresh horses. A carriage could not approach the\nstations on account of the deep sand, and when they paused a few moments\nto exchange horses, the travellers were only made aware of a neighboring\nhabitation by a peal of the horn which responded afar off to that of the\npostilion as he announced his approach. While they were thus halting at\nthe last stage, Fleurange noticed Clement\u2019s anxious look towards the sea\nand the threatening sky. The wind grew stronger and stronger, and the\nwaves mounted higher. A violent storm was evidently at hand. She beckoned\nto him, and said in a tone inaudible to her companion: \u201cWe are going to\nhave bad weather, are we not?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d replied he, in the same tone. \u201cIt will be dark in about an hour,\nand I fear we may find the crossing rough and difficult. I do not say this\non your account,\u201d added he, with a somewhat forced smile. \u201cI know well I\nam not allowed to tremble for you, however great the danger, but I fear\nyou may find it difficult by\u2010and\u2010by to reassure your poor friend.\u201d\n\nHe mounted to his seat again, ordered the postilion to hurry, and the\nlittle cal\u00e8che set off as speedily as possible to avoid the enormous waves\nwhich threatened to upset them. In spite of their haste, night came on,\nand the storm set in before they arrived at the ferry across the arm of\nthe sea which connects the Kurische Haff with the Baltic. The passage was\nshort but dangerous. They could not stop an instant, for, though well\nsheltered here, the sea rose higher and higher, and the large boat that\nwas to take the carriage across was difficult to manage in bad weather.\nThey therefore rapidly descended the bank to the boat, and Mademoiselle\nJosephine was roused from the drowsiness produced by the motion of the\ncarriage, by a sudden and violent shock, accompanied by cries and\nvociferations mingled with the roar of the sea and the frightful howling\nof the wind.\n\n\u201cO Jesus, my Saviour!\u201d prayed the poor demoiselle, clasping her hands with\nterror: \u201cthe time, then, has come for us to die!\u201d\n\nThe rain fell in torrents. The waves broke over the boat. Darkness added\nits horrors to the danger, which, to her inexperienced eyes, appeared to\nbe extreme. The sweet voice of her young companion vainly sought to\nencourage her. By the light of the lanterns carried from side to side to\nlight the boatman, she soon distinguished Clement standing beside the\ncarriage, holding up a sail with a firm hand to screen them on the side\nmost exposed to the waves.\n\n\u201cPoor Clement,\u201d she exclaimed, \u201cit is all over with us, then.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, not quite, unfortunately,\u201d replied Clement. \u201cIt will be at least half\nan hour before we reach the shore.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe shore!\u2014the shore!\u2014He imagines, then, we shall reach it alive?\u201d said\nmademoiselle, hiding her face on Fleurange\u2019s shoulder.\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d replied the latter, pressing her in her arms. \u201cDear friend,\nthere is no danger, I assure you. Believe me, I am only alarmed to see you\nso terrified.\u201d\n\n\u201cPardon me, child,\u201d said the other, raising her head. \u201cI resolved you\nshould know nothing about it. But this time, Gabrielle, you cannot say we\nare not crossing the sea in a carriage,\u201d continued she, with renewed alarm\nas she felt the increased motion of the waves.\n\nFleurange embraced her, repeating the same reassuring words. The poor old\nlady made no reply, she was trying to overcome her terror by a genuine act\nof heroism. \u201cDanger or not, it is like what I have always imagined a\nterrible tempest, destructive of human life. But then,\u201d murmured she still\nlower, \u201cGod overrules all, and nothing happens without his consent.\u201d\n\nHer physical nature was weak, but her soul was strong, and piety, a\nsupport in every trial, served now to calm her. She began to pray\nmentally, and did not utter another word till they reached the shore.\n\n\nXLIX.\n\n\nBut a far greater danger awaited our travellers beyond Memel, whence they\ncontinued their journey the following day in sledges. The first,\ncontaining their baggage, preceded them several hours in advance to\nannounce their arrival at the post\u2010stations; the second somewhat resembled\na clumsy boat on runners, surmounted by a hood, and protected by a boot of\nthick fur. It was in this sledge Fleurange and her companion were stowed\naway. They were obliged to lie nearly down to avoid the piercing wind. The\nthird vehicle, entirely uncovered, was very light, and so small that it\nbarely contained Clement, in front of whom sat a young fellow wrapped in a\ncaftan, strong and vigorous, but with a slender form quite adapted to the\nseat he occupied and the sledge he drove. With this light equipage Clement\nwent like the wind, sometimes preceding the other sledge as a guide, and\nthen returning to accompany it and watch over its safety.\n\nThe cold had become as intense as ever within a few hours. The pouring\nrain of the previous night after several days of thawing weather, alarming\nat that season, caused great gullies in the road, and endangered the\npassage over the rivers, at that time of the year, on the ice. Though\nscarcely four o\u2019clock, the short day was nearly ended, and daylight was\ndeclining when our travellers came to the river they were obliged to cross\nin order to reach the small town of Y\u2014\u2014. It was a deep, rapid stream,\nwhich at the beginning of every winter was encumbered with thick cakes of\nfloating ice before the surface of its waters was congealed, and which, at\nthe approach of spring, was also the first to resume its course and break\nthe icy fetters that confined its current. This river was therefore almost\nalways difficult to pass over, and very often dangerous, and, when the\ntravellers came to the only place where it could be crossed, they felt\nthey had reason to be anxious about the thaw. As soon as Clement cast his\neyes on the river, he thought there were really some alarming indications.\nHe at once saw there was no time to be lost, and drove directly on to the\nice. Then he stopped, and hurriedly said to the young guide: \u201cI think we\nshould let the heaviest sledge go first: we will follow, if we can.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, if we can,\u201d said the other.\n\nThe order was instantly given, and the sledge that contained Fleurange and\nher companion passed rapidly on. But it had scarcely gone ten or twelve\nfeet from the shore before an ominous cracking was heard. The frightened\ndriver stopped. Clement imperiously ordered him to proceed without a\nsecond\u2019s delay. But, instead of obeying, the driver, seized with fear,\njumped out on the ice and sprang back to the shore he had just left. This\njar increased the breaking of the ice which had already commenced. That\nnext the shore gave way and began to move with the current, leaving an\nopen gulf between the land and the still solid ice where our travellers\nremained. Great promptness of decision was necessary at a moment of such\nsudden and extreme danger, and orders as prompt as the judgment.\n\n\u201cDescend, Gabrielle,\u201d said Clement, with authority.\n\nThe young girl instantly sprang from the sledge. Clement took Mademoiselle\nJosephine in his arms and placed her beside Fleurange.\n\n\u201cGet into my sledge, Gabrielle,\u201d said he calmly, but very quickly. \u201cAs\nsoon as you are safe, the sledge shall return for your friend. There is\ntime, but you must not hesitate.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not hesitate,\u201d said Fleurange. \u201cI shall remain myself: she shall be\nsaved first.\u201d\n\nClement shuddered. But there was not time to contest the point. Besides,\nhe knew from the tone of Fleurange\u2019s voice that her decision was\nirrevocable, and he yielded without another word. He placed poor\nmademoiselle, who was incapable of comprehending what was transpiring, in\nthe light sledge, gave the order\u2014obeyed at once\u2014and it darted off. The\nsound of the bells on the horses\u2019 necks was heard for a few moments, and\nthen died away.\n\nFleurange and Clement were left alone. Night was gathering around them.\nNot far off could be heard the slow cracking of the ice beneath the heavy\nweight of the sledge at the edge of the first opening. The noise\nincreased, and the ice broke away the second time. The huge mass, thus\ndetached, quivered, then, like the first, slowly descended the river,\ncarrying the sledge with it. The opening became frightfully large. Clement\nlooked before him to see if he could venture, by taking Fleurange in his\narms, to cross on foot the long interval that separated them from the\nopposite shore. But it was too dark to distinguish the path, and, if they\nleft that, death was inevitable. They might lose the only chance of being\nsaved\u2014by awaiting the return of the sledge. And yet they could not remain\nlong where they were. The ice was already loosening around them. In a few\nmoments there was another cracking, and it gave way before them. The\nfragment on which they stood became a kind of floating island. Clement saw\nat a glance the only course to be taken. He did not hesitate. He seized\nFleurange in his arms, and, by the uncertain light of the snow, sprang\nboldly across the opening before them. They were once more on the solid\nice, but who could tell how long it would be so? Who knew whether the\nsledge would succeed in reaching them again? Perhaps it was swallowed up\nin the impenetrable darkness, or left on the ice broken up around it.\nOtherwise it should have returned.\n\nThese thoughts crowded into Clement\u2019s mind faster than they can be\nwritten. Fleurange, silent but courageous, was equally sensible of their\ndanger. She bent down her head and silently prayed. Leaning thus against\nClement, her hair brushing his very face, she might have heard the rapid\npulsations of his heart and felt the trembling of the arm that supported\nher, and the hand that pressed her own. But he did not utter a word. His\nsensations were strange. A desire to save her doubled his strength and\ncourage, and quickened all his faculties. At the same time, he was\nconscious of a transport he could not control\u2014that she was there alone\nwith him, that they were to die together, and she would never be able to\nfulfil the odious design of her journey!\n\nBut this moment of selfish love and despair was short. His thoughts\nreturned to her\u2014her alone. He must save her\u2014save her at whatever cost. But\nhow? It seemed as if an hour had passed away. It was useless to hope for\nthe return of the sledge.\u2014He thought he felt the ice quiver anew beneath\nhis feet.\u2014He looked at the dark current behind. Should he jump into the\nwater, and endeavor to regain the shore they had left, but now no longer\nvisible?\u2014He hesitated a moment\u2014no, that would expose her to certain death,\nand a more speedy one than now threatened them. It would be better to\nremain where they were, and endure the fearful suspense to the end.\n\nThey therefore remained motionless for some minutes more of silent agony.\nNotwithstanding her courage, the young girl\u2019s strength began to fail. Her\nsight grew dim. There was a strange hum in her ears. Then her head fell on\nher cousin\u2019s shoulder.\n\n\u201cOh! I am dying,\u201d murmured she. \u201cMay God restore you to your mother,\nClement!\u201d\n\nAt this moment of supreme anguish, Clement raised his eyes to heaven, and\nthe cry of love and despair that rose from his heart was a prayer as\nardent and pure as was ever uttered by childlike faith. He felt he was\nheard. Yes, almost at the same instant.\u2014Was he mistaken? Afar off, so far\nhe could hardly catch the sound, he thought he heard the jingle of bells.\nHe listened without breathing.\u2014O Divine Goodness! is it true?\u2014Yes, yes,\nthere is no longer any doubt. The sound becomes more distinct. It\napproaches.\u2014It is really the sledge.\u2014It is coming rapidly; it reaches\nthem; it stops; it is really there!\n\n\u201cBlessed be God! she is saved!\u201d was Clement\u2019s cry. But Fleurange, overcome\nby weakness and terror, was already senseless in his arms.\n\nHe bore her to the sledge, and as he placed her within, but half conscious\nof what was occurring, he pressed her once more to his heart with\nunrestrained tenderness, and said: \u201cAdieu, dear Gabrielle. Regret not that\nI die here. God is good. He spares me the sorrow of living without you.\u201d\nAnd he added, in a lower tone: \u201cGabrielle, I have loved you more than\nanything else in the world. I can acknowledge it now, for death is at\nhand.\u201d Then he stepped back, and ordered the young guide to hurry away.\n\nHis first words had only been indistinctly heard by Fleurange, as in a\ndream; but she clearly understood this precise order. It brought her at\nonce to herself.\n\n\u201cAway!\u201d she exclaimed. \u201cAway without you! What do you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt must be so,\u201d said Clement. \u201cThe sledge can only hold you and the\nguide. Any additional weight would be dangerous. Go, without an instant\u2019s\ndelay.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever!\u201d said Fleurange resolutely. \u201cClement, we will all three die here,\nrather than leave you!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must go!\u201d repeated Clement energetically. \u201cGo, I tell you! The sledge\nwill return for me.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will be impossible to cross a third time,\u201d said the young conductor.\n\nClement knew it. He only replied by imperiously ordering him to start.\n\nFleurange, no less firm than Clement, rose and checked the hand that held\nthe reins. The driver at once jumped down from his seat. \u201cDo you know how\nto drive?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I know how to swim. Here, get in quick.\u2014Keep that for me,\u201d\ncontinued he, hastily taking off his caftan and throwing it into the\nsledge. \u201cDo not be uneasy. I shall get it again to\u2010morrow. I know the way\nand am familiar with the river.\u201d\n\nAnd without hesitating he plunged into the dark current, while Clement\nsprang to his seat in the sledge.\n\nWith a boldness that is the only chance of safety in such a case, he\nforced the horses into a gallop. They thus traversed with giddy rapidity\nthe considerable distance that separated them from the other shore. The\nice, jarred by the two former trips, cracked beneath the horse\u2019s feet. To\nslacken their course an instant would have submerged them in the river,\nbut the sledge flew rather than ran on the ice, and the hand that guided\nit was firm. They arrived at the goal in less than half an hour, and\nFleurange, pale, exhausted, and chilled, fell into the arms of her dear\nold friend.\n\nThe latter was quietly awaiting them in a warm, well\u2010lighted room at the\npost\u2010station, and supper had been ordered, but Fleurange was neither able\nto talk nor eat. Mademoiselle saw that instant repose was absolutely\nnecessary. She only persuaded her to take some hot mulled wine before\ngoing to sleep, and then went to join Clement in another room, where she\nlearned, for the first time, all the danger she, as well as the rest, had\nescaped.\n\nAfter the experience of the past day, Mademoiselle Josephine resolved\nnever to manifest any astonishment at whatever might occur in this strange\njourney. She would go in a balloon without wincing, as readily as in a\nsledge, at Clement\u2019s slightest injunction, for he seemed more and more to\nmerit boundless confidence.\n\nPerhaps, at the end of this terrible day, Clement did not give himself so\nmuch credit. He recalled what he had dared say to Fleurange in the height\nof their danger, and anxiously wondered if she heard and understood the\nwords that rose from his heart at the moment death seemed so inevitable.\nWas she conscious when he uttered that last farewell? He did not know, and\nit was natural he should await the following day with anxiety.\n\nBut he was then reassured by finding his cousin as calm and frank as ever.\nShe evidently had not understood, and probably not heard his words, or\nthought them sufficiently explained by the intensity of emotion naturally\nirrepressible at such a moment of extreme danger. The young girl was\nforced to rest a whole day to recover from her exhaustion. But it was\ntheir last halting\u2010place, and, when they resumed their journey, it was not\nto stop again till they arrived at its end.\n\nTo Be Continued.\n\n\n\n\nSayings Of John Climacus.\n\n\nIf any one has conceived a real hatred of the world, he is emancipated by\nthis very hatred from all sadness. But if he shall cherish an attachment\nto things that are visible, he carries about with him a source of sadness\nand melancholy.\n\nIt is impossible that they who apply their whole mind to the science of\nsalvation, should not make advancement. Some are permitted to perceive\ntheir progress, whilst from others, by a particular dispensation of\nProvidence, it is altogether concealed.\n\nHe who strenuously labors to conquer his passions, and to draw nearer and\nnearer to God, believes that every day in which he has to suffer no\nhumiliation is to him a grievous loss.\n\nRepentance is the daughter of hope, and the enemy of despair.\n\nBefore the commission of sin, the devil represents God as infinitely\nmerciful; but after its perpetration, as inexorable and without pity.\n\nA mother will sometimes hide herself from her child, to watch its\neagerness in seeking her, and she is exceedingly pleased to observe it\nseeking for her with sorrow and anxiety. By this means she wins its love,\nand binds it inseparably to her heart, that it may never be alienated from\nher in affection. \u201cHe that hath ears to hear,\u201d saith our Lord, \u201clet him\nhear.\u201d\n\nMeekness is an immutability of soul, which ever continues the same,\nwhether amidst the injuries or the applaudits of men.\n\n\n\n\nDante\u2019s Purgatorio. Canto Fifth.\n\n\n    [NOTE.\u2014In this Canto, Dante introduces three other spirits, who\n    relate the manner of their departure from the body, and recommend\n    themselves to his prayers, that their penal sufferings may be\n    alleviated.\n\n    The first of these penitents is Jacopo del Cassero, a townsman of\n    Fano in Romagna, who, flying towards Padua from the vengeance of\n    one of the tyrannous Este family, was waylaid and murdered in the\n    marshes near Oriago.\n\n    The second is Buonconte, son of Guido di Montefeltro. He was a\n    fellow\u2010soldier with Dante in the battle of Campaldino, and there\n    slain; but what became of his body was never known until this\n    imaginary narration.\n\n    The third is the noble lady of Sienna, Pia de\u2019 Tolommei, whose\n    story, told by Dante in three lines, has formed the subject of a\n    five\u2010act tragedy, recently illustrated in this country by the\n    genius of Ristori.\u2014TRANS.]\n\n    Already parted from those shades, I went\n      Following the footsteps of my Guide, when one\n    Behind me towards my form his finger bent,\n      Exclaiming\u2014\u201cSee! no ray falls from the sun\n    To the left hand of him that walks below!\n      And sure! he moveth like a living man.\u201d\n    Mine eyes I turned, at hearing him say so,\n      And saw them with a gaze all wonder scan\n    Now me, still me, and now the broken light\n      My body caused. The Master then to me:\n    \u201cWhy let thy wonder keep thee from the height\n      To drag so slowly? what concerns it thee\n    What here is whispered? only follow thou\n      After my steps, and let the crowd talk on:\n    Stand like a tower, firm\u2010based, that will not bow\n      Its head to breath of winds that soon are gone.\n    The man o\u2019er whose thought second thought hath sway,\n      Wide of his mark, is ever sure to miss,\n    Because one force the other wears away.\u201d\n      What could I answer but\u2014\u201cI come\u201d\u2014to this?\n    I said it something sprinkled with the hue\n      Which, in less faults, excuseth one from blame;\n    Meanwhile across the mountain\u2010side there drew,\n      Just in our front, a train that as they came\n    Sang _Miserere_, verse by verse. When they\n      Observed my form, and noticed that I gave\n    No passage through me to the solar ray,\n      Into a long, hoarse \u201cO!\u201d they changed their stave.\n    And two, as envoys, ran up with demand,\n      \u201cIn what condition is it that ye go?\u201d\n\n    And my Lord said\u2014\u201cReturn ye to the band\n      Who sent you towards us, and give them to know\n    This body is true flesh. If they delayed\n      At sight,\u2014I deem so, of the shadow here\n    Thereby sufficient answer shall be made:\n      Him let them reverence,\u2014it may prove dear.\u201d\n\n    I never saw a meteor dart so quick\n      Through the serene at midnight, or a gleam\n    Of lightning flash at sunset, through a thick\n      Piled August cloud, but these would faster seem\n    As they retreated; having joined the rest,\n      Back like an unreined troop towards us they sped.\n    \u201cThis throng is large by whom we thus are pressed,\n      And come to implore of thee,\u201d the Poet said\u2014\n    \u201cTherefore keep on, and as thou mov\u2019st attend.\u201d\n\n    \u201cO soul who travellest, with the very frame\n      Which thou wert born with, to thy blessed end,\n    Stay thy step somewhat!\u201d\u2014crying thus they came.\n      \u201cLook if among us any thou dost know,\n    That thou of him to earth mayst tidings bear.\n      Stay\u2014wilt thou not? ah! wherefore must thou go?\n    We to our dying hour were sinners there:\n      And all were slain: but at the murderous blow,\n    Warned us an instant light that flashed from heaven,\n      And all from life did peacefully depart,\n    Contrite, forgiving, and by Him forgiven\n      To look on Whom such longing yearns our heart.\u201d\n    \u201cNone do I recognize,\u201d I answered, \u201ceven\n      Scanning your faces with mine utmost art;\n    But whatsoe\u2019er, ye blessed souls! I may\n      To give you comfort, speak, and I will do;\n    Yea, by that peace which leads me on my way\n      From world to world such guidance to pursue.\u201d\n\n    JACOPO DI FANO.\n\n    \u201cWithout such protestation,\u201d one replied,\n      \u201cUnless thy will a want of power defeat,\n    In thy kind offices we all confide;\n      Whence I, sole speaking before these, entreat\n    If thou mayst e\u2019er the territory see\n      That lies betwixt Romagna and the seat(134)\n    Where Charles hath sway, that thou so courteous be\n      As to implore the men in Fano\u2019s town\n    To put up prayers there earnestly for me\n      That I may purge the sins that weigh me down.\n    There I was born; but those deep wounds of mine\n      Through which my life\u2010blood issued, I received\n    Among the children of Antenor\u2019s line,(135)\n      Where most secure my person I believed:\n    \u2019Twas through that lord of Este I was sped\n      Who past all justice had me in his hate.\n    O\u2019ertook at Oriaco, had I fled\n      Towards Mira, still where breath is I might wait.\n    But to the marsh I made my way instead,\n      And there, entangled in the cany brake\n    And mire, I fell, and on the ground saw spread,\n      From mine own veins outpoured, a living lake.\u201d\n\n    BUONCONTE DI MONTEFELTRO.\n\n    Here spake another: \u201cO may that desire\n      So be fulfilled which to the lofty Mount\n    Conducts thy feet as thou shalt bring me nigher\n      To mine by thy good prayers. I am the Count\n    Buonconte: Montefeltro\u2019s lord was I.\n      Giovanna cares not, no one cares for me;\n    Therefore with these I go dejectedly.\u201d\n      And I to him: \u201cWhat violence took thee,\n    Or chance of war, from Campaldino then\n      So far that none e\u2019er knew thy burial\u2010place?\u201d\n    \u201cO,\u201d answered he, \u201cabove the hermit\u2019s glen(136)\n      A stream whose course is Casentino\u2019s base,\n    Springs in the Apennine, Archiano called.\n      There, where that name is lost in Arno\u2019s flood,\n    Exhausted I arrived, footsore and galled,\n      Pierced in my throat, painting the plain with blood.\n    Here my sight failed me and I fell: the last\n      Word that I spake was Mary\u2019s name, and then\n    From my deserted flesh the spirit passed.\n      The truth I tell now, tell to living men;\n    God\u2019s Angel took me, but that fiend of Hell\n      Screamed out: \u2019Ha! thou from heaven, why robb\u2019st thou me?\n    His soul thou get\u2019st for one small tear that fell,\n      But of this offal other work I\u2019ll see.\u2019\n    Thou know\u2019st how vapors gathering in the air\n      Mount to the cold and there condensed distil\n    Back into water. That Bad Will which ne\u2019er\n      Seeks aught but evil joined his evil will,\n    With intellect, and, from the great force given\n      By his fell nature, moved the mist and wind\n    And o\u2019er the valley drew the darkened heaven,\n      Covering it with clouds as day declined\n    From Pratomagno far as the great chain,(137)\n      So that the o\u2019erburdened air to water turned:\n    Then the floods fell, and every rivulet\u2019s vein\n      Swelled with the superflux the soaked earth spurned.\n    When to large streams the mingling torrents grew\n      Down to the royal river with such force\n    They rushed that no restraint their fury knew.\n      Here fierce Archiano found my frozen corse\n    Stretched at its mouth, and into Arno\u2019s wave\n      Dashed it and loosened from my breast the sign,\n    Which when mine anguish mastered me I gave,\n      Of holy cross with my crossed arms: in fine,\n    O\u2019er bed and bank my form the streamlet drave\n      Whirling, and with its own clay covered mine.\u201d\n\n    PIA DE\u2019 TOLOMEI.\n\n    \u201cO stay! when thou shalt walk the world once more,\n      And have repose from that long way of thine,\u201d\u2014\n    Said the third spirit, following those before,\n      \u201cRemember Pia! for that name was mine:\n    Sienna gave me birth: Maremma\u2019s fen\n      Was my undoing: he knows that full well\n    Who ringed my finger with his gem and then,\n      After espousal,\u2014_took me there to dwell_.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nSanskrit And The Vedas.(138)\n\n\n    \u201cBut in justice, I am bound to say that Rome has the merit of\n    having first seriously attended to the study of Indian\n    literature.\u201d\u2014CARDINAL WISEMAN: _Connection between Science and\n    Revealed Religion_.\n\n    \u201cThe first missionaries who succeeded in rousing the attention of\n    European scholars to the extraordinary discovery (Sanskrit\n    literature) that had been made were the French Jesuit\n    missionaries.\u201d\u2014MAX M\u00dcLLER: _Lectures on the Science of Language_.\n\n\nWhat manner of language is the Sanskrit?\n\nBy what people or nation was it spoken?\n\nWhen? and where?\n\nWhat are its literary monuments?\n\nWhence comes it\u2014granting it to be as ancient a tongue as is\nrepresented\u2014that neither in Greek, Roman, nor, indeed, in any ancient\nliterature, is it ever mentioned, and that we only read of it in modern\nworks, scarce a century old?\n\nSuch questions as these are frequently asked, even at the present day.\nForty years ago, it is doubtful if there were ten persons in this country\nable to reply to them satisfactorily, and more than doubtful if a single\nscholar could have been found capable of translating the simplest Sanskrit\nsentence. Within that period, however, philological science in general,\nand Sanskrit in particular, have made long and rapid strides among us, and\nwe now have scores of scholars fully awake to the importance of\ncultivating the resources of this wonderful tongue, as the origin or\ncommon source of the European family of languages, in which our own\nEnglish is included.\n\nAt the head of these scholars stands, without dispute, Prof. William\nDwight Whitney, whose, linguistic acquirements and philosophical treatment\nof difficult philological problems have earned for him a very high and\nwell\u2010merited reputation. Nor is this opinion a merely patriotic and\npartial estimate. Prof. Whitney\u2019s merits as a Sanskrit scholar and\ncomparative philologist are fully acknowledged, not only in this country,\nbut by the eminent Orientalists of Europe. The first periodical of Germany\nand of the world for the comparative study of languages (_Zeitschrift f\u00fcr\nvergleichende Sprachforschung auf dem Gebiete des Deutschen, Griechischen\nund Lateinischen_, Berlin, 1872), in a late number recognizes, in the most\nflattering manner, Prof. Whitney\u2019s high rank in the philological republic\nof letters, and refers in complimentary terms to the fact that he is well\nknown in Germany as the editor of the Sanskrit text of the _Atharva Veda_.\n\nWe may here incidentally note, in the same number of the _Zeitschrift_,\nanother gratifying recognition of advanced American scholarship. We refer\nto a review of Prof. March\u2019s _Comparative Grammar of the Anglo\u2010Saxon_,\nfrom the pen of Moritz Heyne, the well\u2010known author of the _Brief\nComparative Grammar of the Old German Dialects_, and editor of the\ncelebrated editions of the M\u0153so\u2010Gothic Bible of Ulphilas, and of the\nAnglo\u2010Saxon poem of Beowulf. The German reviewer credits Prof. March\u2019s\nwork with extensive and original investigation, great erudition in the\nAnglo\u2010Saxon texts, and valuable contributions to the grammar of the\nlanguage. He adds, that the study of Anglo\u2010Saxon is pursued with more zeal\nand success in the United States than in England. Solid commendation like\nthis, from such a source, speaks well for American progress in the field\nof philological science.\n\nDuring the past twenty years, Prof. Whitney has published numerous essays\non Sanskrit literature which, limited to the special circulation of\nscientific or literary periodicals, have not fallen under the notice of\nthe general reading public. Many of these articles he has now collected\nand published in a volume,(139) edited by himself. Four of the essays are\non the Vedas and Vedic literature, one on the Avesta (commonly called the\nZend\u2010Avesta), and seven upon various philological topics, including two\nreviews of Max M\u00fcller\u2019s _Lectures on Language_, which are admirable\nspecimens of temperate and careful criticism, guided by sound scholarship.\n\nProf. Whitney\u2019s first paper on the Vedas (originally published in the\n_Journal of the American Oriental Society_, vol. iii., 1853) opens thus:\n\n\n    \u201cIt is a truth now well established, that the Vedas furnish the\n    only sure foundation on which a knowledge of ancient and modern\n    India can be built up. They are therefore at present engrossing\n    the larger share of the attention of those who pursue this branch\n    of Oriental study. Only recently, however, has their paramount\n    importance been fully recognized: it was by slow degrees that they\n    made their way up to the consideration in which they are now held.\n    Once it was questioned whether any such books as the Vedas really\n    existed, or whether, if they did exist, the jealous care of the\n    Brahmans would ever allow them to be laid open to European eyes.\n    This doubt dispelled, they were first introduced to the near\n    acquaintance of scholars in the West by Colebrooke.\u201d\n\n\nNot stopping to raise a question as to just reclamation in favor of Sir\nWilliam Jones for a portion at least of the credit of the introduction of\nthe Vedas to the \u201cacquaintance of scholars in the West,\u201d which, perhaps\nProfessor Whitney means to solve in advance by a distinction between\nacquaintance and \u201cnear acquaintance,\u201d we would observe that this\ncomprehensive statement as to the introduction of the Vedas to European\nscholars takes for granted the previous interesting history of the modern\ndiscovery of the existence of the Sanskrit and of Vedic literature. We use\nthe expression \u201ctakes for granted\u201d in no invidious sense.\n\nThe author was writing for scholars who, he had a right to assume, were\nalready acquainted with the objective history of his subject\u2010matter, and\nwere probably informed as to the details of the gradual steps by which the\ncertainty of the existence of a great language and a rich literature long\nburied in darkness was at length brought to light. His concern was with\nthe internal, not the external, history of Sanskrit. Now, it is upon this\nexternal history that we propose to say something, returning to Prof.\nWhitney\u2019s work when we reach the subject of the Vedas.\n\nIt is not necessary that our readers should, to any extent, be linguists\nor philologists in order to become deeply interested in the relation of\nthe modern discovery of a language so old that it had ceased to be spoken\nand was a dead language hundreds of years before the Christian era\u2014a\nlanguage to which cannot with any certainty be assigned the name of the\nnation or people who spoke it, and which is at once the most ancient of\nall known tongues, living or dead, and, despite all modern research, still\nprehistoric.\n\nTo our Catholic readers, the narration of this discovery is full of\ninterest; for in it they will recognize an additional version of the\nfamiliar story of the enlightened intelligence, piety, and self\u2010sacrifice\nof our devoted missionaries who, combining active zeal for knowledge with\napostolic zeal for souls, amid privation and suffering, even in distant\nand savage lands, with one hand built up the walls of Zion, while with the\nother they erected temples to science.\n\nIn order fully to appreciate the bearing and importance of the revelation\nof Sanskrit to Europe, it is essential that we should first look a moment\nupon the condition of European comparative philology at the end of the\nXVIth and commencement of the XVIIth centuries. A short digression will\nsuffice for this.\n\nThe Hebrew language was, from the earliest period of Christianity, settled\nupon by almost common consent of the learned as the primitive tongue. It\nwas generally admitted by scholars that the sole great and essential\nlinguistic problem to be solved was this:\n\n\n    \u201cAs Hebrew is undoubtedly the mother of all languages, how are we\n    to explain the process by which Hebrew became split into so many\n    dialects, and how can these numerous dialects, such as Greek and\n    Latin, Coptic, Persian, Turkish, be traced back to their common\n    source, the Hebrew?\u201d\n\n\nUpon this hopelessly insoluble problem an amazing amount of remarkable\ningenuity and solid erudition were, for hundreds of years, hopelessly\nwasted, for, at this day, instead of Hebrew, Sanskrit is recognized as\nbeing the oldest of all known languages. How came this about? Reply to\nthis inquiry will at the same time answer the questions proposed at the\noutset of this article.\n\nThe result of labor on the problem, \u201cHow could all languages be traced\nback to the Hebrew?\u201d was of course unsatisfactory. No solution could be\nobtained. None indeed was possible.\n\nAt last it was suggested, why _should_ all languages be derived from the\nHebrew? and with investigation thus taken off its false route, the\nquestion was in a fair way to be successfully treated. Leibnitz vigorously\ndenied the claims set up for Hebrew, and said: \u201cThere is as much reason\nfor supposing Hebrew to have been the primitive language of mankind, as\nthere is for adopting the view of Goropius, who published a work at\nAntwerp in 1580 to prove that Dutch was the language spoken in Paradise.\u201d\nMore than this, he indicated the necessity of applying to language as well\nas to any other science the principle of a sound inductive process, and in\nthis he was greatly aided by the Jesuit missionaries in China.\n\n\n    \u201cIt stands to reason,\u201d he said, \u201cthat we ought to begin with\n    studying the modern languages which are within our reach, in order\n    to compare them with one another, to discover their differences\n    and affinities, and then to proceed to those which have preceded\n    them in former ages, in order to show their filiation and their\n    origin, and then to ascend step by step to the most ancient\n    tongues, the analysis of which must lead to the only trustworthy\n    conclusions.\u201d\n\n\nBut Leibnitz, while properly disputing the justice of the claims of Hebrew\nas the mother\u2010tongue, knew of none other for which a similar claim might\nbe advanced. It is doubtful if he ever heard of Sanskrit, although he\nlived until 1716, a full century after one, at least, of our missionaries\nhad mastered Sanskrit and all the Vedas.\n\n\n\nSanskrit\n\n\nis the ancient language of the Hindus, and had ceased to be a spoken\nlanguage three centuries before the Christian era. The sacred Vedas, the\noldest literary productions of the Hindus, and even the laws of Manu and\nthe Pur\u00e2nas, later works, are written in a dialect still older than the\nSanskrit, of which it is the parent, and are assigned by different\nscholars to periods varying from twelve hundred to two thousand years B.C.\nThus, the dialects of Sanskrit spoken by the people of India three hundred\nyears B.C. may be said to have been to the Vedic Sanskrit what Italian now\nis to the Latin. These dialects, modified by admixture with the languages\nof the various conquerors of India, the Arabic, Persian, Mongolic, and\nTurkish, and changed also by grammatical corruption, yet survive in the\nmodern Hind\u00ed, Hindust\u00e1n\u00ed, Mahratta, and Beng\u00e1l\u00e9e.\n\nSpecimens of the dialects spoken by the people of the northern, eastern,\nand southwestern regions of India have come down to us in the inscriptions\nof the Buddhist King Piyadasi (third century B.C.), and in the account of\nthe victory over Antiochus which King Asoka (206 B.C.) had graven on the\nrocks of Dhauli, Girnar, and Kapurdigiri. These inscriptions have been\ndeciphered by Burnouf, Norris, Wilson, and others, and are found to be in\nthe Prakrit (common), not the Sanskrit (perfect) or exclusive dialect.\nFrom these facts the best Oriental scholars draw the conclusion that, at\nthe periods of Piyadasi and Asoka, the Sanskrit, if spoken at all, was\nthen already confined to the educated caste of Brahmans, having been a\nliving language at some remote previous period (most probably between the\nVIIIth and IVth centuries B.C.), spoken by all classes of that race which\nemigrated from Central India into Asia, and the language so spoken is that\nto which modern Orientalists give the name of Aryan. For it will be borne\nin mind that the term Sanskrit is no indication of the people or race who\noriginally spoke the language so called: it merely indicates the\nestimation in which it is held by their successors, and signifies \u201cthe\nperfect language.\u201d\n\nMeantime, during all these centuries, Sanskrit continued to be preserved\nas the classic tongue and literary vehicle of Brahmanic thought and study,\nand we are told on good authority that, \u201ceven at the present day, an\neducated Brahman would write with greater fluency in Sanskrit than in\nBeng\u00e1l\u00e9e.\u201d It is now well established that Sanskrit is certainly not the\nparent, but the eldest brother or _chef de famille_ of the large groups of\nGreek, Latin, Celtic, Slavonic, Teutonic, and Scandinavian families from\nwhich all the modern European tongues (Basque excepted) are derived (we\nomit mention of the Oriental branches). When we write the Sanskrit words\n_mader_, _pader_, _dokhter_, _sunu_, _bruder_, _mand_, _lib_, _nasa_,\n_vidhuva_, _stara_, we very nearly write the corresponding English terms,\nand see in them their English descendants through M\u0153so\u2010Gothic and German.\nThe Sanskrit and Greek equivalents of _I am_, _thou art_, _he is_, are\nalmost identical:\n\n\n    _Sanskrit_:      asmi, asi, asti.\n    _Greek_:         esmi, eis, esti.\n\n\nWe find the Sanskrit _din\u00e2ra_ in the Latin _denarius_; _ayas_ in\nSanskrit\u2014passing through the Gothic _ais_ to English _iron_; and _plava_,\nin Sanskrit, a ship appearing in the Greek _ploion_ (ship), Slavonic\n_ploug_, and English _plough_; for the Aryans said the ship ploughed the\nsea, and the plough sailed across the field. In like manner, similar\nillustrations might be multiplied indefinitely to the extent of volumes,\nshowing not hazardous and doubtful etymological similarities, but clear,\ndistinct, and sharp\u2010cut affinities by clearly traceable descent.\n\n\u201cWho was the first European that knew of Sanskrit, or that acquired a\nknowledge of Sanskrit, is difficult to say,\u201d remarks Prof. Max M\u00fcller.\nVery true. But it is not at all difficult to reach the certainty that that\nEuropean, whatever might have been his name, was a Catholic missionary.\n\nSoon after S. Francis Xavier began to preach the Gospel in India (1542),\nwe hear of our missionaries acquiring not only the current dialects of the\ncountry, but also the classical Sanskrit language; of their successfully\nstudying the theological and philosophical literature of the exclusive\npriestly class; and of their challenging the Brahmans to public\ndisputations. If the example of their labors, humility, sufferings, and\npiety were not sufficient to win souls, they always, where it was needed,\nhad science at their command, and were at once scholars, linguists,\nmathematicians, and astronomers as well as lowly messengers of the glad\ntidings of salvation.\n\nProminent among the most remarkable of these men stands\n\n\n\nRobert De\u2019 Nobili.\n\n\nA nephew of Cardinal de\u2019 Nobili and a relative of Pope Julius the Third\nand of the great Bellarmine, he was nobly born and tenderly reared. He\nwent a missionary to the Indies in 1603, and began his public labors at\nMadura in 1606. Being a man of superior education, cultivation, and\nrefinement, he soon perceived the reasons which kept all the natives of\nhigh caste\u2014especially the Brahmans\u2014from joining the communities of\nChristian converts formed by the common people of the country. He saw that\nthe Brahmans could be successfully met and argued with only by a Brahman,\nand he at once resolved on the heroic project of fitting himself by long\nstudy and almost incredible labor to become a Brahman in outward\nappearance, language, and accomplishments, and thus obtain access to the\nnoblest, most learned, and most accomplished men in India. The task was\nfull of difficulty. For years he devoted himself to his silent work,\nacquiring in secret the dialects of Tamil and Telugu, and the language and\nliterature of Sanskrit and the Vedas. When in time he felt himself strong\nenough in Brahmanic learning and accomplishments to meet them in argument\nand debate, he publicly appeared arrayed in their costume, wearing the\ncord, bearing the exclusive frontal mark, and submitting to the rigid\nobservance of their diet (eating nothing but rice and vegetables) and\ntheir complicated requirements of caste. So exhaustive had been his\nstudies, so thorough was his preparation, and so admirable his talent,\nthat his success was perfect. The Brahmans whom he met found in him their\nmaster even in their own exclusive field of literature, philosophy, and\nreligion. M\u00fcllbauer (_Geschichte der katholischen Missionen Ostindiens_)\nsays they were afraid of him. As a devoted and successful missionary, his\nlife is full of interest; but we have to do with him here only as the\nfirst known European Sanskrit scholar. After forty\u2010two years of missionary\nlabor in that exhausting climate, worn out, infirm, and blind, Robert de\u2019\nNobili died, aged eighty years, at Melapour, on the coast of Coromandel.\nThe distinguished Professor of Sanskrit at the English university of\nOxford, Max M\u00fcller, pays the following earnest tribute to the acquirements\nof this admirable missionary and scholar:\n\n\n    \u201cA man who could quote from Manu, from the Pur\u00e2nas, and even from\n    such works as the Apastamba\u2010s\u00fbtras, which are known even at\n    present to only those few Sanskrit scholars who can read Sanskrit\n    MSS., must have been far advanced in a knowledge of the sacred\n    language and literature of the Brahmans; and the very idea that he\n    came, as he said, to preach a new or a fourth Veda, which had been\n    lost, shows how well he knew the strong and weak points of the\n    theological system which he came to conquer.\u201d\n\n\nReligious bigotry has sought to fix upon de\u2019 Nobili the forgery of the\nEzour\u2010Veda; but the examination of the charge by distinguished English\n(Protestant) Orientalists has only resulted in bringing out into brighter\nrelief that devoted missionary\u2019s remarkable acquirements and admirable\nvirtues. Francis Ellis, Esq., a distinguished Orientalist, discovered the\nSanskrit original of the Ezour at Pondicherry, and made an elaborate\nreport upon it, which was published at the time, in the _Asiatick_ (_sic_)\n_Researches_ (vol. xiv., Calcutta, 1822), from which we cite the following\nshort extract:\n\n\n    \u201cRobertus de Nobilibus is well known both to Hindus and\n    Christians, under the Sanskrit title of Tatwa\u2010Bodha Swami, as the\n    author of many excellent works in Tamil, on polemical theology. In\n    one of these, the _Atma\u2010Nirnaya\u2010vivecam_, he contrasts the\n    opinions of the various Indian sects on the nature of the soul,\n    and exposes the fables with which the Pur\u00e2nas abound relative to\n    the state of future existence, and in another, _Punergeuma\n    Acshepa_, he confutes the doctrine of the metempsychosis. Both\n    these works, in style and substance, greatly resemble the\n    controversial part of the Pseudo Vedas; but these are open attacks\n    on what the author considered false doctrines and superstitions,\n    and no attempt is made to veil their manifest tendency, or to\n    insinuate the tenets they maintain under a borrowed name or in an\n    ambiguous form. The style adopted by Robertus de Nobilibus is\n    remarkable for a profuse admixture of Sanskrit terms; those to\n    express doctrinal notions and abstract ideas he compounds and\n    recompounds with a facility of invention that indicates an\n    intimate knowledge of the language whence they are derived; and\n    there can be no doubt, therefore, that he was fully qualified to\n    be the author of those writings. If this should be the fact,\n    considering the high character he bears among all acquainted with\n    his name and the nature of his known works, I am inclined to\n    attribute to him the composition only, not the forgery, of the\n    Pseudo Vedas.\u201d\n\n\nBut the result of further examination has decided that the Ezour\u2010Veda was\nnot even written by de\u2019 Nobili, but by one of his native converts. It is\nplain, from the testimony of Mr. Ellis, that he was not a man to seek the\ncover of the anonymous or the ambiguous, in order to attack the\nsuperstitions of Buddhism. This he did openly and boldly. Max M\u00fcller\ndecides that \u201cthere is no evidence for ascribing the work to Robert.\u201d\n\nThe example of Robert de\u2019 Nobili was sedulously followed up by other\nmembers of his Order.\n\nRoth, another Jesuit, appeared in 1664, master of Sanskrit, and\nsuccessfully disputed with the Brahmans. Yet another, Hanxleder, who went\nto India in 1669, labored for more than thirty years in the Malabar\nmission, composed works of instruction, compiled dictionaries, and wrote\nworks in prose and verse. Many of his writings are preserved at Rome.\nAmong the most prominent of the Jesuit missionaries in the field of modern\nOriental and Sanskrit literature was Father Constant Beschi, who went out\nto India in 1700. He made himself master of Sanskrit, Tamil, and Telugu,\nand wrote moral works in Sanskrit which are still preserved and highly\nprized by the Brahmans. The natives called him the great Viramamouni.\nScores of other missionaries might be named, equally devoted, equally\nlearned. But they acquired science, Sanskrit, and Oriental erudition as a\nmeans, not an end. They sought no worldly distinction, no literary\nreputation. They had but one engrossing object and thought here\nbelow\u2014their mission of charity and of love.\n\nNevertheless, the day of\n\n\n\nSanskrit For Europe,\n\n\nlong delayed, was now fast approaching. Its revelation to the West is\ngenerally ascribed to Sir William Jones. This assumption may be stated to\nbe incorrect without in the slightest degree detracting from the merits of\nthat distinguished English scholar. For more than a century before Sir\nWilliam Jones went to India, the published letters of the Jesuit\nmissionaries had established the existence and general characteristics of\nthat remarkable tongue, the Sanskrit; and in 1740 (November 23), Father\nPons, then at Karikal [Madura], addressed a letter to Father Duhalde,\ngiving what Professor Max M\u00fcller describes as \u201ca most interesting and, in\ngeneral, a very accurate description of the various branches of Sanskrit\nliterature; of the four Vedas, the grammatical treatises, the six systems\nof philosophy, and the astronomy of the Hindus. _He anticipated, on\nseveral points, the researches of Sir William Jones._\u201d\n\nThe letter in question was, in fact, an essay; and Father Pons so speaks\nof it. It fills sixteen closely printed octavo pages, and refers to the\nfact, not mentioned by Prof. M\u00fcller, that it is one of a succession of\ncommunications upon the same subject, inasmuch as he mentions a treatise\nwritten by himself on Sanskrit versification, transmitted to Europe the\nprevious year, and specifies a Sanskrit grammar (_Kramadisvar_) which he\nsent two years before. Although Adelung, in his _Mithridates_, mildly\ncensures both Father Pons and Sir W. Jones for exaggerating the value of\nSanskrit, the exposition made by the former of the wealth of the Sanskrit\nlanguage and literature is, to this day, held by distinguished scholars to\nbe \u201cvery accurate.\u201d\n\nThe Pons\u2010Duhalde letter is often referred to, but seldom quoted. We will\ntherefore here cite a few short passages from it, which may give the\nreader some idea of the nature of the communication and an early estimate\nof the value of Sanskrit. We translate: \u201cThe Brahmans have always been,\nand still are, the only class who devote themselves to the cultivation of\nthe sciences as a matter of hereditary descent. They originally descend\nfrom seven illustrious penitents, whose progeny, in course of time, was\nmultiplied infinitely, etc. They are exclusively consecrated to learning,\nand a Brahman who strictly adheres to the rule of his order should devote\nhimself solely to religion and study; but, in course of time, many have\nfallen into a very lax life.\n\n\u201cThese sciences are inaccessible to all the other castes of people, to\nwhom it is permitted to communicate certain compositions, grammar, poetry,\nand moral sayings.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe grammar of the Brahmans may fairly be classed in the rank of works of\nscience. Never were analysis and synthesis more happily employed than in\ntheir grammatical works on the Sanskrit language. I am satisfied that this\nlanguage, so admirable in its harmony, its wealth, and its energy, was at\nsome remote period the spoken tongue of the country inhabited by the first\nBrahmans.\u201d\n\nParenthetically, and also by way of comparison, let us look for a moment\nat the impression made by Sanskrit upon two other distinguished scholars\nfrom among those who were earliest in the field\u2014Sir William Jones and\nFrederick von Schlegel.\n\nAt the outset of his researches, the first declared that, whatever its\nantiquity, it was a language of most wonderful structure, more perfect\nthan the Greek, more copious than the Latin, and more exquisitely refined\nthan either, yet bearing to both of them a strong affinity. \u201cNo\nphilologer,\u201d he adds, \u201ccould examine the Sanskrit, Greek, and Latin,\nwithout believing them to have sprung from some common source, which,\nperhaps, no longer exists. There is a similar reason, though not quite so\nforcible, for supposing that both the Gothic and Celtic had the same\norigin with the Sanskrit. The old Persian may be added to the same\nfamily.\u201d And Frederick von Schlegel (_Essay on the Language and Philosophy\nof the Indians_) says: \u201cThe similarity between Sanskrit, on the one hand,\nand Latin and Greek, Teutonic and Persian, on the other, is found not only\nin a great number of roots possessed by them in common, but it also\nextends to the inner structure and grammar. The remarkable coincidence is\nnot merely such an accidental one as may be explained by an admixture of\nlanguage, but an essential one which points distinctly to a common\ndescent. Comparison further shows that the Indian (Sanskrit) tongue is the\nmore ancient, the others younger and derived from it.\u201d\n\nBut to return to our missionaries. The interest excited in Europe by the\nremarkable letter of Father Pons was purely one of surprise and\nspeculation, inasmuch as Western scholars were without the means of\ntesting the value of the great linguistic discovery. Sanskrit grammars,\ndictionaries, and even vocabularies were then unknown in any European\ntongue. This want, however, was soon supplied by another missionary, John\nPhilip Wesdin, more widely known as Father Paulinus a Santo\u2010Bartolomeo. He\nspent thirteen years in India, and subsequently published (1790) at Rome,\nunder the auspices of the Propaganda, several works on Sanskrit grammar\nand upon the history, theology, and religion of the Hindus.\n\nReferring to his numerous publications (_vielen Schriften_), no less an\nauthority than Adelung qualifies them as indispensable to a knowledge of\nSanskrit as also to the other languages of India (welche zur Kentniss\nsowohl dieser Sprache als auch Indiens \u00fcberhaupt unentbehrlich sind); and\nhe adds (writing in 1806): \u201cPeradventure has no European up to this time\nso deeply penetrated into this language as he.\u201d(140) Of his first Sanskrit\ngrammar, published at Rome in 1790,(141) Prof. Max M\u00fcller says: \u201cAlthough\nthis grammar has been severely criticised, and is now hardly ever\nconsulted, it is but fair to bear in mind that the first grammar of any\nlanguage is a work of infinitely greater difficulty than any later\ngrammar.\u201d\n\nIn this connection we must not omit some mention of that prodigy of\nlinguistic industry and erudition, the Spanish Jesuit, Don Lorenzo Hervas\ny Pandura, who, in the midst of his missionary labors, collected specimens\nof more than three hundred languages.(142) This of itself was a gigantic\nwork, and its rich results furnished to Adelung an important portion of\nthe material of his _Mithridates_. Hervas, moreover, prepared grammars for\nmore than forty languages, and is the founder of the true method of\nascertaining lingual affinity by grammatical analysis, rather than by\netymology, always more or less deceptive. Klaproth\u2019s enunciation of this\nprinciple established by Hervas is so felicitous that we cannot refrain\nfrom citing it here: \u201cWords are the stuff or matter of language, and\ngrammar its fashioning or form.\u201d\n\nConcerning Hervas we need say no more than to add the noble tribute to his\nmemory and his merits to be found in the pages of Max M\u00fcller\u2019s _Lectures\non the Science of Language_, p. 140:\n\n\n    \u201cHe proved by a comparative list of declensions and conjugations\n    that Hebrew, Chaldee, Syriac, Arabic, Ethiopic, and Amharic are\n    all but dialects of one original language, and constitute one\n    family of speech, the Semitic. He scouted the idea of deriving all\n    the languages of mankind from Hebrew. He had perceived clear\n    traces of affinity in Hungarian, Lapponian, and Finnish\u2014three\n    dialects now classed as members of the Turanian family. He had\n    proved that Basque was not, as was commonly supposed, a Celtic\n    dialect, but an independent language, spoken by the earliest\n    inhabitants of Spain, as proved by the names of the Spanish\n    mountains and rivers. Nay, one of the most brilliant discoveries\n    in the history of the science of language, the establishment of\n    the Malay and Polynesian family of speech, extending from the\n    Island of Madagascar east of Africa, over 208\u00b0 of longitude, to\n    the Easter Islands west of America, _was made __ by Hervas long\n    before it was announced to the world by Humboldt_.\u201d\n\n\nEnglish literature has made us familiar with the name of Sir William Jones\nas the European originator of the cultivation of Sanskrit. The merits of\nSir William Jones are not a subject of doubt or contest. Full justice has\nbeen done them. But when we come to settle the question of priority of\nsuccessful and distinguished labor in the field of Sanskrit, the names and\ntranscendent services of the humble and self\u2010sacrificing missionaries,\nRobert de\u2019 Nobili, Roth, Hanxleder, Beschi, Pons, Paulinus a Santo\u2010\nBartolomeo, Hervas, and scores of others, their predecessors and\ncompanions, must ever be gratefully remembered.\n\n\n\nThe Triumph Of Sanskrit.\n\n\nThrough the publications of the Asiatic Society at Calcutta, European\nscholars were now furnished with facilities for the study of Sanskrit, and\nit would be difficult to say which of the two, the language or the\nliterature, excited the deeper or more lasting interest.\n\nThe absolute identity of grammatical forms of Greek and Latin with\nSanskrit was at once recognized, and it was evident that these three\nlanguages sprang from one common source. The revelation created one of the\ngreatest literary sensations ever known in Europe. The theory that upheld\nHebrew as the mother tongue\u2014already seriously damaged\u2014now received its\ndeath\u2010blow. Classical scholars shook their heads sceptically. Theologians\nwere troubled. Ethnographers were all at sea. Etymologists and\nlexicographers were dumfounded. The philosophers of the day, each one of\nwhom had his own little system of the universe to take care of, saw their\ntheories ruthlessly upset; and Lord Monboddo, who had just finished his\ngreat work in which he derives mankind from a couple of apes, and all the\ndialects of the world from the language of the Egyptian gods, was\npetrified with astonishment. His Egyptian theory, his men with tails, and\nhis monkeys without tails, were all equally doomed to destruction. To his\ncredit, though, it must be said that he soon afterward accepted the\nsituation with commendable intelligence and alacrity.\n\nOther pet theories and other deeply ingrained prejudices of many scholars\nof the best education were shocked and scandalized at the claims set up\nfor Sanskrit. The idea that the classical languages of Greece and Rome\ncould be intimately related to a jargon of mere savages\u2014as they supposed\nthe natives of India to be\u2014was to the last degree repugnant to these\ngentlemen, and they went great lengths in assertion, absurd argument,\nirony, and ridicule, to escape the, alas! too inevitable and horribly\nunpleasant conclusion that Greek and Latin were of the same linguistic\nkith and kin as the language of the black inhabitants of India. The\ndistinguished Scotch philosopher, Dugald Stewart, by way of protest\nagainst the claims set up for Sanskrit, even went so far as to deny that\nany such language existed or ever had existed, and wrote his famous essay\nto prove that those arch forgers and liars, the Brahmans, had manufactured\nthe dialect on the model of the Greek and the Latin, and that the whole\nthing, language, literature, and all, was a piece of daring invention and\nbold imposture.\n\nHow deeply rooted were the prejudices, and how stubborn the ignorance,\neven among scholars and men of literary pursuits, in favor of the Hebrew\nand against the reception of Sanskrit in its place, may be judged from the\nrepresentative fact, that so late as the ninth day of August, 1832, we\nfind no less a man than Coleridge making this entry in his note\u2010book: \u201cThe\nclaims of the Sanskrit for priority to the Hebrew as a language are\nridiculous.\u201d\n\nThe first European scholar of distinction who dared boldly accept the\nfacts and conclusions of Sanskrit scholarship was Frederick von Schlegel.\nHe began his study of the language with verbal tuition from Sir Alexander\nHamilton, continued it at Paris with the aid of M. Langles, custodian of\nOriental MSS. in the Imperial Library at Paris, and subsequently had the\nadvantage of the rich collection in the British Museum. The result was his\n_Language and Wisdom of the Indians_, published in 1808. It embraced in\none glance the languages of India, Persia, Greece, Italy, and Germany,\nriveted them together by the name of Indo\u2010Germanic (by common consent of\nscholars since changed to Indo\u2010European), and became the foundation of the\nscience of language. Appearing only two years after the publication of the\nfirst volume of Adelung\u2019s _Mithridates_, \u201cit is separated from that work,\u201d\nsays Prof. M\u00fcller, \u201cby the same distance which separates the Copernican\nfrom the Ptolem\u00e6an system,\u201d and this work of Schlegel, he adds, \u201chas truly\nbeen called the discovery of a new world.\u201d\n\nOmitting mention of the labors of many distinguished French and German\nlaborers in the same field, we may close our record of the services\nrendered by Catholic scholars to the cause of Sanskrit literature by\nreference to the remarkable course of lectures on \u201cScience and Revealed\nReligion,\u201d delivered by the Reverend (afterwards Cardinal) Wiseman, at\nRome, in 1835,(143) only two years and six months after the memorable\nentry of Coleridge in his note\u2010book.\n\n\n\nSanskrit Literature And The Vedas.\n\n\nIt was perfectly natural that the fresh enthusiasm of the earliest\nSanskrit scholars should have carried them into what is now looked upon as\nan undue estimate and hyperbolic praise of their new discovery and\nacquisition. And this early enthusiasm was neither short in duration nor\nlimited in extent.\n\nA tidal wave of admiration swept over European scholarship with the\nappearance of _Sacontala, or The Fatal Ring_ (Calcutta, 1789), certainly a\nbeautiful specimen of dramatic art and admirable poetry by Kalidasa, the\nIndian Shakespeare, who is assigned to the period of Vikrama the Great\n(B.C. 56). Sir William Jones very judiciously selected this masterpiece of\nIndian literature for translation as a first specimen, and, although in\nprose, it so delighted a French scholar, Ch\u00e9zy, that it induced him first\nto learn Sanskrit and then to publish a French version of it. This was\nfollowed by no less than four German translations, prose and verse, a\nDanish translation, and an additional English translation (the best) in a\nmingling of verse and prose (following the original) by Monier Williams.\nGoethe was enraptured with the _Sacontala_, and it drew from him the\ncelebrated verse:\n\n\n    \u201cWillt Du die Bl\u00fcthe des Fr\u00fchen, die Fr\u00fcchte des Sp\u00e4teren Jahres,\n      Willt Du, was reizt und entz\u00fcckt, willt Du was s\u00e4ttigt und\n                  n\u00e4hrt,\n    Willt Du den Himmel, die Erde mit einem Namen begreifen,\n      Nenn ich, Sacontala, Dich, und so ist Alles gesagt.\u201d(144)\n\n\nA. W. von Schlegel finds in it so striking a resemblance to our romantic\ndrama that we might, he says, be inclined to suspect we owe this\nresemblance to the predilection for Shakespeare entertained by Sir William\nJones, if the fidelity of his translation were not confirmed by other\nlearned Orientalists. And Alex. von Humboldt says of Kalidasa that\n\u201ctenderness in the expression of feeling, and richness of creative fancy,\nhave assigned to him his lofty place amongst the poets of all nations.\u201d\n\nVoltaire went into ecstasies over a French translation of the Ezour\u2010Veda,\na Sanskrit poem in the style of the Pur\u00e2nas, quite an inferior production,\nwritten in the XVIIth century by a native convert of Robert de\u2019 Nobili.\nThis French translation was published by Voltaire under the title,\n\u201cL\u2019Ezour\u2010Vedam, traduit du Sanscritam par un Brame,\u201d and he stated his\nbelief that the original was four centuries older than Alexander, and that\nit was the most precious gift for which the West had been indebted to the\nEast.\n\nAdelung, as we have seen, found fault with Sir William Jones and Father\nPons for overrating the claims of Sanskrit, and subsequent critics have\ngone so far as to assert that its literary and scientific value is very\nslight. Among the latest of these are M. Jules Oppert(145) and Prof. Key\nof University College, London. Their objections and arguments are met and\ndiscussed by Prof. Whitney in the seventh essay of his volume, in a tone\nso moderate and a treatment so thorough as to present a more than\nsatisfactory vindication of the claims of Indo\u2010European philology and\nethnology to the serious attention and close study of every scholar. We\nare not aware that either Prof. Key or M. Oppert has cited the fact that,\nwhen the Indian rajah Rammohun Roy found the distinguished Sanskrit\nscholar Rosen at work in the British Museum upon an edition of the hymns\nof the Veda, he expressed his surprise at so useless an undertaking. It\nwas not that the Indian philosopher looked upon all Vedic literature as\nworthless. On the contrary, he was of the opinion that the Upanishads were\nworthy of becoming the foundation of a new religion. The rajah most\nprobably did not also consider the fact that, whatever might be the\nintrinsic literary merit of the Vedic hymns, they were none the less\nvaluable to the comparative grammarian and philologist. For the purposes\nof grammatical construction, it is perfectly immaterial whether or not a\ntext has the fire of genius or the inspiration of poetry.\n\nAnd here it may be mentioned that Rammohun Roy, the descendant on both the\npaternal and maternal side of the highest caste Brahmans, and familiar\nwith the whole body of Vedic and Sanskrit literature, indirectly bears\nhigh testimony to one of the grandest results obtained by European study\nof Sanskrit literature. _That result is the exposure of Brahmanism as a\ngross imposture._ Against any attack on its social and religious errors,\nthe Brahmans formerly entrenched themselves in the pretended warrant of\nhigh antiquity and the authority of the sacred works. \u201cThus say the Vedas\u201d\nwas a sufficient justification for any claim, and \u201cThat is not in the\nVedas\u201d an unanswerable argument against any objection. Although they threw\nevery possible obstacle in the way of Europeans who strove to obtain a\nknowledge of Sanskrit and access to the Vedas, by refusing to teach them\nand by withholding the sacred books, these difficulties were finally\novercome, and when the Vedas were read and understood it became apparent\nthat fully one\u2010half of the social and religious institutions of\nBrahmanism, as it existed down to the commencement of the present century,\nwere not only without a shadow of authority in the Vedas, but absolutely\nopposed to the spirit and letter of its law. Thus, it is certain that\nnothing of the great characteristic feature of Brahmanism\u2014the system of\ncastes\u2014can be found in the Vedas. The belief in the transmigration of\nsouls and in the doctrines flowing from it has no existence there. And the\nSuttee, or system of widow immolation, the singular mingling of\npantheistic philosophy with gross superstition, and the worship of the\ntriad Brahma, Vishnu, and Civa, are all equally without Vedic foundation.\n\nRobert de\u2019 Nobili discovered all this at an early period, and it was only\nwhen he first fought the Brahmans with their own weapons\u2014the Vedas\u2014that\nthey were, for the first time, silenced. Rammohun Roy had his eyes opened\nat an early age to the idolatrous system of the Hindus, came out from\namong them, and openly attacked its pretensions. \u201cI endeavored to show,\u201d\nhe says, \u201cthat the idolatry of the Brahmans was contrary to the practice\nof their ancestors, and to the principles of the ancient works and\nauthorities which they profess to revere and obey.\u201d\n\nProf. Whitney, referring to the same subject, says: \u201cEach new phase of\nbelief has sought in them (the sacred texts) its authority, has claimed to\nfound itself upon them, and to be consistent with their teachings; and the\nresult is that the sum of doctrine accepted and regarded as orthodox in\nmodern India is incongruous beyond measure, a mass of inconsistencies\u201d: a\nsumming up that might, we regret to say, be truthfully made of a Christian\ncountry of far higher civilization than that of India.\n\nNot stopping to discuss what has been called the \u201cstanding reproach\u201d\nagainst Indian literature, that it is barren of historical and\ngeographical results, nor to point out much that is of high value and\ninterest to every scholar, we will close by an inquiring comment as to the\nfollowing statement made by Prof. Whitney at p. 22. He is speaking of the\nVedic texts, and says: \u201cSo thorough and religious was the care bestowed\nupon their preservation that, notwithstanding their mass and the thousands\nof years which have elapsed since their collection, _hardly a single\nvarious reading, so far as yet known, has been suffered to make its way\ninto them after their definite and final settlement_.\u201d\n\nWe have italicized the passage which we wish to make the subject of our\ninquiry, for, unless we are mistaken, two instances may be pointed out in\nwhich the texts in question have been garbled or seriously tampered with.\n\nWe find the first instance in the developments growing out of the\ndiscussion as to whether there are three Vedas or four Vedas (Goverdhan\nCaul on the \u201cLiterature of the Hindus,\u201d _Asiatic Researches_, Calcutta,\n1788, vol. i., p. 340, and Sir William Jones\u2019 _Works_, vol. iv. p. 93\n(edition of 1807)). Even down to the present day, Indian scholars\nsometimes speak of three Vedas, sometimes of four. According to Indian\ntradition, Brahma has four mouths, each of which uttered a Veda. Yet most\nancient writers speak of but three Vedas, Rig, Yajush, and Sama, from\nwhich it is inferred that the Atharva was written after the three first.\nThe Atharva is spoken of and called the Veda of Vedas in the eleventh book\nof Manu, and the designation affirms the assertion of Dara Shecuh, in the\npreface to his Upanishad, that the first three Vedas are named separately,\nbecause the Atharvan is a corollary from them all, and contains the\nquintessence of them all. But this verse of Manu, which occurs in a modern\ncopy of the work brought from Benares, is entirely omitted in the best\ncopies, so that, as Manu himself in other places names only three Vedas,\n_we must believe this line to be an interpolation_ by some admirer of the\nAtharva.\n\nThe second instance to be specified is furnished by Prof. Whitney himself,\nat pages 53, 54, and 55, where he gives a translation of a hymn from the\nconcluding book of the Rig\u2010Veda (x. 18), describing the early Vedic\nfuneral services. When the attendants leave the bier, the men go first,\nwhile the director of the ceremony says:\n\n\n    \u201cAscend to life, old age your portion making, each after each,\n                advancing in due order;\n    May Twashtar, skilful fashioner, propitious, cause that you here\n                enjoy a long existence.\u201d\n\n\nThe women next follow, the wives at their head:\n\n\n    \u201cThese women here, not widows, blessed with husbands,\n    May deck themselves with ointment and perfume;\n    Unstained by tears, adorned, untouched with sorrow,\n    The wives may first ascend unto the altar.\u201d\n\n\nThe wife of the deceased is then summoned away the last:\n\n\n    \u201cGo up unto the world of life, O woman!\n    Thou liest by one whose soul is fled; come hither!\n    To him who grasps thy hand, a second husband,\n    Thou art as wife to spouse become related.\u201d\n\n\nIn commenting upon this hymn, Prof. Whitney notes its \u201cdiscordance with\nthe modern Hindu practice of immolating the widow at the grave of her\nhusband,\u201d and adds: \u201cNothing could be more explicit than the testimony of\nthis hymn against the antiquity of the practice. It finds, indeed, no\nsupport anywhere in the Vedic scriptures.\u201d And now we come to the \u201cvarious\nreading,\u201d for Prof. Whitney concludes the passage with this statement:\n\u201cAuthority has been sought, however, for the practice, in a fragment of\nthis very hymn, rent from its natural connection, and a little altered; by\nthe change of a single letter, the line which is translated above, \u2018The\nwives may first ascend unto the altar,\u2019 has been made to read, \u2018The wives\nshall go up into the place of the fire.\u2019 \u201d\n\nWe heartily welcome this work of Prof. Whitney, and thank him for it as a\nsolid contribution to literature and to philological science, honorable to\nhimself, and reflecting credit on American scholarship.\n\n\n\n\nThe House That Jack Built.\n\n\nBy The Author Of \u201cThe House Of Yorke.\u201d\n\nIn Two Parts.\n\nPart II.\n\nIt was late before Aunt Nancy felt the approach of sleep that night. She\nturned restlessly from side to side, thinking over Bessie\u2019s strange\nbehavior, and trying to find a solution for it. The appearance of a\nmystery disturbed all calculations based upon her plain and outspoken\nexperience.\n\nBut the habits of years are not easily broken, and sleep, that for more\nthan six decades had been wont to settle over this woman\u2019s head as\nregularly as darkness settled on the earth, began now to dim her senses.\nShe was about losing consciousness, when the vague sense of pain and\nperplexity which still clung to her mind strengthened and took a new form.\nIt was no longer a woman who laughed bitterly when she should have wept,\nbut a woman sobbing violently, she knew not why.\n\nThe sound continued, and before its dreary persistence Aunt Nancy\u2019s\nhovering sleep took flight. She started up and listened, not yet quite\nrecalled to recollection. It was indeed a woman\u2019s voice sobbing\nuncontrollably. For one moment, the listener\u2019s blood chilled with a\nsuperstitious fear; the next, she recollected that she was not alone in\nthe house. It was Bessie who mourned. \u201c_Rachel weeping for her children,\nbecause they were not_,\u201d the old woman thought pityingly.\n\nPoor Bessie had forgotten how thin the walls were in her old home, and,\nwhen the door opened and a tall figure clad in white entered her room, she\nuttered a cry of affright.\n\n\u201cYou poor child! I couldn\u2019t stand it to hear you cry so,\u201d Aunt Nancy said,\ngoing to her bedside and bending down to put a caressing arm around her.\n\u201cDon\u2019t cry! Try to remember that you have not lost everything.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry I disturbed you, Aunt Nancy,\u201d Bessie said faintly, sinking back\non the pillow. \u201cYou had better leave me to have it out alone. I don\u2019t\noften get a chance to have a good cry, and you have no idea what a relief\nit is.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know all about it!\u201d Aunt Nancy replied, and her voice, low and deep,\nhad a sound like a tolling bell. \u201cI have seen \u2019em all go and leave me, one\nafter another, father and mother, brothers and sisters, husband and\nchildren, till every earthly hope was covered over with dust, and it\nseemed as though there was dust on the very bread I ate. Yes, I know what\nit is better than you, for you have your husband and one child left yet,\nand I have nothing on earth!\u201d\n\n\u201cI have not!\u201d Bessie cried out passionately, with the jealousy of one\nwhose grief is underestimated. \u201cJohn and the boy are further away from me\nthan my dead children are!\u201d\n\nThe barrier was down. She had betrayed herself, and must tell the whole,\nthough she might be sorry afterward for having spoken. Concealment and\nself\u2010control were no longer possible.\n\nIt was a tale too often true, though not so often told. The husband,\nengrossed in business, and missing no home care which the love and duty of\nhis wife could bestow, had forgotten, or did not care, or did not believe,\nthat any return was due from him save a pecuniary support, or that he\ncould be guilty of any sin of omission toward his wife, save the omission\nto provide her with food and shelter.\n\nPerhaps no woman ever saw the heart she had once possessed slipping away\nfrom her, without making a mistake in her efforts to retain it.\nIndifference is her surest means of success, but indifference the loving\nheart can never affect. As well might flame hope to hide itself, living,\nin ashes.\n\nThe reserve and gravity of wounded feeling, when at length the husband\nnoticed them, he named sulkiness, and the meanness of the causes to which\nhe ascribed that were felt as an insult. The few timid reproaches and\npetitions the wife had brought herself to utter he listened to with\nsurprise and annoyance, or with ridicule. Why, what in the world did she\nwant?\u2014to begin their courting days over again? In order to do that, they\nmust first be divorced. What had he done? Had he beaten, or scolded, or\nstarved her? Had he gone gallivanting about with other women? Nonsense! He\nhad his business to attend to. Of course he loved her, but she mustn\u2019t\nbother him.\n\nWhat reply is possible to such arguments? How small seem all our sweetest\nhuman needs when they are put into words, simply because words can never\nexpress them! In such a controversy, hard natures have always the\nadvantage over sensitive ones, and seem to triumph by their very\ninferiority.\n\nBessie was silent, and her husband thought that she was convinced, and\ndismissed the subject from his mind. If he observed that she grew pale, he\nsupposed that city air did not agree with her. He missed no home comfort,\nheard no complaint, and therefore took for granted that all was right. He\nfrequently absented himself from home on business, never asking his wife\nto accompany him, women being in the way on such occasions, and she seemed\nsatisfied to see nothing beyond her own fireside. He brought home his\nplans and studies at evening, and, when the children\u2019s play and caresses\ndisturbed him, their mother took them away and amused them elsewhere.\nWhen, later, her little ones asleep, as she sat by her husband silently\nworking, he found that the snip of her scissors and the rattle of her\nspools fretted him, Bessie said not a word, but went off to bed, and wet\nher pillow with bitter and unavailing tears, finding no comfort.\n\nThe thought of seeking comfort and help in her religion had not once\nentered her mind. She was dead to its obligations. They had never been\nimpressed on her, and her heart had been engrossed by other interests. Her\nchildren had been baptized, and she usually went to an early Mass on\nSunday, but never heard a sermon, and never read a religious book. She\nprayed often, but it was the outcry of pain, the petition for an earthly\ngood, not the prayer for resignation and wisdom.\n\nOf his wife\u2019s real life John Maynard knew no more than he did of life at\nthe antipodes. His profession engrossed his heart. His happiness was to\nwork and study over polished metals, to fit cylinder, crank, and valve\nwith nicety into their places; and at last, when that exquisite but\nirresistible power of steam, so delicate in its fineness, yet so terrible\nin its strength, began to steal into his work, to see the creature of\nbrass and iron grow alive, and become more mighty than an army of giants,\nhow tenderly could he handle, how carefully arrange, how patiently study\nout, the parts of his work! For the problem of that infinitely more\nexquisite mechanism\u2014his wife\u2019s heart\u2014he had no time.\n\nThe boy, as boys will, followed in the footsteps of his father. He\nemulated the slighting of which the father was himself unconscious, and\ntreated his mother with that intolerable mixture of patronizing kindness\nand impatient superiority so often witnessed in the presumptuous children\nof our time.\n\nWhen Bessie Maynard had poured out her complaint, with many an\nillustration of which a woman could well understand the bitterness, Aunt\nNancy was silent a moment.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s pretty hard, dear,\u201d she said then, embarrassed what to say. \u201cSome\nmen have that way of not caring anything about their wives, as soon as\nthey have got them; but I never thought John would act so. And you know,\nBessie, that, if it is hard, still he is your husband, and you can\u2019t leave\nhim for that. Try to be patient, and don\u2019t lose courage. I\u2019m sure he loves\nyou, though he doesn\u2019t show it; and he\u2019ll come round by\u2010and\u2010by.\u201d\n\nThe reply almost broke in on this trite advice: \u201cI did not mean to leave\nhim. I came down here to think. I can\u2019t think there. I wanted to see again\nthis place where I was a child, and where I was so happy. I thought that\nperhaps some of the old feelings might come back. I have been afraid of\nsome things. Aunt Nancy, I was afraid I should grow to hate John!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! no, Bessie,\u201d the old woman exclaimed. \u201cNever let yourself hate your\nown husband! It would be a dreadful sin; and, besides, it wouldn\u2019t mend\nmatters. It is better for a woman to love one who cares nothing for her\nthan not to love anybody. I don\u2019t believe but John is fond of you still,\nif he\u2019d only stop to think of it.\u201d\n\nThere was no reply.\n\n\u201cWhat else were you afraid of?\u201d Aunt Nancy asked presently. \u201cYou said you\nwere afraid of some things?\u201d\n\nBessie did not answer.\n\nThat other fear that, shunned at first, then glanced upon, then brooded\nover silently till it had grown almost a probability, flashed out again on\nher in all its original hatefulness when she found herself about to\nexplain it to a listener like this.\n\n\u201cIf you don\u2019t want to tell, I won\u2019t ask you,\u201d Aunt Nancy said, with almost\nchildlike timidity. \u201cBut, may be, since you have begun, you would feel\nbetter not to keep anything back. You know, Bessie, I am on your side,\nthough I am John\u2019s own aunt.\u201d\n\nThe younger woman crept nearer into the arm that half held her, and said,\nin a hurried whisper, \u201cEvery one is not so indifferent to me as John is!\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m glad of it, child,\u201d was the calm reply. \u201cI don\u2019t like to praise\npeople to their faces, but you always had a sweet, winning way. I am glad\nthat other people are good to you.\u201d She waited again for the explanation,\nnot dreaming that it had been given.\n\nBessie Maynard drew a breath, like one who plunges into water. \u201cThere\u2019s\nsome one who thinks me worth watching and sympathizing with, if John\ndoesn\u2019t,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t mean a man!\u201d exclaimed Aunt Nancy.\n\n\u201cOf course I do,\u201d answered Bessie almost pettishly.\n\nThe words were scarcely out of her mouth, before she was flung back on to\nthe pillow by the arms that had held her so tenderly, and Aunt Nancy stood\nerect by the bedside. \u201cAren\u2019t you ashamed of yourself, Bessie Maynard?\u201d\nshe cried out indignantly.\n\n\u201cNo, I am not!\u201d was the dogged answer. \u201cI have nothing to be ashamed of.\u201d\n\nThe flash of the old woman\u2019s eyes could be seen in the dim light. \u201cWhat!\nyou, a married woman, not ashamed to let a man who is not your husband\ntalk love to you!\u201d\n\n\u201cHe never spoke a word of love to me,\u201d said Bessie, still sulky.\n\nAunt Nancy was utterly puzzled. \u201cHow do you know, then?\u201d she asked.\n\nNeither by nature nor education was this woman fitted to understand that\nsubtile manner by which impressions and assurances are conveyed without a\nword having been spoken. A man would have been obliged to use plain\nlanguage indeed, if he would have had her, a wife, understand that he\nloved her.\n\nWhile Bessie described some of the delicate kindnesses of this dangerous\nfriend of hers, Aunt Nancy listened attentively, and presently resumed her\nseat by the bed. She really could not see that the child had done, or\nmeant, or wished any real harm.\n\n\u201cBut, still, you must look out for the fellow, dear,\u201d she said. \u201cHe\nwouldn\u2019t hang round you so if he was what he ought to be. You never know\nwhat these city gentlemen are.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe isn\u2019t a bad man!\u201d Bessie exclaimed. \u201cI won\u2019t have him called so. I\u2019m\nafraid; but, for all that, I respect him. I wish John were half as good.\u201d\n\nThe story was ended; but with the feeling of relief which followed the\ndisburdening of her heart came also the uneasiness and half regret we\nalways experience when we have been led unawares to confide a secret to\none whom we have not deliberately chosen as a confidant. Conscious of this\nnew uneasiness, Bessie wished to close the conversation.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t let me keep you any longer,\u201d she said. \u201cGo to bed now, and forget\nall the nonsense I have been talking. I am sorry I disturbed you.\u201d\n\nAunt Nancy paid no attention to this request. She sat a few moments in\ndeep thought, then spoke abruptly: \u201cBessie, did you ever go to any of your\npriests about this business?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo a priest!\u201d repeated Bessie, astonished at such a question from a rigid\nPuritan like her aunt, and doubtful in what spirit it was asked. \u201cWhat\nmade you think of that?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not a Catholic,\u201d the old woman said, \u201cbut you are. And I like to see\npeople live up to their religion, whatever it is. A religion that won\u2019t\nhelp you in a strait like this isn\u2019t worth having.\u201d\n\nBessie was silent, knowing not what to say. Her faith was sleeping. That\nreligion would help as really as the trials of earth can hurt she had not\nthought. Like many others, she invoked the aid of the church on the great\nevents, the births, the marriages, and the deaths, but let the rest of\nlife fight its own battles.\n\n\u201cNow, you listen to me,\u201d Aunt Nancy said earnestly. \u201cI\u2019m not very wise,\nbut I\u2019m going to give you the best advice that you can get anywhere. Just\nyou write to old Father Conners, the priest that married you and John, and\ntell him what a trouble you are in. I\u2019ve seen him, and I believe he\u2019s a\ngood Christian, if he is a priest, and a sensible man, too. He comes three\nor four times a year up to a Mr. Blake\u2019s, over on the railroad, and says\nMass in his house. There are a good many Catholics round there now. It\u2019s\nabout time for him to come again. You write to him, and you won\u2019t be sorry\nfor it. There\u2019s nothing else for you to do. Will you write, Bessie? I want\nyou to promise.\u201d\n\nThe promise was given hesitatingly, doubtingly, more to get rid of the\nsubject than from any conviction of its wisdom.\n\nBut a promise is a promise, and next morning Bessie wrote the letter, not\nbecause she wished to, but because she must; and a very dry, cold letter\nit was. She was a little helped to the writing of it by the pleasant\nprospect of carrying it to mail. That would give her a long, solitary walk\nand a whole afternoon quite to herself; for the post\u2010office was in a desk,\nin a corner of the sitting\u2010room of a farm\u2010house four miles distant. This\nhouse was at the end of postal and stage accommodations in that direction.\nThree times a week a double\u2010seated open wagon was driven there from a\nseaport town thirty miles to the southward, passing through several small\nvillages on its way. This stage had brought Bessie up, and was to return\nthe next morning.\n\nShe set out on her walk soon after their early dinner, and reached the\npost\u2010office just at the high tide of that country afternoon leisure, when,\ntheir noon dinner quite cleared away, the women of the house are\nordinarily free from everything that they would call labor. At this time\nthe housewife smooths her hair and ties on a clean apron. One hears the\nsnap of knitting\u2010needles through the silence, or the drowsy hum of the\nspinning\u2010wheel, or the sound of the loom where the deep\u2010blue woollen web\ngrows, thread by thread, while the weaver tosses her shuttle to and fro.\n\nBessie had dreaded the gossip which she must expect to encounter; but, as\nshe approached, the sight of blue and pink sun\u2010bonnets out in the field,\nwhere the women were raking, hay, relieved her fear. Not a soul was in the\nhouse. The watch\u2010dog, recollecting her, gave no alarm, only walked gravely\nby her side, and looked on while she slipped her letter into the bag left\nto receive the mail. All the doors and windows stood open, and the\nsunshine lay bright and clear on the white bare floors. Large, stupid\nflies bumped their heads against the panes of glass, and a bumble\u2010bee flew\nin at the front door, wandered noisily about the rooms, and out again by\nthe back door. The painted wooden chairs stood straightly against the\nyellow\u2010washed walls, and a large rocking\u2010chair, with a chintz cushion,\noccupied one corner. A braided cloth mat covered the hearth, and the\nfireplace was filled with cedar boughs, through which glittered the brass\nandirons. On the high mantel\u2010piece stood a pair of brass candlesticks, and\na tumbler filled with wild roses.\n\nBessie glanced hurriedly about, then stole out, trembling lest she should\nbe discovered and pounced upon by some loud\u2010voiced man or woman from whom\nescape would be impossible. But no one appeared, and in a few minutes she\nwas out of sight of the house.\n\nLoud would be their exclamations of wonder and regret when they should\ndiscover that letter, knowing who must have brought it. How curiously\nwould they handle it over, and examine it, and try to peep into it while\nthey speculated and guessed concerning its contents!\n\n\u201cOne comfort,\u201d said Bessie to herself, as she glanced over her shoulder,\nand saw the last sun\u2010bonnet disappear, \u201cI sealed it so that not even a\nparticle of air could get in; and they can\u2019t see a word without committing\nfelony.\u201d\n\nThe June day was passing away in a soft glory. All the world was green,\nall the sky was blue, and all the air was golden. But the green was so\nvarious, from a verdant blackness, through many tints, to a vivid green\nthat was almost yellow, it seemed many\u2010colored as it was many\u2010shaped.\nThere was every shape and size, from the graceful plume of ferns to the\nsquare\u2010topped oak with its sturdy, horizontal branches. Through it all\nwound the narrow brown road, with a line of grass in the middle between\nthe wagon\u2010wheels where the horses feet spared it. The birds were singing\ntheir evening song, and a brook at the roadside lisped faintly here and\nthere, then lay still and shone, then suddenly laughed outright.\n\nOn such an evening one does long to be happy; and, if happy, then one\nfeels that it is not enough. Bessie walked on slowly, taking long breaths\nof the clear, perfumed air that had now an evening coolness. She would\nfain have stayed out till night fell. The house was near, so she stepped\naside, sat down on a mossy rock, and looked at the sunset. The last, thin,\nshining cloud there melted in the fervid light, grew faint, and\ndisappeared. Bessie\u2019s eyes, so tearful that all this universe of green and\ngold swam before them, were fixed on the sky, and she thought over, with a\nclearer mind now, the last feverish, miserable years of her life.\n\nIt seemed to her that, if she had been less exclusively devoted to her\nhusband, and had interested herself in other people and in the events of\nthe day, she would have been wiser and happier. She had made herself as a\nslave, and had received a slave\u2019s portion. It would be better to stand on\na more equal footing, and, since works of supererogation, instead of\nwinning his gratitude and affection, only fostered his selfishness and\nlowered her, to confine herself to the duties she was bound to perform.\n\n\u201cBut it is my nature to love something with my whole strength, so that all\nelse seems small in comparison,\u201d she said, sighing. \u201cHow can I help it?\u201d\n\nWhile she gazed fixedly at the sky, at first without seeing, she presently\nbecame aware of a red\u2010gold crescent moon that had grown visible under her\neyes, curved like a bow when the arrow is just singing from the string,\nlike the new moon whereon Our Lady stands, a tower of ivory.\n\nThe tears in Bessie\u2019s eyes made the shining curve tremble in the sky as\nthough a hand held it; and, as though it were a bent bow, an arrowy\nthought flew from it, and struck quivering into her heart:\n\n\u201cLove God, and all will be well!\u201d\n\nShe sat a minute longer, then rose and went quietly homeward. Aunt Nancy\nwould be anxious about her; and the desire for solitude was gone. She was\nglad now that she had written to Father Conners, though the letter might\nhave shown a gentler spirit. It was a comfort to have done something that\nwas right, though it was not much.\n\nOne does not ordinarily become pious in a moment. We may recognize the\nvoice of God, and be startled at the clearness and suddenness of the\nsummons, but our sluggish faith has ever an excuse for a little more\nfolding of the hands to sleep. But though not obedient at once, Bessie\nMaynard felt, rather than saw, that there was a refuge which made it no\nlonger possible for her to despair.\n\nWithin a few days she received an answer to her letter. The priest was\ncoming to that neighborhood by the last of the week, and would see her.\nThe letter was brief and to the point, and contained not one word of\nsympathy or exhortation; but the tremulous characters, that told of age or\ninfirmity touched the heart of the reader. This old man gave her no soft\nwords, but he was hastening to her relief. For the first time, she\nanxiously asked herself if it had not been possible for her to avoid all\nher trouble, and if there was any element in her story which could\nreasonably be expected to call forth anything but reproof for herself from\na man whose whole life had been one of charity and self\u2010denial. She wished\nto see him indeed, but she awaited his coming with a feeling little short\nof terror.\n\nBessie had not written to her husband. She could not bring herself to do\nthat, for she did not wish to write coldly to him, and she would not use\nexpressions of affection which had no echo in her heart. But she wrote to\nher son a gentle and tender letter, of which he was neither old nor\nsensitive enough to feel the pathos. Only one reproach found a place\nthere: \u201cI thought you might like to hear from me, though you cared more\nfor your play than you did to say good\u2010by to me when I came here, and left\nme to go to the depot alone.\u201d She did not intimate, though she thought,\nthat the business which had called her husband away at the same time might\nas easily have been postponed.\n\nFather Conners came. His open buggy was driven to the door one morning,\nand the boy who sat with him held the horse while the priest slowly\nalighted. He was a large, powerful\u2010looking man, still vigorous, though\nslightly bent and stiff with age. Snow\u2010white hair framed his expressive\nface, in which sternness and benevolence were strangely mingled. His color\nwas fresh, perfect teeth gave a brilliancy to his infrequent smile, and\nhis pale\u2010blue eyes were almost too penetrating to be met with ease. He\nwalked with his head slightly bent down and his gaze fixed upon the ground\ntill he reached the door, then looked up to see Bessie standing on the\nthreshold.\n\nShe was a pretty creature still, in spite of troubled years, and her\nmanner and expression would have propitiated a sterner judge. Blushes\noverspread her face, and she trembled; yet an impulse of joyful welcome\nbroke through and brightened her, as a sunbeam brightens the cloud.\n\nThe priest stopped short, with no ceremony of greeting, and regarded her a\nmoment, while she waited for him to speak.\n\nThe scrutiny satisfied him apparently.\n\n\u201cYou did well to come back here,\u201d he said then, and made a motion to\nenter. She stood aside for him to pass, and followed him into the little\nparlor which she had spent all the morning in preparing for him. An arm\u2010\nchair had been improvised out of a barrel, some pillows, and a shawl, the\nrude fireplace was filled with green, and there were dishes of flowers\nabout.\n\nHer visitor did not appear to notice these simple efforts to do him honor.\nAlmost before seating himself, he began to speak of what had brought him\nthere.\n\n\u201cNow, my child, though I have time enough to say and hear all that is\nnecessary, though it should take a week, I have no time to waste. Tell me\nthe meaning of your letter?\u201d\n\nNo time for gradual approach, for timid intimations, or delicate reserves\ntill, warming with the subject, she could show plainly all that was in her\nheart. She must make the \u201cepic plunge\u201d without delay. Stimulated by the\nnecessity, Bessie called up her wits and her courage, and, without being\naware of it, told everything in a few words.\n\nWhen she paused and expected him to question her, to her surprise he\nseemed already to know the whole. And, to her still greater pleasure,\nthose points on which she had touched lightly, fearing that they might\nseem trivial in his eyes, he spoke of with sympathy.\n\n\u201cIt is those little attentions and kindnesses which sweeten human life, my\nchild, and help to sustain us under its heavier trials,\u201d he said.\n\nBessie lifted her grateful, tearful eyes, and thanked him with a sad\nsmile.\n\n\u201cAnd now,\u201d he continued, \u201cI want you to go to confession.\u201d\n\nHer eyes dilated with astonishment. She was confused and distressed, and a\npainful blush rose to her face.\n\n\u201cI have not confessed for years,\u201d she stammered. \u201cI am not prepared. When\nI have time to think, I will go to confession in a church. It seems\nstrange to confess here.\u201d\n\nThe priest was by nature and habits peremptory, and he knew that this was\nthe proper time to exercise that quality. \u201cAny place is proper for\nconfession, if a better one is not to be had,\u201d he said. \u201cAs to being\nprepared, let us see. You tell me that you have been thinking this all\nover this week, to see wherein you may have done wrong. There, then, is an\nexamen of your conscience as to your duties toward your husband and,\nindirectly, toward God. You say that you have not practised your religion,\nbut mean to do so in future. There is attrition, at least, and a purpose\nof amendment. You say that you know all you have committed of serious\nwrong in these years, don\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d was the answer.\n\n\u201cYou know humanly, as far as you can know, without the illumination of the\nHoly Spirit?\u201d the priest corrected.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Bessie again. \u201cBut I want to think it over, and make sure of\nmy sorrow and good resolutions.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn short, you wish to reform and convert yourself, then go to God,\u201d said\nFather Conners. \u201cThat is not the way. It is God who is to convert you. You\nneed not stay to try to conquer your feelings, and hesitate for fear you\nmay not be able to. Your reason is convinced. It is enough. Go to God, and\nask him to help you to do the rest. While you are thinking the subject\nover in the woods here, you may die, or the devil may come and tempt you\nin the shape of this friend of yours. I will give you half an hour. While\nI have gone out to read my office under the trees, you kneel down here,\nand first ask the Holy Spirit to enlighten you, and reveal all your sins.\nThen say, and mean, that you are sorry, and plan how you may do better\nwith God\u2019s help in the future.\u201d\n\nHe had risen while speaking, and was going toward the door. Refusal was\nimpossible. Bessie carried her shawl\u2010covered arm\u2010chair out, and set it\nunder a thick old pine\u2010tree on the slippery brown pine\u2010needles, through\nwhich tiny ants were running in every direction, very busy about some\nbuildings of their own, carrying sticks larger than themselves.\n\nFather Conners seated himself, set his hat on the ground by his side,\nspread a red silk handkerchief over his head, and took out his Breviary.\nHe had but little time to attend to the beauties of nature, but the\nsituation brought an expression of pleasure to his face. He gave one\nglance up into the overshadowing branches that spread their fragrant\nscreen between him and the sun, then a kindlier glance to the young woman\nwho stood looking wistfully at him.\n\n\u201cCome here for your confession when you are ready, child,\u201d he said, \u201cand\ndon\u2019t be afraid. See how peaceful the skies are. Is God less gentle? And\nhere! take my watch, and come back in twenty\u2010five minutes. You have lost\nfive minutes already.\u201d\n\nBessie took the large silver watch on its black ribbon, and hastened to\nshut herself in her room, and Father Conners became absorbed in his\noffice. So much absorbed was he, he did not observe that the silk\nhandkerchief slipped slowly from his head, and that a large spider let\nitself down by a thread from the tree above, stopped within a few inches\nof that silvery hair, which it contemplated curiously, then ran up its\nsilken ladder again as a young woman came out of the house, walked with\nfaltering steps across the sward, and sank on her knees by the priest\u2019s\nside.\n\nAn hour later, Father Conners climbed laboriously into his carriage, and\ndrove away, and Bessie leaned on the bars, and watched him as long as he\nwas in sight. She felt strong and peaceful. She counted over the promises\nshe had made him, and resolved anew that they should be kept.\n\nShe stood there so long that Aunt Nancy, after having kept her dinner\nwaiting out of all reason, came down to speak to her. She came with\nanxiety and hesitation, not knowing whether her niece was better or worse\nfor this visit.\n\n\u201cYou gave me good advice, Aunt Nancy,\u201d Bessie said, turning at the sound\nof her step.\n\nThe old lady was delighted. \u201cSo you\u2019re all right?\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cI have got into the right track, at least,\u201d Bessie answered, as they\nwalked up toward the house. \u201cI have been to confession.\u201d\n\nAunt Nancy\u2019s face clouded again on hearing this avowal. That was all the\npriest\u2019s visit had amounted to, then\u2014that John\u2019s wife had been induced to\ngo to confession! How could people be so superstitious, so subjected, to\ntheir priests? She had hoped that Bessie might have received some good\nsound advice and instruction.\n\nThis she thought, but said nothing.\n\nHow was she to know that in that one word confession was included advice,\ninstruction, good resolution, and sorrow for sin, as well as the mystical\nrite which she abhorred?\n\nTo Be Continued.\n\n\n\n\nS. Peter\u2019s Roman Pontificate.\n\n\nThe history of mankind presents us innumerable facts that strike the\nreader with astonishment, and tax his ingenuity to its utmost to explain.\nThe sudden fall of nations from the height of prosperity to misery and\nsubjection, the invasion of hordes of barbarians to substitute their\nuncouthness and ferocity for the polish and civilization of centuries, the\napparent vocation of some one nation, at different epochs, to assume a\npreponderance over all others in the government of the world, the\nappearance of some one great mind that shone like a sun amid the galaxy of\nintellect, revolutionizing his time, and then setting, without leaving any\none to continue his work; all these facts confuse the mind, and, when man\nhas lost the light that was sent into this world to guide him, seem to him\nbut the bitter irony of destiny. Not so, however, are they viewed by him\nto whom revelation has imparted its illumining rays. He sees Providence\neverywhere, and, knowing some wise end has been intended by the Creator\nwhose power conserves and directs the evolutions of the planets and the\nvicissitudes of human life, he is encouraged to inquire into the end for\nwhich such wonderful events have been brought about. \u2019Twas by this light\nthe great Bishop of Hippo saw the providential disposition of the changes\nthat took place in the world; looked on all history but as the preparation\nand continuation of the master\u2010work of God\u2014his church. \u2019Twas by this light\nthat, following in the footsteps of S. Augustine, Bossuet understood the\nrelations of such different facts, and showed their connection in his\n_Universal History_. These men, and those who, like them, have studied the\nhistory of the nations of the earth, had no difficulty in realizing the\nrelation of all these facts, and in looking on them as so many\nconfirmations of the truth of Christianity; but those who are without\nfaith stand aghast at the inexplicable phenomena they see before them, and\nof all none so sets at naught their judgment and defies their explanation\nas the greatest, the most persistent, the most important of all historical\nfacts\u2014the existence of the Catholic Church. They see it everywhere;\nmodifying everything; setting at defiance all calculation; and when,\naccording to human judgment, it should cease to exist, coming forth from\nthe ordeal purer, stronger, more brilliant and powerful than before. Yet,\nthey are not willing to learn by experience, but look forward to a future\nday when an expedient or a means will be discovered to destroy in its turn\nthis gigantic fabric that appears to scorn the ravages of time and the\nfury of tempest, just as the Jews look forward to the Messiah who is to\ndeliver them from captivity among the nations. In their useless hope, they\nleave nothing untried, and often scruple not at what in their private\ncapacity they might scorn\u2014distortion of history and downright calumny. No\nhuman institution could ever have withstood the array of powerful enemies\nthe church of Christ has had since she first went forth from Mount Sion.\nNo age has ever seen her without them; sometimes fierce persecutors,\nsometimes insidious plotters, sometimes open impugners of her dogmas; at\nother times dangerous foes, cloaking their hostility under the garb of\ndevotion that they might better strike deep into her bosom the poison with\nwhich, in their foolish hate, they fancied they were to deprive her of\nlife. But the spouse of Christ has always cast them from her, and walked\nmajestically over the ruins they themselves had brought about, and this\nshe will ever do. And why? Because she does not lean on a broken reed nor\nput her trust in an arm of flesh. She bears about her a charm that defies\nall attack\u2014the protection of the Most High\u2014and presents to all the proof\nof her holy character, those motives of credibility, that as they were\nintended for all time, so now as on the day of Pentecost, accompany her\nwherever she goes, invincibly proving to the mind of man her own divine\norigin and her claim to his obedience. As she was one, in the union of all\nher children in one faith and in one baptism; as she was holy in the lives\nof those that obeyed her; as she was catholic and universal, embracing\npeoples of _all_ climes and of _all_ ages; as she was apostolic in her\norigin and in the succession of her ministry, so is she now, one, holy,\ncatholic, and apostolic in the succession of her priesthood and in the\ninfallibility of her head. As she was able to point to the wonders wrought\nby the apostle in the name of her divine founder, so now can she point to\nthe miracles of her chosen servants: an Alphonsus de Liguori, a Paul of\nthe Cross, a Ven. Pallotta, a Maria Taigi, a Maria Moerl, and a host of\nothers, down to the martyred victims of communistic fury. She can show in\nthe XIXth century, as she did in the first, a host of martyrs; old men and\nyouths, matrons and tender virgins, who, when arraigned for their faith\nbefore the Chinese mandarin, fulfilled the promise of Christ, and gave\ninspired answers, as did the glorious children of the early church, and\nsealed, too, with their blood the belief they held dearer than life.\n\nWe can understand, then, how the church can look fearlessly at the storms\nthat ever and anon burst upon her, because, built on the solidity of her\nbelief, she knows the waves can but break harmless at her feet. She has no\nneed of human means to secure her existence, for that has a promise of\nperennial duration. The condition, too, of her being is one of struggle\nand warfare, and, when it comes upon her, her only act is to oppose the\nshield of faith and the sword of the word of God\u2014her only arms the truth.\nAnd as it is written that truth will prevail, so in every battle in which\nshe has been engaged she has come forth at last with victory inscribed on\nher banner\u2014victory through the truth.\n\nWe have said that the condition of her being is struggle and warfare.\nThis, therefore, is never wanting; as all the world knows, she is called\non to defend herself just now against the fiercest attacks she has perhaps\never suffered\u2014perhaps even beyond what she underwent in that fearful\npersecution, in which her enemies directed against her every engine of\ndestruction, and in their mad rejoicing recorded the inscription,\n_Christiano nomine deleto_. To\u2010day the openly declared foes of her faith\nare seated in triumph in her stronghold, and strain every nerve to uproot\nfrom the mind and heart of her children the faith of their fathers. Not\ncontent with attacking the dogmas she teaches, they assail every fact\nwhich in any way may favor her, no matter how clearly the history of past\nages may proclaim its truth. An instance of this we have had but recently,\nbut a few months ago, when an attempt was made to prove that the fact upon\nwhich the whole jurisdiction of the church is grounded never occurred\u2014that\nS. Peter forsooth never came to Rome, and never founded the church there!\nWith what success the champions of this assertion advocated their cause is\nknown; and it may still further be judged of from the fact that a person\nwho came to the discussion, doubting of the fact of S. Peter\u2019s having been\nin Rome, left the hall after hearing the Catholic speakers, convinced that\nsuch an historical personage as S. Peter had lived and been in Rome, and\nhe recorded his belief in one of the leading journals of Italy not\nfavorable to the Catholic cause.\n\nIt may be said to be a strange phenomenon that a fact of history so\nnotorious, and for which so great an amount of proof exists, which has at\nits command every fount of human certitude, as that of the coming of S.\nPeter to Rome, ever should have been called in question. But what will not\nparty spirit attempt? It is not the first time nor will it be the last\nthat partisans will seek to rid themselves of troublesome facts by\ndownright denial of them. This spirit, however, is a dangerous one, and\nespecially unbecoming the sincere student of history. We know what Bacon\nhas said about the _idola_, and it is incumbent on every one who is\nsearching after historic truth to lay aside prejudice or even the desire\nthat facts may favor him. He must look at them merely as they are, take\nthem on their proof, without, striving to lessen them or give them other\nproportions than are inherent in them. If the scope of all research is to\nfind out the truth, it is our duty to seek it only, and not mar its beauty\nby adding to or detracting from it. In the present case the remark is\nhighly applicable. Catholics have nothing to fear in examining the\nhistoric proofs on which the coming of S. Peter to Rome rests; while those\nwho differ from them, in so far as they love truth, should be equally glad\nto look well into the claims to truth which this same fact puts forward.\nWe propose to go briefly over the ground. We say briefly because it seems\nalmost presumptuous, since so many able pens have dedicated themselves to\nthis task, that we should undertake it anew. There seems to us, however, a\nwant to be supplied, on this subject, something succinct and not too\nlearned or too lengthy for the ordinary reader, engrossed in pursuits that\ndo not allow time for more extended studies. This must be our excuse as\nwell as our reason for the present undertaking.\n\nIn the discussion that took place in Rome on the 9th and 10th February,\n1872, the chief speaker on the negative side ended his discourse by saying\nthat, no matter what weight of testimony could be brought to sustain S.\nPeter\u2019s coming to Rome, the silence of Scripture was for him an\nunanswerable argument; the Scripture should have spoken of the fact had it\nexisted; it said nothing about it, therefore it had never existed. Were it\nnot that the subject is too serious for such quotations, we should say\nwith Gratiano, \u201cWe thank thee for teaching us that word!\u201d This was the\nfeeling that came over us as we heard the expression from the lips of the\nspeaker, and now, after so much has been written, we have it still. It is\nneedless to say that such an expression betrays anxiety with regard to\npositive argument, if not a suspicion of weakness in one\u2019s own cause. We\nshall endeavor to show that there was reason both for this suspicion and\nthis anxiety.\n\nAnd, first, the opinion which is least probable concerning the death of S.\nPeter satisfactorily accounts for the silence of the Acts and of the\nEpistle to the Romans, the portions of Scripture on which our adversaries\nlay most stress in this matter. According to this opinion, S. Peter was\nmartyred in Rome, _Nerone et Vetere Consulibus_, _i.e._, according to the\nBucherian Catalogue, in the second year of Nero, the year 54 of the\nChristian era, this leaving S. Peter twenty\u2010five years of pontificate,\nfrom the year 29 to the year 54. S. Linus succeeded him, and ruled the\nchurch twelve years, dying after S. Paul, who was put to death before Nero\nwent into Greece. S. Peter was therefore, according to this chronology,\ndead before S. Paul reached Rome. It is not strange, then, the Acts does\nnot speak of his being there. As for the Epistle to the Romans, if it was\nwritten in the year 53, or two years before S. Paul came to Rome according\nto Eusebius, the reasons we adduce further on will explain the silence\nwith regard to S. Peter. If, as the ordinary opinion has it, the Epistle\nwas written from Corinth, in the year 58, S. Peter being already four\nyears dead, the omission of his name is easily accounted for.\n\nWe say, secondly, that, in the belief that S. Peter and S. Paul died at\nthe same time in Rome, sufficient reason can be found for the silence both\nof the Acts and of the Epistle to the Romans.\n\nWe beg particular attention to what we are going to say. Those portions of\nScripture do not prove by their silence that S. Peter _never_ came to\nRome, first, because the Acts and the Epistle to the Romans are not\nadequate witnesses in the case; secondly, because neither the Acts nor the\nEpistle to the Romans was called on by circumstances to allude to S.\nPeter\u2019s being in Rome.\n\nAnd, first, the Acts and Epistle to the Romans are not adequate witnesses\nthat S. Peter _never_ came to Rome. We call attention to the fact that the\nEpistle to the Romans was written two years before S. Paul came to Rome.\nWhat therefore we are going to say under this first head regarding the\nActs applies with greater force to the Epistle to the Romans. We shall\nthen confine our remarks wholly to the Acts in this connection. We say,\nthen, that, in order that the Acts should be received as an adequate\nwitness, it should cover the whole period from the time S. Peter first\nleft Jud\u00e6a to that of his death as fixed by received historical data, for\nwe cannot arbitrarily determine the period of his death. Now, it is well\nknown that history indicates the date of S. Peter\u2019s death as that of S.\nPaul\u2019s. They are represented as dying on the same day and in the same\nyear, one by the sword, the other on the cross; such are the words of the\nRoman Martyrology. This being so, we call attention to the fact that the\nchief disputant on the negative side of the question fixed on the year 61,\nfrom the _Fasti Consulares\u2014atti consolari_, as that in which S. Paul came\nto Rome, this being the year in which Portius Festus went to take\npossession of his province.(146) The Acts tells us that after S. Paul came\nto Rome he dwelt for two years in his own hired house. Here the narration\nceases, leaving Paul alive and in the year 63 of the Christian era. From\nthat time to his death, according to historical data, occurs a period,\naccording to different computations, of from two to four years. About this\nperiod of time no mention is made in the Acts for the simple reason that\nit is not embraced there; the narrative breaks off just as it begins. What\nwas to prevent S. Peter\u2019s coming to Rome during this period of from two to\nfour years? If he had, the Acts could have said nothing about it, nor\ncould it if he had not. The conclusion is simple, the Acts, and, _a\nfortiori_, the Epistle to the Romans, written prior to it, are no\ncompetent or adequate witnesses to prove S. Peter _never_ came to Rome,\nnor died there.\n\nWe come to the second head: neither the Acts nor the Epistle to the Romans\nwas called on to mention the fact of S. Peter\u2019s being in Rome. With regard\nto the Acts, any one who will carefully read it will see that S. Luke\nnarrates the acts of S. Paul. It was necessary to begin with some account\nof the commencement of the church to show S. Paul\u2019s connection with it.\nThis S. Luke does, speaking of the descent of the Holy Ghost, of the\ninstantaneous and marvellous results of the preaching of S. Peter, of his\nadmission of the Gentiles after the vision of the cloth containing all\nmanner of animals, and then passes on to speak of S. Paul, of his\npersecution of the church, of the martyrdom of S. Stephen, of the\nwonderful conversion of S. Paul. Here S. Paul is brought into contact with\nS. Peter; but after the Council of Jerusalem, when S. Paul sets out to\nevangelize the heathen, S. Peter is no more heard of, not even when S.\nPaul returns to Jerusalem, as narrated in chapter xxi. Was he dead? Had\nthis been so ere S. Paul left Jud\u00e6a, from his intimate contact with S.\nPeter, it is probable S. Luke would have mentioned a fact so important as\nthe death of the first of the apostles. He was not dead. He and the other\napostles no longer appear in the narration of S. Luke, if we except S.\nJames, Bishop of Jerusalem, whom S. Paul saw (chapter xxi.), because S.\nLuke did not propose to give a complete history of the church at that\ntime, or of the apostles, but only of S. Paul and his acts. The Acts are\ncontained in twenty\u2010eight chapters. In chapter vii., v. 57, Saul the\npersecutor is spoken of for the first time; in the next four chapters he\nis frequently mentioned. In the xv., S. Peter is mentioned for the last\ntime; and from this to the xxviii. S. Paul is the theme of the inspired\nwriter. In the 15th verse of chapter xxviii. the Christians go out to meet\nPaul at Forum Appii, and in verse 16 he is in Rome a prisoner; verse 7\nshows him to us calling together not the Christians, but the chief men of\nthe Jews, to explain that he has not appealed to C\u00e6sar because he had\nanything against his people. After these words, at verse 21, the Jews\nreply to him, and he instructs or upbraids them as far as verse 29, which\nrepresents the Jews going away incredulous. Verse 30 says: \u201cHe remained\ntwo years in his own hired house, and received all who came unto him; 31,\nPreaching the kingdom of God, and teaching with all confidence, and\nwithout prohibition, the things that are of the Lord Jesus Christ.\u201d Here\nthe Acts ends. Does there seem to the reader any place in these two verses\nfor a mention of Peter? Ought the inspired writer to have added more to\nhis account? It seems to us not, for the end he had in view was gained. He\nhad been a companion of S. Paul, he had told those who knew it not what\nhad happened in their travels, and now S. Paul was in Rome, and dwelling\nthere, in the centre of the world, he did not deem it needful to say any\nmore, otherwise he would have told us some of the actions of S. Paul, for\nwonders and conversions he certainly wrought in those two years. But as S.\nLuke says nothing about these, nor about the flourishing Church of Rome to\nwhich S. Paul two years before had addressed his Epistle from Corinth, it\nis not strange he says nothing about S. Peter.\n\nThe silence of S. Paul in regard to S. Peter, in his Epistle to the\nRomans, is not only of no avail to our adversaries, but the Epistle itself\ncontains matter for strong argument that S. Peter was permanently in Rome,\nand in fact founded the church there.\n\nFirst, with respect to the silence of S. Paul in regard to S. Peter. It is\na received canon of criticism that the silence of authors does not affect\nthe existence of a fact, when that fact is proven from documents of\nweight; and this all the more when no valid reason can be put forward to\nshow the author or authors should have mentioned the fact in question.\nNow, this is precisely the case with regard to S. Paul\u2019s silence about S.\nPeter. We have documentary and monumental evidence, as we shall see\nhereafter, that S. Peter did come to Rome, while there was no practical\nreason why S. Paul should mention S. Peter:\u2014not for the sake of commending\nhim, for that was neither becoming, as S. Peter was head of the apostolic\ncollege, nor necessary, as S. Peter\u2019s works bore the stamp of divine\nsanction; not for the purpose of asking permission to labor in Rome, as\nthe apostles were equal in the ministry, and united in a bond of perfect\nharmony and mutual understanding, though with subjection to the centre of\nunity, S. Peter, without, however, the distinctions of the various rights\nand duties afterwards introduced by ecclesiastical custom; not for the\npurpose of salutation, for he could not address S. Peter as head of the\nchurch in a tone of authoritative teaching; and salutations, if, contrary\nto what is generally held, Peter were in Rome at the time the letter was\nwritten, could be made privately by the messenger who carried the letter,\nand thus the duty of urbanity or charity, the only one that could require\nexpress notice of S. Peter, may have been fulfilled. In fact, propriety\nitself required this latter mode of salutation, lest it should be said\nthat S. Paul, instead of having directly addressed S. Peter, had saluted\nhim publicly through those to whom he wrote\u2014the Christians of Rome, the\nspiritual subjects of S. Peter. The silence, then, of S. Paul is of no\nweight to prove S. Peter never was in Rome.\n\nThe argument of silence, therefore, falls to the ground.\n\nWe said the Epistle to the Romans contains matter to show S. Peter was in\nRome, and founded the church there.\n\nLet us bear in mind who S. Peter was\u2014the Apostle of the Gentiles. Why was\nit he did not go at once to the centre of the Gentile world? Could any\nmore potent means have been adopted to spread Christianity? There centred\nthe civilization of the known world; there the Ethiopian met the Scythian,\nthe swarthy men from the banks of the Ganges were face to face with those\nwho first saw light by the waters of the Tagus, and the Numidian horseman\nand the German warrior strolled through the Forum, admiring the temples of\nthe gods of Rome. Nowhere was there more certainty of success in spreading\nabroad novelty of any kind than in this Babylon, receiving into its vast\nenclosure men of all the nations over which it ruled, and sending them\nforth again filled with wonder at what they saw, and eager to impart to\ntheir less fortunate countrymen what they had learned in their sojourn in\nthe great city. Thither, however, S. Paul did not go, and why? Because\nsome one was there already\u2014some one of power and authority; some one whose\nlabors had been crowned with success, and who had built up a church, the\nfaith of which at the time this epistle was written was known throughout\nthe whole world. S. Peter tells us himself he desired to go to the Romans\nto impart to them something of spiritual grace to strengthen them, that\nis, to be comforted in them \u201cby that which is mutual\u2014your faith and mine.\u201d\nThe mode of expression of S. Paul in this place, vv. 11 and 12, is worthy\nof notice. He says to the Romans he longs to see them to _strengthen\nthem_, and, as if he might be misunderstood, he adds immediately, \u201c_that\nis to say_, that I may be comforted together in you.\u201d Evidently he speaks\nhere as one who is careful lest he seem to usurp the place of another, or\nassume a right of teaching with authority which belonged to another. He\nwould not have the Romans think he considers that the one who rules them\nis inferior to himself or stands in need of his support. In verse 18 he\nsays: \u201cI do not wish you to be ignorant, brethren, that I have often\nproposed to come unto you (and I have been prevented hitherto) that I may\nhave some fruit among you as among other peoples.\u201d It is manifest here\nthat S. Paul\u2019s duties with the Greeks kept him from going to Rome, and\nthis, as we said before, because, the Romans being already provided with\none who could teach them, there was not the pressing need of him that\nwould make him leave those who had none to preach to them.\n\nWhat we have said with regard to the tone of the first chapter of the\nEpistle is confirmed by the words of the apostle in chapter xv. 19\u201026.\nHere S. Paul says why he had not gone to Rome\u2014because he was preaching to\nthose _who had no one to preach to them_. Had the Romans had no apostle\npreaching to them, this would not have been a reason to put forward,\nbecause the superiority of an apostle over any other preacher of the word\nwas such as to do away with the necessity of any comparison, and to make\nall desirous in an eminent degree of seeing and hearing the chosen men the\nsound of whose voice was to be heard throughout the whole world. S. Paul\nthen continues: \u201cWhen I shall begin to take my journey into Spain, I hope\n_that as I pass_, I shall see you, and be brought on my way thither by\nyou, if first, in part, I shall have enjoyed you.\u201d From this it results,\nfirst, that S. Paul had no intention of remaining in Rome; and, secondly,\nthat what he desired was to enjoy, in meeting the Romans, the consolation\nof seeing their faith, and of sharing with them the spiritual gifts he\nhimself had received, which should serve to make them yet more steadfast\nin their fidelity to the Gospel, precisely as, to use an example, the\npreaching of the same doctrine they have heard from their own bishop, by a\nbishop who is his guest, strengthens the faithful in their religious\nbelief.\n\nThe fact, then, stands that a flourishing church existed in Rome at the\ntime S. Paul wrote his Epistle, and this is still further shown by the\nsalutations in the last chapter. Who founded it? History is silent\nregarding any one but S. Peter. As Alexandria claims S. Peter and S. Mark;\nas Ephesus, S. John; as innumerable other cities and countries their\nrespective apostles, so does Rome claim S. Peter as its first evangelizer.\nIt would be absurd to say that all these other cities and nations could\nretain the memory of him who first preached to them the word of God, and\nRome\u2014the greatest of all, where so notorious a fact as the preaching of\nJesus Christ could not pass by unnoticed, especially when its effects were\nso luminously conspicuous as S. Paul tells us they were\u2014this Rome should\nalone be ungratefully forgetful of her best benefactor. The thing is\nabsurd on the face of it. But history is silent about any other founder\nexcept S. Peter; therefore we are justified in concluding that S. Peter,\nand S. Peter alone, was the original founder of the Church of Rome, and\nthat Rome is right in holding her tradition that such was the fact.\n\nThis tradition of S. Peter\u2019s having been in Rome, having founded the\nchurch there, and having died there, gives strength to the conclusion\nwhich Scripture has aided us to form. To any one who is at all conversant\nwith Rome, it must always have appeared a very remarkable fact that the\ndiscoveries made by the zeal of her arch\u00e6ologists have, as a rule,\nconfirmed the traditions existing among the people both with regard to\nlocalities and facts. It would seem as if Providence, in these days of\nwidespread scepticism, were unearthing the long\u2010hid monuments of the past\nto put to confusion those who would fain treat the history of early ages\nas a myth. The monuments stare them in the face, while their value is\nunderstood by men of sound practical sense. This is the reason of the\nreaction that is taking place against the sceptical style of writing\nhistory which Nieb\u00fchr and Dr. Arnold adopted, and made to a certain extent\nfashionable. The words of a well\u2010informed writer, whose works have been\ndeservedly well received\u2014Mr. Dyer\u2014are an excellent reply to authors of\nthat stamp, based, as they are, on sound sense and the experience of\nmankind\u2014the safest guides we can possibly follow; for it is folly to think\nthat those who have gone before us blindly received everything that was\ntold them. Whatever may have happened with regard to individuals, such\ncertainly never was the case with regard to all. As well might we say\nthat, because some writers of to\u2010day speak in a spirit of scepticism, all\nwriters adopt the same style. Men in general never were sceptical, and\nnever will be; they will use their senses and their intellect, and judge\nof things on their merits, and not according to the extravagant ideas of\nany one, however brilliant he be. Mr. Dyer, though speaking of ancient\nRoman history, makes remarks that are applicable in our case. He says, in\nthe Introduction to the _History of the City of Rome_, p. xvi.: \u201cIt would,\nof course, be impossible to discuss in the compass of this Introduction\nthe general question of the credibility of early Roman history. We can\nonly state the reasons which have led us to doubt a few of the conclusions\nof modern critics about some of the more prominent facts of that history,\nand about the existence or the value of the sources on which it professes\nto be founded. If it can be shown that the attempts to eliminate or to\ndepreciate some of these sources can hardly be regarded as successful, and\nthat the general spirit of modern criticism has been unreasonably\nsceptical and unduly captious with respect to the principal Roman\nhistorian, then the author will at least have established what, at all\nevents, may serve as an apology for the course he has pursued.\u201d And at\npage lxii.: \u201cThere is little motive to falsify the origin and dates of\npublic buildings; and, indeed, their falsification would be much more\ndifficult than that of events transmitted by oral tradition, or even\nrecorded in writing. In fact, we consider the remains of some of the\nmonuments of the Regal and Republican periods to be the best proofs of the\nfundamental truth of early Roman history.\u201d If this author could justly\nspeak in this manner of a period regarding which there is certainly not a\nlittle obscurity, what are we to say when we are speaking of so well\u2010known\nan epoch as that of the Roman Empire under Claudius and Nero, and of a\nfact so luminous as that of the foundation of Christianity in the capital\nof the world? The certainty of the traditions concerning this fact\nundoubtedly acquires a strength proportionally greater, and this all the\nmore because we have the monuments around which these traditions centre,\nand the existence of these monuments in the IId century is attested by the\nRoman priest Caius writing against Proclus, apud Eusebium, _Hist. Eccl._,\nc. xxv.: \u201cI can,\u201d he writes, \u201cshow you the trophies (trop\u00e6a) of the\napostles. For, whether you go to the Vatican or to the Ostian Way, the\ntrophies of those who founded the church will present themselves to your\nview.\u201d These monuments are the place of imprisonment of S. Peter, the\nplace of his crucifixion, that of the martyrdom of S. Paul, the place of\ntheir burial, that in which their remains were deposited for a time, and\ntheir final resting\u2010place, over which the grandest temple of the earth\nrises in its majesty\u2014a witness of the belief of all ages.\n\nThe tradition of S. Peter having founded the church in Rome receives\nadditional force from the fact that but a short period elapsed before\nwriters whose genuine works have come down to us recorded them, and thus\ntransmitted them to us. Not to speak of S. Clement of Rome, of S. Ignatius\nof Antioch, of Papias, we take the words of S. Iren\u00e6us, Bishop of Lyons,\nwho was martyred in the year 202 of the Christian era. We omit speaking of\nthe other Fathers, not because we consider their testimony without great\nvalue, for it is impossible, in our judgment, for any one who takes up\ntheir works with an unprejudiced mind, and reads them in connection with\nlater and more precise writers on this subject, not to feel that they\nrefer to a matter so universally and thoroughly known as not to need any\nfurther dwelling on than would a fact well known to a correspondent,\ndemand details from the person who writes him the letter. S. Iren\u00e6us, we\nsaid, died in the year 202. He had been for a long time Bishop of Lyons,\nwhence he wrote to S. Victor, Pope, on the subject of the controversy\nregarding the celebration of Easter, dissuading him from harsh measures\nwith respect to the Christians of the East. S. Victor was Pope from the\nyear 193 to 202, and succeeded Eleutherius, who became pope in the year\n177. To this latter Iren\u00e6us was sent by the clergy of Lyons in the case of\nthe Montanist heresy, he having been received and ordained priest of the\ndiocese of Lyons by the Bishop Photinus, and it was during the pontificate\nof the same pope that he wrote his celebrated work against heresies. He\nwas at this time not a young man, and we shall not be wide of the mark if\nwe put his birth some years before the middle of the second century, and\nthis all the more because he himself in the above\u2010mentioned book speaks of\nhis early studies as gone by. According to the best authorities, S. John\nthe Apostle was ninety years old when he was thrown into the caldron of\nboiling oil, under Domitian, in Rome. He lived several years longer at\nPatmos, and at Ephesus, where he died in the year 101, during the reign of\nTrajan. We have thus a period of from thirty to forty years between the\ndeath of S. John\u2014the witness of what SS. Peter and Paul did, and who was\nfully acquainted with all that had occurred at Rome\u2014and Iren\u00e6us.\nIndependent of the means of information this proximity to the apostles\ngave him, both because in his youth he must have known many who had in\ntheir own youth seen and heard S. Peter, and because he had himself\nvisited Rome, the interval between him and S. John is filled up by the\nlink that unites them in an unbroken tradition, by the celebrated martyr\nand Bishop of Smyrna, S. Polycarp, the disciple of S. John and the master\nof S. Iren\u00e6us. We ask the reader to say, in all candor, whether this link\nbe not all that can be desired to secure belief in the testimony handed\ndown through it, from the apostles, especially with regard to such a thing\nas the chief theatre of the life, labors, and death of the head of the\napostolic college. Anticipating a favorable answer, we proceed to give the\nwords of S. Iren\u00e6us\u2014of undoubted authenticity. In his work, _Contra\nH\u00e6reses_, l. iii. c. i., he writes: \u201cMatthew among the Hebrews composed\nhis Gospel in their tongue, while Peter and Paul were evangelizing at Rome\nand founding the church. After their decease, Mark, the disciple and\ninterpreter of Peter, committed to writing what had been preached by\nPeter.\u201d In the same book, c. iii. \u00a7 3, S. Iren\u00e6us says: \u201cBut since it is\ntoo long to enumerate in a volume of this kind the successions of all the\nchurches, pointing to the tradition of the greatest, most ancient and\nuniversally known, founded and constituted at Rome, by the two most\nglorious Apostles Peter and Paul, to that which it has from the apostles,\nand to the faith announced to men, through the succession of bishops\ncoming down to our time, we put to confusion all who in any manner, by\ntheir own self\u2010will, or through empty glory, or through blindness, or from\nmalice, gather otherwise than they should. For to this church, by reason\nof its more powerful headship (principalitatem), it behooves every church\nto come, that is, those who are faithful everywhere, in which (in qua) has\nalways been preserved by men of every region the tradition which is from\nthe apostles.\u201d He goes on to say: \u201cThe holy apostles, founding and\nbuilding up the church, gave to Linus the episcopate of administration of\nthe church. Paul makes mention of this Linus in his letters to Timothy. To\nhim succeeded Anacletus; after him, in the third place from the apostles,\nClement (who also saw the apostles, and conferred with them) obtained the\nepiscopate, while he yet had the preaching of the apostles sounding in his\nears and tradition before his eyes; not he alone, for there were many then\nliving who had been taught by the apostles. Under this Clement, therefore,\na not trifling dissension having arisen among the brethren who were at\nCorinth, the church which is at Rome wrote a very strong letter etc.... To\nthis Clement succeeded Evaristus, and to Evaristus Alexander, and\nafterwards the sixth from the apostles was Sixtus, and after him\nTelesphorus, who also gloriously suffered martyrdom; and then Hyginus,\nnext Pius, after whom Anicetus. When Soter had succeeded Anicetus, now\nEleutherius has the episcopate in the twelfth place from the apostles. By\nthis order and succession, that tradition which is from the apostles in\nthe church, and the heralding of the truth, have come down to us. And this\nis a most full showing that one and the same is the life\u2010giving faith\nwhich from the time of the apostles down to the present has been preserved\nand delivered in truth. And Polycarp, not only taught by the apostles, and\nconversing with many of those who saw our Lord, but also constituted by\nthe apostles bishop in Asia, in the church which is at Smyrna, _whom we\nalso saw in our early youth_, taught always the things he had learned from\nthe apostles, which also he delivered to the church, and which are alone\ntrue. To these things all the churches, which are in Asia, and those who\nup to to\u2010day have succeeded to Polycarp, bear witness.\u201d And in his letter\nto Florinus, S. Iren\u00e6us says more explicitly that he was a disciple of\nPolycarp, that he had a most vivid recollection of his master, of his ways\nand words, which he cherished more in his heart even than in his\nmemory.(147) Eusebius, in the _Chronicon_, says that Polycarp was martyred\nin the year 169, the seventh of Lucius Verus.\n\nNothing clearer, more explicit, or of greater value than a tradition with\nsuch links as S. John the Evangelist, S. Polycarp, and S. Iren\u00e6us could be\ndesired to establish beyond a doubt that S. Peter came to Rome and founded\nthe church there.\n\nThis fact having been shown to rest on a solid basis, we have now to say a\nword with regard to the time at which S. Peter came to Rome. On this point\nthere is a difference of opinion; but this very difference of opinion as\nregards the epoch is a new proof of the fact. The most probable opinion,\nthat which seems to have found most favor, fixes it at the year 42 of the\nChristian era, the second year of Claudius. This is what S. Jerome,\nfollowing Eusebius, records. The learned Jesuit Zaccaria puts it at the\nyear 41, in the month of April, the 25th of which was kept as a holyday,\nin the time of S. Leo the Great, in honor of S. Peter. This writer bears\nwitness to the very remarkable unanimity among the Fathers with respect to\nthe twenty\u2010five years\u2019 duration of the pontificate of S. Peter in Rome,\nwhich according to S. Jerome would fix the date of his death as the\nfourteenth year of Nero, the 67th of the present era. The words of S.\nJerome are: \u201cSimon Peter went to Rome to overthrow Simon Magus, and had\nthere his sacerdotal chair for twenty\u2010five years, up to the last year of\nNero, that is, the fourteenth; by whom also he was crowned with martyrdom\nby being affixed to the cross.\u201d(148) S. Jerome, we know, was well versed\nin the history of the church, had dwelt for a long time at Rome, and may\nconsequently be presumed to have been excellently well informed with\nregard to the general belief and tradition of the people of Rome. The\nmanner of the death of both apostles is mentioned by Tertullian, in his\nbook _De Pr\u00e6scriptionibus_, c. 126, where, after bidding those he\naddresses have recourse to the apostolic churches, he says: \u201cIf you be\nnear to Italy, you have Rome, whence also we have authority. How happy is\nthis church, for which the apostles poured forth all their doctrine with\ntheir blood, where Peter equals his Lord\u2019s Passion, where Paul is crowned\nwith the end of John (the Baptist), where the Apostle John, after\nsuffering no harm from his immersion in the fiery oil, is banished to an\nisland.\u201d Origen, too, says: \u201cPeter is thought to have preached to the Jews\nthroughout Pontus, Galatia, Bythinia, Cappadocia, and Asia; who, when he\ncame to Rome, was finally affixed to the cross with his head down.\u201d(149)\n\nBefore concluding what we have undertaken to say on the subject of S.\nPeter\u2019s coming to Rome, we wish to notice the objection against this fact,\nand the duration of his pontificate, which must naturally appear to those\nnot well acquainted with antiquity one of not a little strength. How could\nS. Peter hold the primacy at Rome, when the Acts represents him\ncontinually as in Jud\u00e6a, among those of his nation to whom he had, as S.\nPaul says, a peculiar mission, the apostleship of circumcision? We reply,\nfirst: that the apostleship of S. Peter to the Jews did not exclude his\nlabors with the Gentiles; in fact, we know from the Acts that S. Peter had\na vision which led him to work for the latter, and that vision was\nimmediately followed by the admission, by S. Peter himself, of the\ncenturion Cornelius. Moreover, it is well known that there were Jews\ndispersed throughout the world, to whom S. Peter is said to have gone, as\nwe have shown\u2014in Pontus and the other countries of Asia Minor; and also in\nRome they were numerous. Duty therefore, both to the Jew and Gentile,\ncould and did lead S. Peter to Rome.\n\nWe say, secondly: there is no difficulty in the fact of S. Peter having\nbeen often in Jud\u00e6a. The apostles, from their very charge, were obliged to\ntravel much; and the sound of their voice was heard in every land. As is\nnarrated of them, they divided the nations among them; and, burning with\nthe fire of zeal sent down upon them on the day of Pentecost, they went\nabout, everywhere kindling in others the flame that burned within\nthemselves. As for the difficulties or facilities of travel, especially in\nthe case of S. Peter, we cannot do better than to cite the words of the\nlearned Canon Fabiani in his _Discussion_ with those who impugned the\ncoming of S. Peter to Rome. In the authentic report of this discussion,\npage 52, he says: \u201cHow many days were required for a journey from C\u00e6sarea\nto Rome? Little more than fifteen days.... Lately very learned men among\nProtestants, and at the same time men thoroughly skilled in what regards\nthe seafaring art, Smith and Penrose, have calculated from the very voyage\nof S. Paul, and from the narrations in the Acts, the time that vessels\ntook to come from C\u00e6sarea to Rome. They went at the rate of seven knots an\nhour, so that it took one hundred and seventy\u2010seven hours, or seven days\nand a third, to came from C\u00e6sarea to Pozzuoli; and Pliny himself assures\nus that vessels came from Alexandria to Pozzuoli in nine days, from\nAlexandria in Egypt in nine days, and from Alexandria to Messina in seven\ndays. C\u00e6sarea and Jerusalem, you know, differ but little in distance to\nRome, from Alexandria in Egypt. The journey from Messina and Pozzuoli to\nRome was made in about two or three days, so that the whole time required\nto go from Rome to Jerusalem was not more than half a month.\u201d It is easy,\nthen, to understand how S. Peter could be often in Jud\u00e6a, though he had\nfixed his permanent residence in Rome.\n\nTo sum up what we have been saying, no argument can be had from the\nsilence of Scripture to prove S. Peter never came to Rome, because the\nActs and Epistle to the Romans do not cover the whole epoch of S. Peter\u2019s\napostleship. Moreover, the silence of Scripture does not prove that S.\nPeter did not rule the Church of Rome twenty\u2010five years, because, as we\nhave shown, there was no reason why either the Acts or the Epistle to the\nRomans should speak of S. Peter\u2019s going to Rome and being there. What we\nhave here asserted is all the more true because we have positive testimony\nnot only with regard to S. Peter\u2019s coming to Rome, but also respecting the\ndate of his coming, the period of his ruling the church there, the time\nand the manner of his death there, and because we have the monuments\nrecording the memory of the Apostles Peter and Paul, the trophies of the\napostles, as Caius calls them, _trop\u00e6a apostolorum_, which exist to this\nday, surrounded by the marks of veneration and the pious traditions of the\npeople of Rome. Against all these proofs difficulties of history and\nchronology are of no avail; for, in the first place, the very difficulties\nand discussions only serve to confirm the fact, especially since these\ndifficulties and discussions have lasted for fifteen centuries without\nbringing about the rejection of the main fact; in the next place, we know\nthere are many well\u2010established facts regarding which there exist\ndifficulties to clear up, and this nowhere more than in past history. When\nwe have proved by one solid, unanswerable argument a fact, we should not\ntrouble ourselves much regarding what may be brought against it. The\nelucidation of knotty points may delight us and reward the labors of the\nerudite; for common practical use the matter is settled; and any one who\nrises up against it must not wonder if he be looked on as either not well\ninformed, or, to say the least, eccentric.\n\n\n\n\nSayings.\n\n\n\u201cRejoice not in riches or other transient gifts, for thou shalt be\ndeprived of them like the actor, who, after finishing his part, lays aside\nhis costume,\u201d\u2014_S. Chrysostom._\n\n\u201cGod has implanted in us conscience, and by this he acts in a manner more\nloving than our natural father; for this latter, after he has warned his\nson ten and a hundred times, expels him from his home; but God ceases not\nto warn us by conscience even to the latest breath.\u201d\u2014_Ibid._\n\n\u201cTo restrain anger assimilates man to his Creator.\u201d\u2014_Ibid._\n\n\u201cThe man who forgives his enemy is like God.\u201d\u2014_S. Augustine._\n\n\u201cHe is a true Christian who carries with him the whole belief of Christ,\nwho acts virtuously through the spirit of Christ, and who dies to sin\nthrough the following of Christ.\u201d\u2014_S. Thomas._\n\n\u201cNo one is lost without knowing it; and no one is deceived without wishing\nto be deceived.\u201d\u2014_S. Thomas._\n\n\n\n\nThe Progressionists.\n\n\nFrom The German Of Conrad Von Bolanden.\n\n\n\nChapter VII. An Ultramontane Son.\n\n\nGreifmann and Gerlach had driven to the railway station. The express train\nthundered along. As the doors of the carriages flew open, Seraphin peered\nthrough them with eyes full of eager joy. He thought no more of the fate\nthat threatened him as the sequel of his father\u2019s arrival; his youthful\nheart exulted solely in the anticipation of the meeting. A tall, broad\u2010\nshouldered gentleman, with severe features and tanned complexion, alighted\nfrom a _coup\u00e9_. It was Mr. Conrad Gerlach. Seraphin threw his arms around\nhis father\u2019s neck and kissed him. The banker made a polite bow to the\nwealthiest landed proprietor of the country, in return for which Mr.\nConrad bestowed on him a cordial shake of the hand.\n\n\u201cHas your father returned?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe cannot possibly reach home before September,\u201d answered the banker. The\ntraveller stepped for a moment into the luggage\u2010room. The gentlemen then\ndrove away to the Palais Greifmann. During the ride, the conversation was\nnot very animated. Conrad\u2019s curt, grave manner and keen look, indicative\nof a mind always hard at work, imposed reserve, and rapidly dampened his\nson\u2019s ingenuous burst of joy. Seraphin cast a searching glance upon that\nsevere countenance, saw no change from its stern look of authority, and\nhis heart sank before the appalling alternative of either sacrificing the\nhappiness of his life to his father\u2019s favorite project, or of opposing his\nwill and braving the consequences of such daring. Yet he wavered but an\ninstant in the resolution to which he had been driven by necessity, and\nwhich, it was plain from the lines of his countenance, he had manhood\nenough to abide by.\n\nMr. Conrad maintained his reserve, and asked but few questions. Even Carl,\nhabitually profuse, studied brevity in his answers, as he knew from\nexperience that Gerlach, Senior, was singularly averse to the use of many\nwords.\n\n\u201cHow is business?\u201d\n\n\u201cVery dull, sir; the times are hard.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you sustain any losses through the failures that have recently taken\nplace in town?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot a farthing. We had several thousands with Wendel, but fortunately\ndrew them out before he failed.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery prudent. Has your father entered into any new connections in the\ncourse of his travels?\u201d\n\n\u201cSeveral, that promise fairly.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs Louise well?\u201d\n\n\u201cHer health is as good as could be wished.\u201d\n\n\u201cGeneral prosperity, then, I see, for you both look cheerful, and Seraphin\nis as blooming as a clover field.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow is dear mother?\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite well. She misses her only child. She sends much love.\u201d\n\nThe carriage drew up at the gate. The young lady was awaiting the\nmillionaire at the bottom of the steps. While greetings were exchanged\nbetween them, a faint tinge of warmth could be noticed on the cold\nfeatures of the land\u2010owner. A smile formed about his mouth, his piercing\neyes glanced for an instant at Seraphin, and instantly the smile was\neclipsed under the cloud of an unwelcome discovery.\n\n\u201cI am on my way to the industrial exhibition,\u201d said he, \u201cand I thought I\nwould pay you a visit in passing. I wish you not to put yourself to any\ninconvenience, my dear Louise. You will have the goodness to make me a\nlittle tea, this evening, which we shall sip together.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am overjoyed at your visit, and yet I am sorry, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cSorry! Why so?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause you are in such a hurry.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt cannot be helped, my child. I am overwhelmed with work. Harvest has\ncommenced; no less than six hundred hands are in the fields, and I am\nobliged to go to the exhibition. I must see and test some new machinery\nwhich is said to be of wonderful power.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, you will at least spare us a few days on your return?\u201d\n\n\u201cA few days! You city people place no value on time. We of the country\neconomize seconds. Without a thought you squander in idleness what cannot\nbe recalled.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are a greater rigorist than ever,\u201d chided she, smiling.\n\n\u201cBecause, my child, I am getting older. Seraphin, I wish to speak a word\nwith you before tea.\u201d\n\nThe two retired to the apartments which for years Mr. Conrad was\naccustomed to occupy whenever he visited the Palais Greifmann.\n\n\u201cThe old man still maintains his characteristic vigor,\u201d said Louise. \u201cHis\nface is at all times like a problem in arithmetic, and in place of a heart\nhe carries an accurate estimate of the yield of his farms. His is a cold,\nrepelling nature.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut strictly honest, and alive to gain,\u201d added Carl. \u201cIn ten years more\nhe will have completed his third million. I am glad he came; the marriage\nproject is progressing towards a final arrangement. He is now having a\ntalk with Seraphin; tomorrow, as you will see, the bashful young\ngentleman, in obedience to the command of his father, will present himself\nto offer you his heart, and ask yours in return.\u201d\n\n\u201cA free heart for an enslaved one,\u201d said she jestingly. \u201cWere there no\nhope of ennobling that heart, of freeing it from the absurdities with\nwhich it is encrusted, I declare solemnly I would not accept it for three\nmillions. But Seraphin is capable of being improved. His eye will not\nclose itself against modern enlightenment. Servility of conscience and a\nbaneful fear of God cannot have entirely extinguished his sense of\nliberty.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have never set a very high estimate on the pluck and moral force of\nreligious people,\u201d declared Greifmann. \u201cThey are a craven set, who are\npious merely because they are afraid of hell. When a passion gets\npossession of them, the impotence of their religious frenzy at once\nbecomes manifest. They fall an easy prey to the impulses of nature, and\nthe supernatural fails to come to the rescue. It would be vain for\nSeraphin to try to give up the unbelieving Louise, whom his strait\u2010laced\nfaith makes it his duty to avoid. He has fallen a victim to your\nfascinations; all the Gospel of the Jew of Nazareth, together with all the\nsacraments and unctions of the church, could not loose the coils with\nwhich you have encircled him.\u201d\n\nIn this scornful tone did Carl Greifmann speak of the heroism of virtue\nand of the energy of faith, like a blind man discoursing about colors. He\nlittle suspected that it is just the power of religion that produces\ncharacters, and that, on this very account, in an irreligious age,\ncharacters of a noble type are so rarely met with; the warmth of faith is\nnot in them.\n\n\u201cMr. Schwefel desires to speak a word with you,\u201d said a servant who\nappeared at the door.\n\nThe banker nodded assent.\n\n\u201cI ask your pardon for troubling you at so unseasonable an hour,\u201d began\nthe leader, after bowing lowly several times. \u201cThe subject is urgent, and\nmust be settled without delay. But, by the way, I must first give you the\ngood news: Mr. Shund is elected by an overwhelming majority, and Progress\nis victorious in every ward.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is what I looked for,\u201d answered the banker, with an air of\nsatisfaction. \u201cI told you whatever C\u00e6sar, Antony, and Lepidus command,\nmust be done.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am just from a meeting at which some important resolutions have been\noffered and adopted,\u201d continued the leader. \u201cThe strongest prop of\nultramontanism is the present system of educating youth. Education must,\ntherefore, be taken out of the hands of the priests. But the change will\nhave to be brought about gradually and with caution. We have decided to\nmake a beginning by introducing common schools. A vote of the people is to\nbe taken on the measure, and, on the last day of voting, a grand barbecue\nis to be given to celebrate our triumph over the accursed slavery of\nreligious symbols. The ground chosen by the chief\u2010magistrate for the\ncelebration is the common near the Red Tower, but the space is not large\nenough, and we will need your meadow adjoining it to accommodate the\ncrowd. I am commissioned by the magistrate to request you to throw open\nthe meadow for the occasion.\u201d\n\nThe banker, believing the request prejudicial to his private interests,\nlooked rather unenthusiastic. Louise, who had been busy with the teapot,\nhad heard every word of the conversation, and the new educational scheme\nhad won her cordial approval. Seeing her brother hesitated, she flew to\nthe rescue:\n\n\u201cWe are ready and happy to make any sacrifice in the interest of education\nand progress.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not sure that it is competent for me in the present instance to\ngrant the desired permission,\u201d replied Greifmann. \u201cThe grass would be\ndestroyed, and perhaps the sod ruined for years. My father is away from\nhome, and I would not like to take the responsibility of complying with\nhis honor\u2019s wish.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe city will hold itself liable for all damages,\u201d said Schwefel.\n\n\u201cNot at all!\u201d interposed the young lady hastily. \u201cMake use of the meadow\nwithout paying damages. If my brother refuses to assume the\nresponsibility, I will take it upon my self. By wresting education from\nthe clergy, who only cripple the intellect of youth, progress aims a\ndeath\u2010blow at mental degradation. It is a glorious work, and one full of\ninestimable results that you gentlemen are beginning in the cause of\nhumanity against ignorance and superstition. My father so heartily concurs\nin every undertaking that responds to the wants of the times, that I not\nonly feel encouraged to make myself responsible for this concession, but\nam even sure that he would be angry if we refused. Do not hesitate to make\nuse of the meadow, and from its flowers bind garlands about the temples of\nthe goddess of liberty!\u201d\n\nThe leader bowed reverently to the beautiful advocate of progress.\n\n\u201cIn this case, there remains nothing else for me to do than to confirm my\nsister\u2019s decision,\u201d said Greifmann. \u201cWhen is the celebration to take\nplace?\u201d\n\n\u201cOn the 10th of August, the day of the deputy elections. It has been\nintentionally set for that day to impress on the delegates how genuine and\nright is the sentiment of our people.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery good,\u201d approved Greifmann.\n\n\u201cIn the name of the chief\u2010magistrate, I thank you for the offering you\nhave so generously laid upon the shrine of humanity, and I shall hasten to\ninform the gentlemen before they adjourn that you have granted our\nrequest.\u201d And Schwefel withdrew from the gorgeously furnished apartment.\n\nMeanwhile a fiery struggle was going on between Seraphin and his father.\nHe had briefly related his experience at the Palais Greifmann; had even\nconfessed his preference for Louise, and had, for the first time in his\nlife, incurred his father\u2019s displeasure by mentioning the wager. And when\nhe concluded by protesting that he could not marry Louise, Conrad\u2019s\nsuppressed anger burst forth.\n\n\u201cHave you lost your senses, foolish boy? This marriage has been in\ncontemplation for years; it has been coolly weighed and calculated. In all\nthe country around, it is the only equal match possible. Louise\u2019s dower\namounts to one million florins, the exact value of the noble estate of\nHatzfurth, adjoining our possessions. You young people can occupy the\nchateau, I shall add another hundred acres to the land, together with a\ncomplete outfit of farming implements, and then you will have such a start\nas no ten proprietors in Germany can boast of.\u201d\n\nSeraphin knew his father. All the old gentleman\u2019s thought and effort was\nconcentrated on the management of his extensive possessions. For other\nsubjects there was no room in the head and heart of the landholder. He\nbarely complied with his religious duties. It is true, on Sundays Mr.\nConrad attended church, but surrounded invariably by a motley swarm of\nworldly cares and speculations connected with farming. At Easter, he went\nto the sacraments, but usually among the last, and after being repeatedly\nreminded by his wife. He took no interest in progress, humanity,\nultramontanism, and such other questions as vex the age, because to\ntrouble himself about them would have interfered with his main purpose. He\nknew only his fields and woodlands\u2014and God, in so far as his providence\nblessed him with bountiful harvests.\n\n\u201cWhat is the good of millions, father, if the very fundamental conditions\nof matrimonial peace are wanting?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat fundamental conditions?\u201d\n\n\u201cLouise believes neither in God nor in revelation. She is an infidel.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you are a fanatic\u2014a fanatic because of your one\u2010sided education. Your\nmother has trained you as priests and monks are trained. During your\nchildhood piety was very useful; it served as the prop to the young tree,\ncausing it to grow up straight and develop itself into a vigorous stem.\nBut you are now full\u2010grown, and life makes other demands on the man than\non the boy; away, therefore, with your fanaticism.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo my dying hour I shall thank my mother for the care she has bestowed on\nthe child, the boy, and the young man. If her pious spirit has given a\nright direction to my career, and watched faithfully over my steps, the\nuntarnished record of the son cannot but rejoice the heart of the father\u2014a\nrecord which is the undoubted product of religious training.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are a good son, and I am proud of you,\u201d accorded Mr. Conrad with\ncandor. \u201cYour mother, too, is a woman whose equal is not to be found. All\nthis is very well. But, if Louise\u2019s city manners and free way of thinking\nscandalize you, you are sheerly narrow\u2010minded. I have been noticing her\nfor years, and have learned to value her industry and domestic virtues.\nShe has not a particle of extravagance; on the contrary, she has a decided\nleaning towards economy and thrift. She will make an unexceptionable wife.\nDo you imagine, my son, my choice could be a blind one when I fixed upon\nLouise to share the property which, through years of toil, I have amassed\nby untiring energy?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not deny the lady has the qualities you mention, my dear father.\u201d\n\n\u201cMoreover, she is a millionaire, and handsome, very handsome, and you are\nin love with her\u2014what more do you want?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe most important thing of all, father. The very soul of conjugal\nfelicity is wanting, which is oneness of faith in supernatural truth. What\nI adore, Louise denies; what I revere, she hates; what I practise, she\nscorns. Louise never prays, never goes to church, never receives the\nsacraments, in a word, she has not a spark of religion.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat will all come right,\u201d returned Mr. Conrad. \u201cLouise will learn to\npray. You must not, simpleton, expect a banker\u2019s daughter to be for ever\ncounting her beads like a nun. Take my word for it, the weight of a wife\u2019s\nresponsibilities will make her serious enough.\u201d\n\n\u201cSerious perhaps, but not religious, for she is totally devoid of faith.\u201d\n\n\u201cEnough; you shall marry her nevertheless,\u201d broke in the father. \u201cIt is my\nwish that you shall marry her. I will not suffer opposition.\u201d\n\nFor a moment the young man sat silent, struggling painfully with the\nviolence of his own feelings.\n\n\u201cFather,\u201d said he, then, \u201cyou command what I cannot fulfil, because it\ngoes against my conscience. I beg you not to do violence to my conscience;\nviolence is opposed to your own and my Christian principles. An atheist or\na progressionist who does not recognize a higher moral order, might insist\nupon his son\u2019s marrying an infidel for the sake of a million. But you\ncannot do so, for it is not millions of money that you and I look upon as\nthe highest good. Do not, therefore, dear father, interfere with my moral\nfreedom; do not force me into a union which my religion prohibits.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat does this mean?\u201d And a dark frown gathered on the old gentleman\u2019s\nforehead. \u201cDefiance disguised in religious twaddle? Open rebellion? Is\nthis the manner in which my son fulfils the duty of filial obedience?\u201d\n\n\u201cPardon me, father,\u201d said the youth with deferential firmness, \u201cthere is\nno divine law making it obligatory upon a father to select a wife for his\nson. Consequently, also, the duty of obedience on this point does not rest\nupon the son. Did I, beguiled by passion or driven by recklessness, wish\nto marry a creature whose depravity would imperil my temporal and eternal\nwelfare, your duty, as a father, would be to oppose my rashness, and my\nduty, as a son, would be to obey you. Louise is just such a creature; she\nis artfully plotting against my religious principles, against my loyalty\nto God and the church. She has put upon herself as a task to lead me from\nthe darkness of superstition into the light of modern advancement. I\noverheard her when she said to her brother, \u2018Did I for an instant doubt\nthat Seraphin may be reclaimed from superstition, I would renounce my\nunion with him, I would forego all the gratifications of wealth, so much\ndo I detest stupid credulity.\u2019 Hence I should have to look forward to\nbeing constantly annoyed by my wife\u2019s fanatical hostility to my religion.\nThere never would be an end of discord and wrangling. And what kind of\nchildren would such a mother rear? She would corrupt the little ones,\ninstil into their innocent souls the poison of her own godlessness, and\nmake me the most wretched of fathers. For these reasons Miss Greifmann\nshall not become my wife\u2014no, never! I implore you, dear father, do not\nrequire from me what my conscience will not permit, and what I shall on no\ncondition consent to,\u201d concluded the young man with a tone of decision.\n\nMr. Conrad had observed a solemn silence, like a man who suddenly beholds\nan unsuspected phenomenon exhibited before him. Seraphin\u2019s words produced,\nas it were, a burst of vivid light upon his mind, dispelling the\nmultitudinous schemes and speculations that nestled in every nook and\ndepth. The effect of this sudden illumination became perceptible at once,\nfor Mr. Gerlach lost the points of view which had invariably brought\nbefore his vision the million of the Greifmanns, and he began to feel a\ngrowing esteem for the stand taken by his son.\n\n\u201cYour language sounds fabulous,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cHere, father, is my diary. In it you will find a detailed account of what\nI have briefly stated.\u201d\n\nGerlach took the book and shoved it into the breast\u2010pocket of his coat. In\nan instant, however, his imagination conjured up to him a picture of the\nCount of Hatzfurth\u2019s splendid estate, and he went on coldly and\ndeliberately: \u201cHear me, Seraphin! Your marriage with Louise is a favorite\nproject upon which I have based not a few expectations. The observations\nyou have made shall not induce me to renounce this project\nunconditionally, for you may have been mistaken. I shall take notes myself\nand test this matter. If your view is confirmed, our project will have\nbeen an air castle. You shall be left entirely unmolested in your\nconvictions.\u201d\n\nSeraphin embraced his father.\n\n\u201cLet us have no scene; hear me out. Should it turn out, on the other hand,\nthat your judgment is erroneous, should Louise not belong to yon crazy\nprogressionist mob who aim to dethrone God and subvert the order of\nsociety, should her hatred against religion be merely a silly conforming\nto the fashionable impiety of the age, which good influences may\ncorrect\u2014then I shall insist upon your marrying her. Meanwhile I want you\nto maintain a strict neutrality\u2014not a step backward nor a step in advance.\nNow to tea, and let your countenance betray nothing of what has passed.\u201d\nHe drew his son to his bosom and imprinted a kiss on his forehead.\n\nThe millionaires were seated around the tea\u2010table. Mr. Conrad playfully\ncommended Louise\u2019s talent for cooking. Apparently without design he turned\nthe conversation upon the elections, and, to Seraphin\u2019s utter\nastonishment, eulogized the beneficent power of liberal doctrines.\n\n\u201cOur age,\u201d said he, \u201ccan no longer bear the hampering notions of the past.\nIn the material world, steam and machinery have brought about changes\nwhich call for corresponding changes in the world of intellect. Great\nrevolutions have already commenced. In France, Renan has written a _Life\nof Christ_, and in our own country Protestant convocations are proclaiming\nan historical Christ who was not God, but only an extraordinary man. You\nhardly need to be assured that I too take a deep interest in the\nintellectual struggles of my countrymen, but an excess of business does\nnot permit me to watch them closely. I am obliged to content myself with\nsuch reports as the newspapers furnish. I should like to read Renan\u2019s\nwork, which seems to have created a great sensation. They say it suits our\ntimes admirably.\u201d\n\nThe brother and sister were not a little astonished at the old gentleman\u2019s\nunusual communicativeness.\n\n\u201cIt is a splendid book,\u201d exclaimed Louise\u2014\u201ccharming as to style, and\nremarkably liberal and considerate towards the worshippers of Christ.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo I have everywhere been told,\u201d said Mr. Conrad.\n\n\u201cHave you read the book, Louise?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot less than four times, three times in French and once in German.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think a farmer whose moments are precious as gold could forgive\nhimself the reading of Renan\u2019s book in view of the multitude of his urgent\noccupations?\u201d asked he, smiling.\n\n\u201cThe reading of a book that originates a new intellectual era is also a\nserious occupation,\u201d maintained the beautiful lady.\n\n\u201cVery true; yet I apprehend Renan\u2019s attempt to disprove to me the divinity\nof Christ would remain unsuccessful, and it would only cause me the loss\nof some hours of valuable time.\u201d\n\n\u201cRead it, Mr. Gerlach, do read it. Renan\u2019s arguments are unanswerable.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo you have been convinced, Louise?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, indeed, quite.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, now, Renan is a living author, he is the lion of the day, and\nnothing could be more natural than that the fair sex should grow\nenthusiastic over him. But, of course, at your next confession you will\nsorrowfully declare and retract your belief in Renan.\u201d\n\nThe young lady cast a quick glance at Seraphin, and the brim of her teacup\nconcealed a proud, triumphant smile.\n\n\u201cOur city is about taking a bold step,\u201d said Carl, breaking the silence.\n\u201cWe are to have common schools, in order to take education from the\ncontrol of the clergy.\u201d And he went on to relate what Schwefel had\nreported.\n\n\u201cWhen is the barbecue to come off?\u201d inquired Mr. Conrad.\n\n\u201cOn the 10th of August.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps I shall have time to attend this demonstration,\u201d said Gerlach.\n\u201cHearts reveal themselves at such festivities. One gets a clear insight\ninto the mind of the multitude. You, Louise, have put progress under\nobligations by so cheerfully advancing to meet it.\u201d\n\nAfter these words the landholder rose and went to his room. The next\nmorning he proceeded on his journey, taking with him Seraphin\u2019s diary. The\nauthor himself he left at the Palais Greifmann in anxious uncertainty\nabout future events.\n\n\n\nChapter VIII. Faith And Science Of Progress.\n\n\nSeraphin usually took an early ride with Carl. The banker was overjoyed at\nthe wager, about the winning of which he now felt absolute certainty. He\nexpressed himself confident that before long he would have the pleasure of\ngoing over the road on the back of the best racer in the country. \u201cThe\nnoble animals,\u201d said he, \u201cshall not be brought by the railway; it might\ninjure them. I shall send my groom for them to Chateau Hallberg. He can\nride the distance in two days.\u201d\n\nSeraphin could not help smiling at his friend\u2019s solicitude for the horses.\n\n\u201cDo not sell the bear\u2019s skin before killing the bear,\u201d answered he. \u201cI may\nnot lose the horses, but may, on the contrary, acquire a pleasant claim to\ntwenty thousand florins.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is beyond all possibility,\u201d returned the banker. \u201cHans Shund is now\nchief\u2010magistrate, has been nominated to the legislature, and in a few days\nwill be elected. Mr. Hans will appear as a shining light to\u2010morrow, when\nhe is to state his political creed in a speech to his constituents. Of\ncourse, you and I shall go to hear him. Next will follow his election,\nthen my groom will hasten to Chateau Hallberg to fetch the horses. Are you\nsorry you made the bet?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at all! I should regret very much to lose my span of bays. Still, the\nbet will be of incalculable benefit to me. I will have learned concerning\nmen and manners what otherwise I could never have dreamed of. In any\nevent, the experience gained will be of vast service to me during life.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am exceedingly glad to know it, my dear fellow,\u201d assured Greifmann.\n\u201cYour acquaintance with the present has been very superficial. You have\nlearned a great deal in a few days, and it is gratifying to hear you\nacknowledge the fact.\u201d\n\nThe banker had not, however, caught Gerlach\u2019s meaning.\n\nBut for the wager, Seraphin would not have become acquainted with Louise\u2019s\nintellectual standpoint. He would probably have married her for the sake\nof her beauty, would have discovered his mistake when it could not be\ncorrected, and would have found himself condemned to spend his life with a\nwoman whose principles and character could only annoy and give him pain.\nAs it was, he was tormented by the fear that his father might not coincide\nin his opinion of the young lady. What if the old gentleman considered her\nhostility to religion as a mere fashionable mania unsupported by inner\nconviction, a girlish whim changeable like the wind, which with little\neffort might be made to veer round to the point of the most unimpeachable\northodoxy? He had not uttered a word condemning Louise\u2019s infatuation about\nRenan. On taking leave he had parted with her in a friendly, almost\nhearty, manner, proof sufficient that the young lady\u2019s doubtful utterances\nat tea had not deceived him.\n\nUpon reaching home, Gerlach sat in his room with his eyes thoughtfully\nfixed upon a luminous square cast by the sun upon the floor. Quite\nnaturally his thoughts ran upon the marriage, and to the prospect of\nhaving to maintain his liberty by a hard contest with his inflexible\nparent. He was unshaken in his resolution not to accede to the projected\nalliance, and, when a will morally severe conceives resolutions of this\nsort, they usually stand the hardest tests. So absorbing were his\nreflections that he did not hear John announcing a visitor. He nodded\nmechanically in reply to the words that seemed to come out of the\ndistance, and the servant disappeared.\n\nSoon after a country girl appeared in the entrance of the room. In both\nhands she was carrying a small basket made of peeled willows, quite new. A\nsnow\u2010white napkin was spread over the basket. The girl\u2019s dress was neat,\nher figure was slender and graceful. Her hair, which was wound about the\nhead in heavy plaits, was golden and encircled her forehead as with a\n_nimbus_. Her features were delicate and beautiful, and she looked upon\nthe young gentleman with a pair of deep\u2010blue eyes. Thus stood she for an\ninstant in the door of the apartment. There was a smile about her mouth\nand a faint flush upon her cheeks.\n\n\u201cGood\u2010morning, Mr. Seraphin!\u201d said a sweet voice.\n\nThe youth started at this salutation and looked at the stranger with\nsurprise. She was just then standing on the sunlit square, her hair\ngleamed like purest gold, and a flood of light streamed upon her youthful\nform. He did not return the greeting. He looked at her as if frightened,\nrose slowly, and bowed in silence.\n\n\u201cMy father sends some early grapes which he begs you to have the goodness\nto accept.\u201d\n\nShe drew nearer, and he received the basket from her hands.\n\n\u201cI am very thankful!\u201d said he. And, raising the napkin, the delicious\nfruit smiled in his face. \u201cThese are a rarity at this season. To whom am I\nindebted for this friendly attention?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe obligation is all on our side, Mr. Seraphin,\u201d she replied trustfully\nto the generous benefactor of her family. \u201cFather is sorry that he cannot\noffer you something better.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! you are Holt\u2019s daughter?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Mr. Seraphin.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour name is Johanna, is it not?\u201d\n\n\u201cMechtild, Mr. Seraphin.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you be so good as to sit down?\u201d And he pointed her to a sofa.\n\nMechtild, however, drew a chair and seated herself.\n\nHe had noted her deportment, and could not but marvel at the graceful\naction, the confiding simplicity, and well\u2010bred self\u2010possession of the\nextraordinary country girl. As she sat opposite to him, she looked so\npure, so trusting and sincere, that his astonishment went on increasing.\nHe acknowledged to himself never to have beheld eyes whose expression came\nso directly from the heart\u2014a heart whose interior must be equally as sunny\nand pure.\n\n\u201cHow are your good parents?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are very well, Mr. Seraphin. Father has gone to work with renewed\nconfidence. The sad\u2014ah! the terrible period is past. You cannot imagine,\nMr. Seraphin, how many tears you have dried, how much misery you have\nrelieved!\u201d\n\nThe recollection of the ruin that had been hanging over her home affected\nher painfully; her eyes glistened, and tears began to roll down her\ncheeks. But she instantly repressed the emotion, and exhibited a beautiful\nsmile on her face. Seraphin\u2019s quick eye had observed both the momentary\nfeeling, and that she had resolutely checked it in order not to annoy him\nby touching sorrowful chords. This trait of delicacy also excited the\nadmiration of the gentleman.\n\n\u201cYour father is not in want of employment?\u201d he inquired with interest.\n\n\u201cNo, sir! Father is much sought on account of his knowledge of farming.\nPersons who have ground, but no team of their own, employ him to put in\ncrops for them.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo doubt the good man has to toil hard?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is true, sir; but father seems to like working, and we children\nstrive to help him as much as we can.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you like working?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do, indeed, Mr. Seraphin. Life would be worthless if one did not labor.\nMan\u2019s life on earth is so ordered as to show him that he must labor. Doing\nnothing is abominable, and idleness is the parent of many vices.\u201d\n\nAnother cause of astonishment for the millionaire. She did not converse\nlike an uneducated girl from the country. Her accurate, almost choice use\nof words indicated some culture, and her concise observations revealed\nboth mind and reflection. He felt a strong desire to fathom the mystery\u2014to\ncast a glance into Mechtild\u2019s past history.\n\n\u201cHave you always lived at home, or have you ever been away at school?\u201d\n\nShe must have detected something ludicrous in the question, for suddenly a\ndegree of archness might be observed in her amiable smile.\n\n\u201cYou mean, whether I have received a city education? No, sir! Father used\nto speak highly of the clearness of my mind, and thought I might even be\nmade a teacher. But he had not the means to give me the necessary amount\nof schooling. Until I was fourteen years old, I went to school to the nuns\nhere in town. I used to come in of mornings and go back in the evening. I\nstudied hard, and father and mother always had the satisfaction of seeing\nme rewarded with a prize at the examinations. I am very fond of books, and\nmake good use of the convent library. On Sundays, after vespers, I wait\ntill the door of the book\u2010room is opened. I still spend my leisure time in\nreading, and on Sundays and holidays I know no greater pleasure than to\nread nice instructive books. At my work I think over what I have read, and\nI continue practising composition according to the directions of the good\nladies of the convent.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd were you always head at school?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she admitted, with a blush.\n\n\u201cYou have profited immensely by your opportunities,\u201d he said approvingly.\n\u201cAnd the desire for learning has not yet left you?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis inordinate craving still continues to torment me,\u201d she acknowledged\nfrankly.\n\n\u201cInordinate\u2014why inordinate?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause, my station and calling do not require a high degree of culture.\nBut it is so nice to know, and it is so nice to have refined intercourse\nwith each others. For seven years I admired the elegant manners of the\nconvent ladies, and I learned many a lesson from them.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow old are you now?\u201d\n\n\u201cSeventeen, Mr. Seraphin.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a pity you did not enter some higher educational institution!\u201d said\nhe.\n\nA pause followed. He looked with reverence upon the artless girl whom God\nhad so richly endowed, both in body and mind. Mechtild rose.\n\n\u201cPlease accept, also, my most heartfelt thanks for your generous aid,\u201d she\nsaid, with emotion. \u201cAll my life long I shall remember you before God, Mr.\nSeraphin. The Almighty will surely repay you what alas! we cannot.\u201d\n\nShe made a courtesy, and he accompanied her through all the apartments as\nfar as the front door. Here the girl, turning, bowed to him once more and\nwent away.\n\nReturning to his room, Seraphin stood and contemplated the grapes.\nStrongly did the delicious fruit tempt him, but he touched not one. He\nthen pulled out a drawer, and hid the gifts as though it were a costly\ntreasure. For the rest of the day, Mechtild\u2019s bright form hovered near\nhim, and the sweet charm of her eyes, so full of soul, continually worked\non his imagination. When he again went into Louise\u2019s company, the grace\nand innocence of the country girl gained ground in his esteem. Compared\nwith Mechtild\u2019s charming naturalness, Louise\u2019s manner appeared affected,\nspoiled; through evil influences. The difference in the expression of\ntheir eyes struck him especially. In Louise\u2019s eyes there burned a fierce\nglow at times, which roused passion and stirred the senses. Mechtild\u2019s\nneither glowed nor flashed; but from their limpid depths beamed goodness\nso genuine and serenity so unclouded, that Seraphin could compare them to\nnothing but two heralds of peace and innocence. Louise\u2019s eyes, thought he,\nflash like two meteors of the night; Mechtild\u2019s beam like two mild suns in\na cloudless sky of spring. As often as he entered the room where the\ngrapes lay concealed, he would unlock the drawer, examine the fragrant\nfruit, and handle the basket which had been carried by her hands. He could\nnot himself help smiling at this childish action, and yet both great\ndelicacy and deep earnestness are manifested in honoring objects that have\nbeen touched by pure hands, and in revering places hallowed by the\npresence of the good.\n\nNext morning the banker asked his guest to accompany him to the church of\nS. Peter, where Hans Shund was to address a large gathering.\n\n\u201cIn a church?\u201d Gerlach exclaimed, with amazement.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t get frightened, my good fellow. The church is no longer in the\nservice of religion. It has been _secularized_ by the state, and is\ncustomarily used as a hall for dancing. There will be quite a crowd, for\nseveral able speakers are to discuss the question of common schools. The\nchurch has been chosen for the meeting on account of the crowd.\u201d\n\nThe millionaires drove to the desecrated church. A tumultuous mass swarmed\nabout the portal. \u201cLet us permit them to push us; we shall get in most\neasily by letting them do so,\u201d said the banker merrily. Two officious\nprogressionists, recognizing the banker, opened a passage for them through\nthe throng. They reached the interior of the church, which was now an\nempty space, stripped of every ornament proper to a house of God. In the\nsanctuary could yet be seen, as if in mournful abandonment, a large\nquadrangular slab, that had been the altar, and attached to one of the\nside walls was an exquisite Gothic pulpit, which on occasions like the\npresent was used for a rostrum. Everywhere else reigned silence and\ndesolation.\n\nThe nave was filled by a motley mass. The chieftains of progress, some\nelegantly dressed, others exhibiting frivolous miens and huge beards,\ncrowded upon the elevation of the chancel. All the candidates for the\nlegislature were present, not for the purpose of proving their\nqualifications for the office\u2014progress never troubled itself about\nthose\u2014but to air their views on the subject of education. There were\nspeakers on hand of acknowledged ability in the discussion of the\ndoctrines of progress, who were to lay the result of their investigations\nbefore the people.\n\nSeraphin also noted some anxious faces in the crowd. They were citizens,\nwhose sons were alarmed at the thought of yielding up the training of\ntheir children into the hands of infidelity. And near the pulpit stood two\npriests, irreverently crowded against the wall, targets for the scornful\npleasantries of the wits of the mob. Leader Schwefel was voted into the\nchair by acclamation. He thanked the assembly in a short speech for the\nhonor conferred, and then announced that Mr. Till, member of the former\nassembly, would address the meeting. Amid murmurs of expectation a short,\nfat gentleman climbed into the pulpit. First a red face with a copper\u2010\ntipped nose bobbed above the ledge of the pulpit, next came a pair of\nbroad shoulders, upon which a huge head rested without the intermediary of\na neck, two puffy hands were laid upon the desk, and the commencement of a\nwell\u2010rounded paunch could just be detected by the eye. Mr. Till, taking\ntwo handfuls of his shaggy beard, drew them slowly through his fingers,\nlooked composedly upon the audience, and breathed hotly through mouth and\nnostrils.\n\n\u201cGentlemen,\u201d he began, with a voice that struggled out from a mass of\nflesh and fat, \u201cI am not given to many words, you know. What need is there\nof many words and long speeches? We know what we want, and what we want we\nwill have in spite of the machinations of Jesuits and the whinings of an\nultramontane horde. You all know how I acquitted myself at the last\nlegislature, and if you will again favor me with your suffrages, I will\nendeavor once more to give satisfaction. You know my record, and I shall\nremain staunch to the last.\u201d\n\nCries of \u201cGood!\u201d from various directions.\n\n\u201cGentlemen! if you know my record, you must also be aware that I am\npassionately fond of the chase. I even follow this amusement in the\nlegislative hall. Our country abounds in a sort of black game, and for me\nit is rare sport to pursue this, species of game in the assembly.\u201d\n\nA wild tumult of applause burst forth. Jeers and coarse witticisms were\nbandied about on every side of the two clergymen, who looked meekly upon\nthese orgies of progress.\n\n\u201cGentlemen!\u201d Till continued, \u201cthe _blacks_ are a dangerous kind of wild\nbeast. They have heretofore been ranging in a preserve, feeding on the fat\nof the land. That is an abuse that challenges the wrath of heaven. It must\nbe done away with. The beasts of prey that in the dark ages dwelt in\ncastles have long since been exterminated, and their rocky lairs have been\nreduced to ruins. Well, now, let us keep up the chase in both houses of\nthe legislature until the last of these _black_ beasts is destroyed.\nShould you entrust to me again your interests, I shall return to the seat\nof government to aid with renewed energy in ridding the land of these\ncreatures that are enemies both of education and liberty.\u201d\n\nAmid prolonged applause the fat man descended. The chieftains shook him\nwarmly by the hand, assuring him that the cause absolutely demanded his\nbeing reelected.\n\nGerlach was aghast at Till\u2019s speech. He hardly knew which deserved most\nscorn, the vulgarity of the speaker or the abjectness of those who had\napplauded him. Their wild enthusiasm was still surging through the\nbuilding, when Hans Shund mounted the pulpit. The chairman rang for order;\nthe tumult ceased. In mute suspense the multitude awaited the great speech\nof the notorious usurer, thief, and debauchee. And indeed, progress might\nwell entertain great expectations, for Hans Shund had read a pile of\nprogressionist pamphlets, had extracted the strong passages, and out of\nthem had concocted a right racy speech. His speech might with propriety\nhave been designated the Gospel of Progress, for Hans Shund had made\ncapital of whatever freethinkers had lucubrated in behalf of so\u2010called\nenlightenment, and in opposition to Christianity. The very appearance of\nthe speaker gave great promise. His were not coarse features and goggle\neyes like Till\u2019s; his piercing feline eyes looked intellectual. His face\nwas rather pale, the result, no doubt, of unusual application, and he had\nskilfully dyed his sandy hair. His position as mayor of the city seemed\nalso to entitle him to special attention, and these several claims were\nenhanced by a white necktie, white vest, and black cloth swallow\u2010tail\ncoat.\n\n\u201cGentlemen,\u201d began the mayor with solemnity, \u201cmy honorable predecessor in\nthis place has told you with admirable sagacity that the kernel of every\npolitical question is of a religious character. Indeed, religion is linked\nwith every important question of the day, it is the _ratio ultima_ of the\nintellectual movement of our times. Men of thought and of learning are all\nagreed as to the condition to which our social life should be and must be\nbrought. The friends of the people are actively and earnestly at work\ntrying to further a healthy development of our social and political\nstatus. Nor have their efforts been utterly fruitless. Progress has made\ngreat conquests; yet, gentlemen, these conquests are far from being\ncomplete. What is it that is most hostile to liberalism in morals, to\nenlightenment, and to humanity? It is the antiquated faith of departed\ndays. Have we not heard the language of the Holy Father in the Syllabus?\nBut the Holy Father at Rome, gentlemen, is no father of ours\u2014happily he is\nthe father only of stupid and credulous men.\u201d\n\n\u201cBravo! Well said!\u201d resounded from the audience. Flaschen nudged\nSpitzkopf, who sat next to him. \u201cShund is no mean speaker. Even that\nfellow Voelk, of Bavaria, cannot compete with Shund.\u201d\n\n\u201cGentlemen, our good sense teaches us to smile with pity at the infallible\ndeclarations of yon Holy Father. We are firmly convinced that papal\ndecrees can no more stop the onward march of civilization than they can\narrest the heavenly bodies in their journeys about the sun. \u2019Tis true, an\n\u0153cumenical council is lowering like a black storm\u2010cloud. But let the\ncouncil meet; let it declare the Syllabus an article of faith; it will\nnever succeed in destroying the treasures of independent thought which\ncreative intellects have been hoarding up for centuries among every\npeople. Since men of culture have ceased to yield unquestioning\nsubmission, like dumb sheep, to the church, they have begun to discover\nthat nowhere are so many falsehoods uttered as in pulpits.\u201d\n\nTremendous applause, clapping, and swinging of hats, followed this\neloquent period. A distinguished gentleman, laying his hand upon Till\u2019s\nshoulder, asked: \u201cWhat calibre of ammunition do you use in hunting _black_\ngame?\u201d\n\n\u201cConical balls of two centimetres,\u201d replied Till, with no great wit.\n\n\u201cYon fellow in the pulpit fires shells of a hundredweight, I should say.\nAnd if in the legislative assembly his shells all explode, not a man of\nthem will be left alive.\u201d\n\nTill thought this witticism so good that he set up a loud roar of\nlaughter, that could be heard above the general uproar.\n\nStimulated by these marks of appreciation, Shund waxed still more\neloquent. \u201cGentlemen,\u201d cried he, \u201cno body of men is more savagely opposed\nto science and culture than a conventicle of so\u2010called servants of God.\nWere you to repeat the multiplication table several times over, there\nwould be as much prayer and sense in it as in what is designated the\nApostles\u2019 Creed.\u201d\n\nMore cheering and boundless enthusiasm. \u201cGentlemen!\u201d exclaimed the\nspeaker, with thundering emphasis and a hideous expression of hatred on\nhis face, \u201cthe significance of religious dogmas is simply a sort of\nhom\u0153opathic concoction to which every succeeding age contributes some\ndrops of fanaticism. Subjected to the microscope of science, the whole\nbasis of the Christian church evaporates into thin mist. We must shield\nour children against religious fables. Away with dogmas and saws from the\nBible; away with the Trinity; the divinity and humanity of Jesus, and\nother such stuff! Away with apothegms such as this: _Christ is my life, my\ndeath, and my gain_. Such things are opposed to nature. Children\u2019s minds\nare thereby warped to untruthfulness and hypocrisy. In this manner the\nchild is deprived of the power of thinking; loses all interest in\nintellectual pursuits, and ceases to feel the need of further culture. The\ntimes are favorable for a reformation. Our imperial and royal rulers have\nat length realized that minds must be set free. For this end it was as\nunavoidable for them to break with the church and priesthood as it is\nnecessary for us. If we cherish our fatherland and the people, we must\ntake the initiative. We are not striving to effect a revolution; we want\nintellectual development, profounder knowledge, and healthier morality.\n\n\n    \u201cShall peace be seen beneath our skies,\n    The spirit\u2019s freedom first must rise,\u201d\n\n\nconcluded the orator poetically, and he came down amidst a very hurricane\nof applause.\n\nThere followed a lull. In the audience, heads protruded and necks were\nstretched that their possessors might obtain a glimpse of the great Shund.\nIn the chancel, the chiefs and leaders crowded around him, smiling,\nbowing, and shaking his hand in admiration.\n\n\u201cYou have won the laurels,\u201d smirked a fellow from amidst a wilderness of\nbeard.\n\n\u201cYour election to the Assembly is a certainty,\u201d declared another.\n\n\u201cYou carry deadly weapons against Christ,\u201d said a professor.\n\nMr. Hans smiled, and nodded so often that he was seized with a pain in the\nmuscles of the face and neck. At length, the chairman\u2019s bell came to the\nrescue.\n\n\u201cThe Rev. Mr. Morgenroth will now address the meeting.\u201d\n\nThe clergyman mounted the rostrum, but scarcely had he appeared there,\nwhen the crowd became possessed by a legion of hissing demons.\n\n\u201cGentlemen,\u201d began the fearless priest, \u201cthe duty of my calling as well as\npersonal conviction demands that I should enter a solemn protest against\nthe sundering of school and church.\u201d\n\nFurther the priest was not allowed to proceed. Loud howling, hissing, and\nwhistling drowned his voice. The president called for order.\n\n\u201cIn the name of good\u2010breeding, I beg this most honorable assembly to hear\nthe speaker out in patience,\u201d cried Mr. Schwefel.\n\nThe mob relaxed into unwilling silence like a growling beast.\n\n\u201cNot all the citizens of this town are infected with infidelity,\u201d the\nreverend gentleman went on to say. \u201cMany honorable gentlemen believe in\nJesus Christ, the Son of God, and in his church. These citizens wish their\nchildren to receive a religious education; it would, therefore, be\nunmitigated terrorism, tyrannical constraint of conscience, to force\nChristian parents to bring up their children in the spirit of unbelief.\u201d\n\nThis palpable truth progress could not bear to listen to. A mad yell was\nset up. Clenched fists were shaken at the clergyman, and fierce threats\nthundered from all sides of the church. \u201cDown with the priest!\u201d \u201cDown with\nthe accursed black\u2010coat!\u201d \u201cDown with the dog of a Jesuit!\u201d and similar\nexclamations, resounded from all sides. The chairman rang his bell in\nvain. The mob grew still more furious and noisy. The clergyman was\ncompelled to come down.\n\n\u201cSuch is the liberty, the education, the tolerance, the humanity of\nprogress,\u201d said he sadly to his colleague.\n\nTo Be Continued.\n\n\n\n\nChristian Art Of The Catacombs.\n\n\nBy An Anglican.\n\n\n        \u201cI do love those ancient ruins:\n    We never tread upon them but we set\n    Our foot upon some reverend history.\u201d\u2014_Webster_ (1620).\n\n    \u201cQuamlibet ancipites texant hinc inde recessus,\n    Arcta sub umbrosis atria porticibus;\n    Attamen excisi subter cava viscera montis\n    Crebra terebrato fornice lux penetrat;\n    Sic datur absentis per subterranea solis\n    Cernere fulgorem luminibusque frui.\u201d\n\n    \u2014_Prudentius, Peristephanon_, Hymn iv.\n\n\nThe Catacombs of Rome were the birthplace of Christian art as well as the\nsepulchre of the children of the early church. It is only within a few\nyears that the modern traveller has been induced, through the careful\nstudy which the Catacombs have received, to visit these subterranean homes\nof the persecuted Christian, so filled with the symbolism of his faith.\nFrom 1567, the year in which Father Bosio began his investigations in the\nCatacombs, till the present century, some minds of kindred interest in\nthese burial\u2010places of the martyrs have been fascinated with their\nChristian arch\u00e6ology, and from time to time have appeared works upon\nsubjects connected with the Catacombs. F. Bosio spent thirty years in\nmaking explorations, and left for posthumous publication his _Roma __\nSotterranea_, which F. Severano issued from the press in Rome in 1632.\nSeventy years later came _Inscriptionum antiquarum explicatio_ by the\nlearned Fabretti, and eighteen years later still, F. Boldetti, who had\ndevoted the greater part of his life to the examination of the monuments,\ninscriptions, and paintings of the Catacombs, embodied the results of his\npatience and industry in the great work _Osservazioni sopra i Cimiterii\ndei Santi Martiri, etc., di Roma_. Then came Bottari\u2019s wonderful studies\non the Christian art of the Catacombs entitled _Sculture e pitture sagre,\nestratte dai Cimiteri di Roma_. Following in the paths opened by these\nzealous Italian students, M. D\u2019Agincourt, M. Raoul Rochette, Abb\u00e9 Gaume,\nand the eminent artist M. Perret, have contributed to the arch\u00e6ological\nliterature of France several important works on the Roman Catacombs.\n\nTo the pontificate of Pius IX. belongs the honor of producing the two\ngreatest antiquarian scholars of our age. The one, the Cavaliere Canina,\nhas treated with remarkable acuteness and judgment of the Appian Way from\nthe Capenian Gate to Bovill\u00e6;(150) the other, the Cavaliere de Rossi, of\nthe Catacombs,(151) and it is of the latter that we propose to speak. It\nis impossible, in the brief space that is allotted to us, to do more than\nselect one of the interesting subjects with which his works on the\nCatacombs abound, and as an Anglican student of the Catholic Church, its\ndoctrines, its discipline, and its literature, there is none which so\nenkindles our enthusiasm as the Christian art of the early ages, and the\nsymbolism with which it is clothed. We approach these pictures in the dark\ncrypts and amid the countless tombs of the first martyrs of the faith with\nno little reverence. We lay aside our shoes, for the ground consecrated to\nthe early dead is sacred, and the earnest wish of our heart is to put away\nthe prejudice of ecclesiastical education and association. With this view\nbefore us, we make the noble words of Montesquieu our own: \u201cCeux qui nous\navertissent sont les compagnons de nos travaux. Si le critique et l\u2019auteur\ncherchent la v\u00e9rit\u00e9, ils out le m\u00eame int\u00e9r\u00eat; car la v\u00e9rit\u00e9 est le bien de\ntous les hommes: ils seront des conf\u00e9d\u00e9r\u00e9s, et non pas des ennemis.\u201d(152)\n\nFrom the early ages of the church till the close of the Vth century, the\nChristians of Rome were driven by the sword of persecution to seek a\nhiding\u2010place wherein to exercise the holy mysteries of their religion, and\nto inter the remains of their dead. The vast subterranean caverns, now\nknown as Catacombs, but more anciently called _Are\u00e6_, _Crypt\u00e6_, and\n_C\u0153meteria_, afforded a shelter for the living and sepulture for the\nfaithful departed. These Catacombs doubtless had their origin in the sand\u2010\npits, or _arenari\u00e6_, _arenifodin\u00e6_, which the pagans had excavated to\nprocure materials for building purposes.(153) Suetonius(154) describes how\nPhaon exhorted Nero to enter one of these caverns made by excavations of\nsand, and Cicero alludes to the _arenari\u00e6_, outside of the Porta\nEsquilina.(155) In the admirable essay by Michele Stefano de Rossi,\nentitled _Analisi Geologica ed Architettonica_, and annexed to the work of\nhis brother, it is stated that the Catacombs, with perhaps the exception\nof two that are Jewish, are the work of the early Christians.(156)\n\nBy singular perseverance and careful discrimination in the study of\ndocuments running far back into the centuries, the Cavaliere de Rossi\ntransferred the situation of the Catacombs of S. Callistus from the church\nof S. Sebastian, where they had erroneously been located, to a place a\nhalf mile nearer Rome, between the Via Appia and the Via Ardeatina; on the\nleft of the road was the cemetery of S. Pr\u00e6textatus, and on the right that\nof S. Callistus. The discovery of these hallowed crypts and sarcophagi of\nthe early saints and popes, is of inestimable value in elucidating\nintricate questions of doctrine and practice, of history and tradition,\nwhich have vexed the theological world for centuries. We can scarcely\nresist the temptation to follow M. de Rossi through these dim cathedrals\nof our Christian ancestors, and reproduce a part, at least, of his\nmasterly elucidation of their general topography, together with the\nhistory of heroic suffering and Christlike courage which the sites and\nnames of those dark ages of danger suggest. But we must forbear, and\nproceed to the pictures and emblems in order to draw from them some\nlessons of that early fortitude, which the child of the church of the\nfirst centuries learned, as he knelt by the tomb of his companion in the\nfaith, and looked up to the ceilings of crypts and semicircular\ncompartments to catch by the glimmering light of smoking lamps the\nlineaments of some design of the religion which he professed.\n\nThe paintings of the Catacombs represent the cardinal truths of\nChristianity, and their types are taken from both the Old and New\nTestament Scriptures, as also, in rare instances, from heathen mythology.\nThe picture, perhaps most common to the eye of the worshipper at those\nshrines of the martyred dead, was the representation of the Saviour in\nthat character which exhibits the tenderest attributes of his sacred\nhumanity, and appeals to the sympathetic element in man. Christ as the\nGood Shepherd conveys in its fulness of meaning what perhaps no other type\nof our Lord does. It is variously represented, and under different forms\nmay refer to the foreshadowing of the Messiah\u2019s coming in the Old\nTestament and its fulfilment in the New. King David had been a shepherd,\nand understood the needs and labors of the shepherd life, and it may be\nthat in the days of his pastoral innocence, when the lion and the bear\nwere the destroyers of his flock, he wrote that psalm whose tone is one of\nquiet and trustfulness: \u201cThe Lord is my shepherd; therefore can I lack\nnothing. He shall feed me in a green pasture, and lead me forth beside the\nwaters of comfort. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of\ndeath, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff\ncomfort me.\u201d(157) Thus, in the days of persecution, the Christian of the\nCatacombs might read the sacred legend of our Lord under the figure of a\nshepherd\u2014bearing the sheep upon his shoulders. The Good Shepherd was\npictured again as bearing a goat, and in the Catacombs of S. Callistus he\nstands between a goat and a sheep; the former occupies the more honorable\nplace, the right hand, and the latter the left. Often the Good Shepherd\nleans on his pastoral crook, and bears in his hand a pipe. All these\ntypical allusions refer to his character as exhibited in the Gospels. They\nteach the merciful watchfulness of our Lord, and the readiness with which\nhe takes back into his fold, the church, yea, to the more honorable place\nby his side, the wayward and the erring. \u201cI am the good shepherd, and know\nmy sheep, and am known of mine. And other sheep I have which are not of\nthis fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there\nshall be one fold and one shepherd.\u201d(158) Protestant critics have not been\nwanting in an attempt to trace the symbolism of this figure of the Good\nShepherd to a heathen origin, and adduce as an argument in behalf of their\ntheory that its prototype is in the Tombs of the Nasones. Even in\nquestions of Christian arch\u00e6ology is exhibited the same polemical spirit\nwhich animated the accomplished English scholar, Conyers Middleton, who\nlent all the resources of his vast learning in classical history to prove\nthe resemblance and identity of pagan and Catholic rites. But a more\nlearned and reverent critic in the field of antiquities is the\nincomparable Marangoni, whose splendid work, _Cose Gentilesche trasportate\nad Uso delle Chiese_, sets at rest for ever many problems which Mr.\nPoynder, a shallow pretender to scholarship, revived in the _Alliance of\nPopery and Heathenism_.\n\nWhile the ancient heathen lived in the atmosphere of a religion which\nincited to cheerfulness and pleasure in the present life, it portrayed but\nfaintly any idea of immortality. The world around him was peopled with\nunseen spirits. They inhabited woods and streams, and he was ever watchful\nto interpret the slightest signs or omens which might yield him some token\nto enlighten the spiritual darkness of his soul. The mythological system\nof the pagan was a vital reality. It accompanied him not only to the\nsolemn festival in the temple, but on the march, in the camp, and in the\nmarket\u2010place. It was with him in hours of joy and of sorrow; but it\npenetrated not beyond the boundaries of this world. It offered no _cross_\nhere, and knew nothing of the _crown_ hereafter. There were no bright\npictures of the rewards of eternity. This life was the narrow limit of his\nhope and his labor. Hades or the grave was dreaded because of its\nsunlessness. Iphigenia entreats her father for life in an impassioned\nappeal, which sums up the heathen\u2019s belief:\n\n\n                        \u201cTo view the light of life,\n    To mortals most sweet; in death there is\n    Nor light nor joys; and crazed is he who seeks\n    To die; for life, though full of ills, has more\n    Of good than death.\u201d\n\n\nOccasionally the ancient philosophers and poets give intimation of a\nbelief in immortality, but not in resurrection, as Cicero in that eloquent\nlonging for the day when he shall meet his illustrious friend Cato.(159)\nBut, as we have said, of the great doctrine of the resurrection, which\nsolved the dark enigmas of humanity, they were ignorant. The hold which\nclassical mythology had upon the human mind was relaxed before this august\nmystery of the Catholic faith. Pagan temples were deserted, and the\nsacrificial fires on their altars extinguished.\n\n\n    \u201cThe intelligible forms of ancient poets,\n    The fair humanities of old religion,\n    The power, the beauty, and the majesty,\n    That had her haunts in dale, or piny mountain,\n    Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring,\n    Or chasms and wat\u2019ry depths; all these have vanished.\n    They live no longer in the faith of reason!\u201d(160)\n\n\nIt is not remarkable, therefore, that delineations of the doctrine of the\nresurrection should not have been unusual in the church of the Catacombs.\nTwo such representations, one from the Old Testament, and the other from\nthe New, will exhibit the forms under which it was presented. Jonas as a\ntype of the resurrection of our Lord has its authority from S.\nMatthew.(161) \u201cFor as Jonas was three days and three nights in the whale\u2019s\nbelly; so shall the Son of man be three days and three nights in the heart\nof the earth.\u201d Four scenes from the history of Jonas are found in the\nchapels and on the tombs of the Catacombs, sometimes represented singly,\nsometimes all compressed under one type. The first is the prophet being\nthrown into the deep, the second as swallowed by the great fish which \u201cthe\nLord had prepared,\u201d the third as \u201cvomited out upon dry land,\u201d the fourth\nas lying under the shadow of a gourd. As we have seen, according to the\nGospel of S. Matthew, the swallowing of Jonas by the whale, and being cast\nforth in safety after three days, was typical of the burial and the\nresurrection of our Lord himself; and may not the pictures of the fourth\nseries denote not only the sufferings of the individual Christian, and the\ncare which his risen Master bestows upon him, but also the vicissitudes of\nthe Church Catholic in every age of the world? \u201cSometimes she gains,\nsometimes she loses; and more often she is at once gaining and losing in\ndifferent parts of her history.... Scarcely are we singing Te Deums, when\nwe have to turn to our Misereres; scarcely are we in peace, when we are in\npersecution; scarcely have we gained a triumph, when we are visited by a\nscandal. Nay, we make progress by means of reverses; our griefs are our\nconsolations; we lose Stephen to gain Paul, and Matthias replaced the\ntraitor Judas.\u201d(162) When the eye of the early Christian rested upon this\nfourth representation from the prophet\u2019s life, it caught another and a\nmore subtle signification, which is read perhaps oftener in the night of\naffliction and persecution than in the day of joy and prosperity. Our\ncentury, Catholic and Protestant alike, needs to study its outlines as\nmuch as the first century and the worshippers in the Catacombs. \u201cShould\nnot I spare Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than sixscore\nthousand persons that cannot discern between their right hand and their\nleft?\u201d(163) Here is a beautiful symbolism of the tender mercy of our God\nfor all who are in error and in sin. It opposes the spiritual Pharisaism\nof our day, and exacts meekness and charity from all men. It is the\ndestroyer of malevolence and anger and strife.(164)\n\nAnother picture, taken from the New Testament, and of frequent\nrepresentation, is the \u201cman sick of the palsy.\u201d It is generally regarded\nby Protestant writers as belonging to that series of symbolical\nillustrations which embody the doctrine of the resurrection; and, to give\ngreater force to their interpretation of the painting, they place much\nstress upon the words of the sacred text: \u201cArise, take up thy bed, and go\nunto thine house.\u201d So far as we have examined copies of this picture, we\nare inclined to believe that it is connected with these which refer to the\nresurrection, except in one remarkable instance, in which it clearly\nsymbolizes the sacrament of penance as it is taught in the Roman\ncommunion. In the Catacombs of S. Hermes is a representation of a\nChristian kneeling before another, which seems from its close proximity to\nthe series of pictures of the Paralytic to point more directly to that\nother passage of the Gospel narrative: \u201cSon, be of good cheer; thy sins be\nforgiven thee.\u201d If our Lord delegated \u201csuch power unto men\u201d\u2014and the only\nlogical and intelligent interpretation of the words of S. John(165)\nconveys this doctrine or it conveys nothing\u2014here is a clear illustration\nof the power of the priesthood, which admits of no evasive contradiction,\nof no complicated and artificial hypothesis for the sake of escaping the\nrecognition of the belief of the early Christians in the doctrine of\nsacerdotal absolution.\n\nAs resurrection is the portal of the church triumphant, so is baptism to\nthe church militant. The former is but the complement and fulfilment of\nthe latter. \u201cKnow ye not, that so many of us as were baptized into Jesus\nChrist were baptized into his death? Therefore we are buried with him by\nbaptism into death.\u201d(166) The blessedness of the final consummation of the\nfaithful departed was pictured in the symbols of the resurrection, and, as\nbaptism is the foreshadowing of that glorious change which shall come over\nour vile bodies, it became a common subject of Christian art in the\nCatacombs. Its types are somewhat complex, and often susceptible of a\ntwofold explanation. From the four scenes in the life of Moses, which are\nconstantly repeated in the different Catacombs, we select _that_ which\nprefigures Christian baptism\u2014the miraculous supply of water in Kadesh. Art\ncritics who have bestowed any attention upon the sacred pictures of the\nearly ages place the representation of this miracle of Moses in the\nCatacombs of S. Agnes among the finest specimens of primitive delineation.\nMoses is pictured as bearing a rod, the emblem of power, with which \u201che\nsmote the rock twice, and the water came out abundantly.\u201d It is worthy of\nremark in passing that on vases found in the Catacombs, and on the\nsarcophagi as early, perhaps, as the IVth century, this same scene is\ndepicted, and the rod, instead of being in the hand of Moses, is in that\nof S. Peter, and, in a few instances, the two are represented together,\nbut the person who smites with the rod has inscribed over his head the\nname of S. Peter. Catholic writers on subterranean symbolism draw from it\nan artistic argument, which, coupled with the historical, seems an\nunanswerable statement of the question of the primacy of S. Peter. _Quando\nChristus ad unum loquitur, unitas commendatur; et Petro primitus, quia in\nApostolis Petrus est primus._(167) S. Peter bears the same relation to the\nChristian church that Moses did to the Israelitish. The one received from\nGod the decalogue, which was to govern the actions of the Jews; the other,\nthe keys, which were to open the kingdom of heaven. _Nam et si adhuc\nclausum putas c\u0153lum, memento claves ejus hic Dominum Petro, et per eum\nEcclesi\u00e6 reliquisse._(168) Another type of baptism taken from the Old\nTestament, and capable of two expositions, is Noah in the ark. Here again,\non the authority of an apostle, the church in the early ages read the\nhistory of Noah by the light of the new revelation made through the\ninstitutions founded by Christ. S. Peter, speaking of the small number\nsaved by water at the deluge, adds: \u201cThe like figure whereunto, even\nbaptism, doth now also save us,... by the resurrection of Jesus\nChrist,\u201d(169) The ark is generally represented by a small box in which\nNoah sits or stands, receiving from the dove the olive branch of peace.\nSome writers on Christian arch\u00e6ology find in it a secondary meaning,\nregarding it as typical of the church, and the danger of those who are\nwithout the ark of safety.\n\nAmong favorite Old Testament subjects familiar to art students of the\nCatacombs are\u2014Daniel in the lions\u2019 den, and the three children of Israel\nin the fiery furnace at Babylon. Both are types of persecution, and of\nfinal deliverance through the miraculous interposition of God. In the\ncemetery of S. Priscilla, each of these pictures is to be seen, varying\nbut slightly in the details of the portraiture. The three children appear\nclothed, and standing on the furnace. In a compartment beneath, the figure\nof a man is represented as feeding the fire with fresh fuel. Daniel, in\nthe same cemetery, stands with outstretched arms between lions. The\nattitude in both these scenes from Jewish history appears to exhibit the\nancient posture of the suppliant when in the act of prayer. A late writer\non the Roman catacombs, the Rev. J. Spencer Northcote, D.D., formerly of\nCorpus Christi College, Oxford, spent much time, in company with the\nCavaliere de Rossi and M. Perret, the French artist, in collecting\nmaterials for his small work on the burial\u2010places of the early Christians\nin Rome. He is so trustworthy a guide in everything that appertains to\ntheir arch\u00e6ology, that we gladly accept the explanation which he suggests\nof the position of Daniel and the three children of Israel. Speaking of\nthe ancient attitude of Christian prayer\u2014the hands extended in the form of\na cross\u2014he says:(170) \u201cThis form, which, as we learn from the Fathers, was\nuniversal among the early Christians, is still retained in some measure by\nthe priests of the present day in the celebration of Mass, by Capuchins\nand others in serving Mass, and by numbers among the poor everywhere; it\nis worth noticing that S. Gregory Nazianzen expressly speaks of Daniel\novercoming the wild beasts by stretching out his hands, meaning, of course\nby the power of prayer; but the explanation might almost seem to show that\nS. Gregory himself was familiar with this usual way of representing him.\u201d\n\nThe publication of the Cavaliere de Rossi, which has so greatly alarmed\nthe Protestant controversialist, is _Immagine Scelte della B. Vergine\nMaria, tratte dalle Catacombe Romane_. It is most beautifully illustrated\nwith chromo\u2010lithographic engravings, and reflects great honor on the\npresent state of art in Rome. The purpose of the work is to exhibit the\nveneration with which the Christians of the Catacombs esteem the Mother of\nour Lord. At a period of time in the history of the church, almost\napostolic, that purest of human feelings, maternal love, subdued the soul\nof the artist, and kindled his imagination to trace with the brush or\ncarve with the chisel the Blessed Virgin and her Divine Son.\n\nThe Virgin Mother,\n\n\n    \u201cWho so above\n      All mothers shone,\n    The Mother of\n      The Blessed One,\u201d\n\n\nis depicted by the artist with a tender and devout affection. The scenes\nare taken from the sacred narrative of the Evangelists, and an examination\nof them, simply from an \u00e6sthetical point of view, will more than repay the\nconnoisseur of art. But to the conscientious arch\u00e6ologist and the sober\ninquirer, they occupy a grave relation. They throw additional light on the\nwritings of S. Justin, S. Iren\u00e6us, S. Cyril, S. Jerome, and Tertullian, in\nregard to that dogma which, of all others, has perplexed the minds of\nearnest men outside the Roman communion. The honor paid to the Blessed\nVirgin is to\u2010day the especial \u201ccrux\u201d of Dr. Pusey,(171) as it is, perhaps,\nof many not so learned as he, but as thoroughly dispassionate in the\ntemper of their souls toward the attainment of divine truth. The poet of\n_The Christian Year_ reached a lofty strain in behalf of a long\u2010forgotten\ndoctrine in the Anglican Church when he gave in his verses for the\nAnnunciation:\n\n\n      \u201cAve Maria! blessed Maid!\n      Lily of Eden\u2019s fragrant shade,\n        Who can express the love\n    That nurtured thee so pure and sweet,\n    Making thy heart a shelter meet\n        For Jesus\u2019 holy dove?\n\n      \u201cAve Maria! Mother blest!\n      To whom, caressing and caress\u2019d,\n        Clings the Eternal Child;\n    Favor\u2019d beyond Archangel\u2019s dream,\n    When first on thee with tenderest gleam\n        Thy new\u2010born Saviour smil\u2019d.\u201d(172)\n\n\nBut Keble caught from an excursion to Ben Nevis, as his biographer\nconjectures, the hints of that beautiful poem, \u201cMother out of Sight,\u201d\nwhich was intended for the _Lyra Innocentium_, but through the influence\nof two friends, Dyson and Sir John Coleridge, was withheld by the author,\nand only saw the light as one of his posthumous pieces. It has a clearer\ndoctrinal ring than the stanzas for the Feast of the Annunciation, which\nforeshadow something of the intercessory power of the Mother of God. It\nmerits the high praise which Keble\u2019s ever\u2010faithful friend and, for years,\nhis gifted ally bestows upon him. We more than regret that space forbids\nus giving the entire poem. It loses much of its beauty and continuity by\nfragmentary quotation, yet, from the fourteen stanzas, we are only able to\nreproduce four:\n\n\n        \u201cYearly since then with bitterer cry\n        Man hath assailed the throne on high,\n        And sin and hate more fiercely striven\n        To mar the league \u2019twixt earth and heaven.\n        But the dread tie that pardoning hour,\n        Made fast in Mary\u2019s awful bower,\n    Hath mightier prov\u2019d to bind than we to break;\n    None may that work undo, that Flesh unmake.\n\n        \u201cThenceforth, whom thousand worlds adore,\n        He calls thee Mother evermore;\n        Angel nor saint his face may see\n        Apart from what he took of thee;\n        How may we choose but name thy name,\n        Echoing below their high acclaim\n    In holy creeds? since earthly song and prayer\n    Must keep faint time to the dread Anthems there.\n\n        \u201cTherefore, as kneeling day by day,\n        We to our Father duteous pray,\n        So unforbidden we may speak\n        An Ave to Christ\u2019s Mother meek\n        (As children with \u2018good morrow\u2019 come\n        To elders, in some happy home),\n    Inviting so the saintly host above\n    With our unworthiness to pray in love.\n\n        \u201cTo pray with us, and gently bear\n        Our falterings in the pure, bright air.\n        But strive we pure and bright to be\n        In spirit. Else how vain of thee\n        Our earnest dreamings, awful Bride!\n        Feel we the sword that pierced thy side;\n    Thy spotless lily\u2010flower, so clear of hue,\n    Shrinks from the breath impure, the tongue untrue.\u201d(173)\n\n\nAnother poet, once an Anglican, then a Catholic priest, and now passed\ninto the land where the mists of controversy are cleared away, attained a\nhigher plane of truth in regard to the Mother of our Lord:\n\n\n    \u201cBut scornful men have boldly said\n      Thy love was leading me from God;\n    And yet in this I did but tread\n      The very path my Saviour trod.\n\n    \u201cThey know but little of thy worth\n      Who speak these heartless words to me;\n    For what did Jesus love on earth\n      One\u2010half so tenderly as thee?\n\n    \u201cGet me the grace to love thee more;\n      Jesus will give, if thou wilt plead;\n    And, Mother, when life\u2019s cares are o\u2019er,\n      Oh! I shall love thee then indeed.\n\n    \u201cJesus, when his three hours were run,\n      Bequeathed thee from the cross to me;\n    And oh! how can I love thy Son,\n      Sweet Mother, if I love not thee?\u201d\n\n\nWe return to these pictures of the Catacombs, and we will content\nourselves with an allusion only, preferring that the reader who is\ninterested in them should examine them through his own, rather than\nthrough another\u2019s eyes. From a lunette in an _arcosolio_ in the cemetery\nof S. Agnes is a picture which of late years has been frequently copied.\nIt represents the Blessed Virgin with uplifted hands, seemingly in the act\nof intercession, with the Infant Jesus in her lap. In the cemetery of\nDomitilla is a picture of the Mother and Son, and four Magi offering their\noblations. It may be well to remark that the Gospel history of the\nAdoration of the Wise Men from the East does not limit their number. We\nhave somewhere seen it suggested that the restriction to three had its\nrise from the offerings presented\u2014gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Another\nscene of the Adoration of the Magi is given with some difference of\ndetail. The Virgin Mother is seated holding the Divine Son in her lap,\nabove her head appears the star which guided the wise men to where the\nInfant lay. To the left is a somewhat youthful person, supposed to be S.\nJoseph. He holds in his hand a book, which the Cavaliere de Rossi very\nwisely and ingeniously interprets to be the writings of the evangelical\nprophet Isaiah, whose prophecies concerning the Messiah had now their\nfulfilment in the Infant Jesus.\n\nSuch are some of the many beautiful pictures which Roman art, through the\nindefatigable industry of de Rossi, has given us of the Blessed Virgin as\nrepresented in early ages. To other than jaundiced eyes, calmly and\ncandidly studying them, they reveal the light in which they were so often\nviewed by the suffering children of the church amid the persecutions which\nattended the conflict between paganism and Christianity. In teaching us to\nhonor the Mother of our Lord\u2014\u0398\u03b5\u03cc\u03c4\u03bf\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2\u2014they impress us with more distinct\nand more tangible thoughts of the incarnation of her Son.(174) With his\nusual discrimination and mastery of style, Dr. John Henry Newman has well\nsaid: \u201cThe Virgin and Child is _not_ a mere modern idea; on the contrary,\nit is represented again and again, as every visitor to Rome is aware, in\nthe paintings of the Catacombs. Mary is there drawn with the Divine Infant\nin her lap, she with hands extended in prayer, he with his hand in the\nattitude of blessing. No representation can more forcibly convey the\ndoctrine of the high dignity of the Mother, and, I will add, of her power\nover her Son. Why should the memory of his time of subjection be so dear\nto Christians and so carefully preserved? The only question to be\ndetermined is the precise date of these remarkable monuments of the first\nage of Christianity. That they belong to the centuries of what Anglicans\ncall the \u2018undivided church\u2019 is certain, but lately investigations have\nbeen pursued which place some of them at an earlier date than any one\nanticipated as possible.\u201d(175)\n\nOne other topic remains to be considered before we pass on to some general\nreflections which early Christian art suggests. It was not uncommon for\nthe artist in the first ages of the church to take subjects of heathen\nmythology, and invest them by his art with a Christian symbolism. The\ngenius of Michael Angelo, so truly Catholic in taste and devout in\nexpression, transplanted pagan forms from the broken temples of the elder\ncivilization to the Christian churches of the new. He retouched them under\nthe aureate light shed upon them by the reverent imagination of the\nFathers. On the magnificent ceiling of the Sistine Chapel are painted by\nthis master\u2010hand the Sibyls, who in early times were regarded as the\nunconscious prophets of divine truth, uttering in their blindness crude\nintimations of the glory of him who was to be the fulfilment and\ncompletion of all shadows and of all types.(176) In the Catacombs may be\nseen a representation of Orpheus playing upon his lyre, and subduing by\nhis melodious strains the ferocity of man and beast, and drawing even from\ninanimate creation by the power of music the subjects of his sway. Rocks\nand trees yielded to his lyric sweetness, the region of Plato opened to\nthe sound of his \u201cgolden shell,\u201d the wheel of Ixion ceased its\nrevolutions, and Tityus forgot for the nonce the vulture that preyed on\nhis vitals. The Thracian bard was the representative of the civilizer of\nsavage men.\n\n\n    \u201cSilvestres homines sacer interpresque Deorum\n    C\u00e6dibus et victu f\u0153do deterruit Orpheus;\n    Dictus ob hoc lenire tigres, rabidosque leones.\u201d(177)\n\n\nThe symbolism of the picture seems to be this, that as Orpheus drew the\nwhole creation to him by the music of his lyre, and called from the realms\nof Hades his beloved Eurydice to the regions of light, so Christ by his\ncompassion commanded the love of all men, as well by his divine power the\nhidden forces of nature. Hades, or the grave, opened to him on that first\nEaster morning, as it will open to us on the last.\n\n\n    \u201cPrisoner of Hope thou art\u2014look up and sing\n          In hope of promised spring.\n    As in the pit his father\u2019s darling lay\n          Beside the desert way,\n    And knew not how, but knew his God would save\n          Even from that living grave;\n    So, buried with our Lord, we\u2019ll close our eyes\n    To the decaying world, till angels bid us rise.\u201d(178)\n\n\nThe late Dean of S. Paul\u2019s, Dr. Milman, remarks, with an air of triumph,\nin his _Ecclesiastical History_,(179) that \u201cthe Catacombs of Rome,\nfaithful to their general character, offer no instance of a crucifixion.\u201d\nFor the absence of the crucifix in the Catacombs, we as a Protestant can\nconceive of two causes, either of which would to our mind be sufficient to\naccount for it. First, in the early ages it was highly important for the\ngrowth of the church, especially in the Roman Empire, to guard against the\nintroduction of any symbol which would suggest pain or repugnance to\nJewish converts; secondly, it was essential to clothe truth under a type\nwhich would not inspire mockery on the part of pagans, and so assist in\nkeeping alive the persecuting spirit of the times. This in a measure no\ndoubt led the early artists to use the heathen symbol of Orpheus as\ntypical of Christ. A beautiful passage in the work of D\u2019Agincourt affords\nstill another general cause: \u201cEntirely occupied with the celestial\nrecompense which awaited them after the trials of their troubled life, and\noften of so dreadful a death, the Christians saw in death, and even in\nexecution, only a way by which they arrived at this everlasting happiness;\nand, so far from associating with this image that of the tortures or\nprivations which opened heaven before them, they took pleasure in\nenlivening it with smiling colors, or presenting it under agreeable\nsymbols, adorning it with flowers and vine\u2010leaves; for it is thus that the\nasylum of death appears to us in the Christian Catacombs. There is no sign\nof mourning, no token of resentment, no expression of vengeance; all\nbreathes softness, benevolence, charity.\u201d(180)\n\nMany emblems denoting the cardinal virtues are sculptured on the walls of\nthe chapels and on the tombs of the Catacombs. Flowers, garlands, and\ngrapes intertwine each other and embellish these ancient crypts. The\nlaurel speaks of victory, the olive of peace and reconciliation, and the\npalm of final triumph. The lyre is significant of the \u00e6sthetical element\nof religion, and the anchor of hope for the heavenly port. The dove\nrepresents the Holy Spirit, the lamb the adorable Saviour\u2014the Agnus\nDei\u2014the stag the thirsting of the soul for the paradise of God, and the\npeacock the belief in immortality. Among these general symbols so familiar\nto the saints of old, none is more prominent than the fish. Its history is\ningenious, and, therefore, we will tarry for a moment ere we conclude. It\nnaturally calls to mind the solemn parting of our Lord with the apostles\nby the Sea of Tiberias, when their nets were filled with fish, and Jesus\n\u201ctaketh bread and giveth them, and fish likewise.\u201d In the church of the\nCatacombs this tender scene from the Evangelic record is always associated\nwith the Holy Eucharist. As \u0399\u03a7\u0398\u03a5\u03a3, the Greek word for a fish, contains the\ninitial letters of the name and title of Christ\u2014\u1f38\u03b7\u03c3\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c2 \u03a7\u03c1\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u1f78\u03c2 \u0398\u03b5\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03a5\u1f31\u1f78\u03c2\n\u03a3\u03c9\u03c0\u1f74\u03c1\u2014Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Saviour\u2014the figure was constantly\nused as a symbol of the divinity of Christ. In his _Iconographie\nChr\u00eatienne_, M. Didron assumes that this emblem on the sarcophagi of the\nCatacombs is simply indicative of the fact that the person buried beneath\nwas by trade a fisherman. Certainly the numberless instances proving the\nfalsity of this position render the opinion utterly worthless.\n\nWe must take leave of the Cavaliere de Rossi and the Christian art of the\nRoman Catacombs. Feeble as may be the execution of these pictures, crude\nin conception, and often colorless through the lapse of time, yet they\nspeak of the ardor of the early Christian artists, and of the devotion and\ndoctrine of the children of that church which is the mother of us all. In\nparting with the Cavaliere de Rossi, we say with all sincerity, that we\nhave found nothing in his volumes unworthy of the reverential regard of\nhonest and candid minds. Passages there are, which the timidity of\nAnglican churchmen would regard as dealing too freely with the symbolism\nof the Catacombs. Without accepting his conclusions in detail, we\ngratefully acknowledge that the Cavaliere de Rossi has shown English\nwriters in what spirit all the grave questions of theology connected with\nsubterranean art should be treated. His has been a great subject, and he\nhas written with humility and ripeness of learning and clearness of\napprehension, which well become the Christian scholar and the sacred\ntheme. In closing his masterly work, we seem again bidding adieu to Rome,\nthe reflection of whose classic greatness and Christian glory mellows hill\nand plain, pagan ruin and Catholic shrine.\n\n\n              \u201cGran Latin\u00e0\n    Citt\u00e0 di cui quanto il sol aureo gira\n    Ne altera pi\u00f9, n\u00e8 pi\u00f9 onorata mira.\u201d\n\n\nAnd because of the house of the Lord our God, we utter from the depths of\nour heart the wish of the Psalmist of old: \u201c_Fiat pax in virtute tua: et\nabundantia in turribus tuis. Propter fratres meos, et proximos meos,\nloquebar pacem de te_.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nBeating The Air.\n\n\n\u201cI can call spirits from the vasty deep,\u201d says Owen Glendower, the great\nmagician.\n\n\u201cSo can I,\u201d replies the sturdy, incredulous Hotspur. \u201cBut will they come?\u201d\n\nWe are living in a sterner age than that in which Hotspur is supposed to\nhave put this poser to the Welshman. Great declamations and fine promises\nwill not do for any length of time, at least. We are hard, and prosy, and\npractical. We must have facts, and figures, and something clear before we\nare asked to choose a policy, or a system, or take a stand on a platform.\nLove of country, homes and altars, and all the old watchwords, serve no\nlonger; they come down to a vulgar question of taxes, of custom\u2010house\nduties, of imports and exports, of pauperism, and the increase of crime.\nThis hard, practical spirit has been carried with all the keenness of, if\nnot an intellectual, at least a very intelligent age, into the sanctuary\nof religion, and men and women are no longer content to follow a sect or a\ncreed because they happened to be born in it, or because their friends\nbelong to it, or because as Giles has it, \u201cPayrson says so, and Payrson\u2019s\ndaughter be married to Squoire.\u201d They will have the why and wherefore: why\nthey must take this creed and reject that; why they must take a part and\nnot the whole; why it is necessary to be bothered with any form of belief\nat all, when, as they say, and many of them truthfully, they can get on\nwell enough without it, and live happily, and play their part, and die out\nof the world without having committed any special faults against society,\nleaving behind them children whose rule in life shall be the truth and\nhonor which they have bequeathed them as a last legacy. They have saved\nthemselves infinite trouble by not mingling in the clashing of the sects,\nwhere each one claims to be _the_ one, the only one, the church of Christ.\nOne would imagine that Christ came only to set the world on fire and all\ngood people by the ears; that, in fact, it would be better had he not come\nat all if this is to be the result, this wrangling and jangling and\neternal jargon about what one must do to be saved, as though good people,\nwho do no earthly harm must join one or other of these conflicting\nparties, who can never agree among themselves, and use the name of the God\nof peace as a firebrand to stir up dissension and the worst of strife.\nInfluenced by thoughts such as these, we find so many of the most\nintelligent people, what we might call Nothingarians, believing in nothing\nbut the law of the land, that is, of expediency\u2014a class that is growing\nwider every day in proportion as the sects are loosening and parting\nasunder; which embraces the ablest writers on the ablest secular journals;\nwhich sees only one religious body in the world endowed with a\nconsistency, and a uniqueness, and years, and a glorious history, and a\nstrange unity that will not be broken; a church which takes to\u2010day, as it\nhas always taken, the bold stand before the world\u2014we are the one church\nfounded by Jesus Christ, in this church and in this church alone is\nsalvation, not because we say it, but because he has said it: a stand in\ntheir eyes outrageous, so utterly opposed, as it is, to the dictates of\nhuman reason, with its doctrines of infallibility and what not; yet, after\nall, logical and strangely consistent throughout; so bold, so logical, so\nstrangely consistent and united, that if there were a church at all it\nwould be this, for all else is uncertainty. And as the _Nation_ said the\nother day in an article on the Old Catholics, written evidently by one of\nthe class we have been describing: \u201cThe great strength of the Church of\nRome lies now in the fact that he who quits her knows not whither he is\ngoing, and can find no man to tell him.\u201d Schism and heresy and persecution\nhave tried her in turn, and exhausted their efforts in vain; she stands\ntoday as she stood on the morning of the Christian era, full and fair in\nthe light of God, not a dint in the rock, not a loosening in the edifice,\nthough the ages have washed over her, and washed all other landmarks away;\nand the dove that leaves the ark finds no resting\u2010place over the barren\nwaters; and the olive branch of peace is not yet found to tell us that the\nwaters have subsided, and the earth is again as God made it.\n\nReligious unity has been the dream of earnest seekers ever since Jesus\nChrist gave the final mandate to the apostle to go forth and convert the\nworld; and it would seem that the dream is as far from fulfilment to\u2010day\nas it ever was; that it is likely to be so till the end of time. The\nCatholic Church is denounced as the great stumbling\u2010block in the way of\nthe much\u2010desired unity. The sects say to her each in turn: You will not\ncome to us; you will not join us. We are ready to make some sacrifices,\nbut you will not budge an inch. You are false; you are absurd; you are\nmysterious; you are superstitious; you are everything that is bad\u2014but only\ngive up infallibility, says one, and we are with you; surrender the\ndoctrine of the Immaculate Conception of the Mother of God, says another,\nand we will join you; only let your priests marry, says a third; give up\nthe sacraments, says a fourth. To these, and all and many more, the church\nreplies now as always: \u201c_Non possumus_.\u201d We cannot; God gave the laws to\nhis church. They are his laws; they are irrevocable; more fixed than those\nof nature; it is not for us to change them. There again, say her\nadversaries: the old cry. You will not change; you will not concede; you\nare perverse and implacable. How can we ever have unity? They forget that\nthey ask the church to dismember herself; to destroy her own identity; to\nbreak up, and come down to their level. Suppose she were to do so, what\nwould the result be? She would be lost and absorbed in the sea of\nsectarianism. The one object to which all eyes look, whether faithfully or\nmaliciously, as at least fixed and united to\u2010day as to\u2010morrow, as\nyesterday, would be blotted out of the sight of man. Even humanly\nspeaking, much would be lost; nothing would be gained; and union would be\nfarther off than ever.\n\nThe best example of the truth of this is given in the history of the last\ngreat departure from the Catholic Church\u2014the Protestant Reformation.\nThough this movement never reached to the proportions of Arianism, yet it\nwas a movement that captivated nations, and was eminently adapted to favor\nthe revolutionary spirit then breaking out among men, to throw off all\nconstraint of whatever nature, and stand upon the false notion of\nunbridled liberty of thought and action. The new doctrine of private\ninterpretation spread rapidly, because it pandered to the age. Nations\nbroke away from the church; a new faith, a new creed, grander, larger,\nfuller, purer than the old, was to be built up. And what was the result?\nWhat is the result? A multiplication of sect upon sect; a fresh departure;\na new interpretation of the Gospel of God day after day; a breaking out\ninto the wildest and most erratic courses of belief and conduct,\noftentimes so utterly subversive to all government that it was obliged to\nbe forcibly repressed by the law of the lands which at first favored it\nfor its own purposes. This tower of faith that men would build from earth\nto heaven, like the old tower of pride, ended in nothing\u2014crumbled away and\ncaused a Babel\u2014a confusion of beliefs. Such is the inevitable end of all\nreligions that men make for themselves; vain efforts; uncertainty; good\nperverted or rendered useless; disagreement and religious anarchy.\n\nNo wonder that men cry out for something fixed. No wonder that so many\nturn infidel. Protestantism has proved an utter failure as a guidance and\na religion to men. So much so that, if one asked for a definition of the\nProtestant _religion_ today, it could not be given him; and the only right\nanswer would be not a faith or a system, but the opposition of non\u2010\nCatholic Christians to the Roman Catholic Church. Perhaps the most\nstriking proof of this is exemplified in the late meeting at Cologne.\nThere were assembled delegates from several rival sects and churches, in\nthe endeavor to bring order out of chaos, to plant a new church and a new\nfaith which all men might accept. If the Protestant bishops who attended\nthere were satisfied that their religion or form of religion was true and\nall\u2010sufficient, why not stay at home? Why did they go at all? While\nD\u00f6llinger and the rest, satisfied of the failure of Protestantism, cling\nfast to the torn shred of the Roman Catholic faith, and proclaim loudly\nand absurdly that they are Catholic still, it is a deep and bitter lesson\nto Protestants of the hopelessness of their efforts to create a unity such\nas they see alone in the Catholic Church.\n\nIn the midst of this general and growing dissatisfaction, a pamphlet has\nbeen put into our hands which promises to settle the vexed question once\nfor all. It is written by a Baptist minister, the Rev. James W. Wilmarth,\npastor at Pemberton, N. J. Who he is, beyond the fact stated on the cover,\nwe do not know. His pamphlet has no claim to our attention beyond the\nthousand\u2010and\u2010one such thrust upon our notice day after day. But as it is\nsomewhat pretentious, and has received the sanction of no less\ndistinguished a body than the West New Jersey Baptist Association, which\nbody, by vote, requested its publication (the substance of it having been\ndelivered in the \u201cdoctrinal sermon\u201d preached September 13, 1871), it may\nbe taken to represent the orthodox Baptist doctrine, and may, therefore,\nbe glanced at just to see what that doctrine is, or is supposed to be, for\nwe have no doubt many Baptists would disagree with it. The author takes a\nbold line, \u201cThe True Idea of the Church: Baptist _vs._ Catholic,\u201d for he\nrecognizes(181) no logical middle position between Baptist and Catholic\nground, and, therefore, salvation lies in one of the two bodies, as it\ncannot lie in both. What Methodists, Anglicans, Presbyterians, and the\nrest may think of this high\u2010handed mode of dealing with their several\npretensions to truth, we may imagine. But they can scarcely complain, as\nall in turn adopt precisely the same line of argument: the haven of\nsalvation resting not between Presbyterian and Baptist or Methodist and\nEpiscopalian, but between each of these sects and Rome. They slide by each\nother, and confront us. The only similar example we can call to mind at\npresent of such union out of disunion, is that of the fallen spirits.\n\nIt is unnecessary to observe that, in a contest of this nature between an\nindividual Baptist minister and the whole Catholic Church, the church,\nnotwithstanding her rather formidable array of theologians and\nphilosophers, gets decidedly the worst of the battle. And, though the\nauthor, as he tells us in his preface, \u201chas endeavored to \u2018speak the truth\nin love,\u2019 \u201d perhaps it was only natural to find, particularly towards the\nend, his temper proving a little too much for his \u201clove,\u201d so that we must\nnot be astonished, though \u201cin no partisan spirit has he discussed his\ntheme,\u201d at meeting little phrases scattered here and there of a decidedly\nunlovable nature. Thus, the Holy Father is mentioned as \u201cthe bigoted Pope\nof Rome\u201d who \u201csits cursing modern civilization and freedom, and sighing\nfor the return of the dark ages and the inquisition\u201d; the whole Catholic\nsystem \u201ca diabolical imposture,\u201d italicized; \u201cCatholics appeal chiefly to\nsentiment,\u201d \u201cundervalue the importance of Scriptures,\u201d \u201cmay be good\nCatholics, and yet profane, immoral, untruthful, and regardless of the\nwill of God, and that millions notoriously are so.\u201d If this be our\nauthor\u2019s mode of asking for his views \u201cthe candid consideration of every\nreader of whatever religious persuasion,\u201d we should strongly recommend him\nfor the future to alter his tone; if it be \u201cspeaking the truth in love,\u201d\nwe wonder what his notions of speaking the truth in wrath would be.\nCatholic writers are habitually accused of intolerance in tone and\ncontroversy: we humbly submit that, when we have to encounter\u2014as we are\ncompelled to do every day\u2014adversaries of this stamp, we may be reasonably\npardoned for not using studious phrases with men on whom politeness is\nthrown away.\n\nA year has now flown by since this \u201cdiscourse was prepared and delivered\nunder a profound conviction of the importance and timeliness of the vital\ntruths therein set forth, and it is now given to the public with the same\nconviction.\u201d As to its timeliness, we have nothing to object, it was\nprobably meant for Baptists rather than Catholics, and with an eye to the\ndissensions that seem racking and threatening to rend that body at\npresent. In fact, from its whole tone and the round rating he gives\nmembers of his community who \u201cwould give up their vantage\u2010ground by\nconcealment or compromise of truth,\u201d and his insisting on their\n\u201cmaintaining their Baptist attitude\u201d (whatever that may be precisely he\nfails to explain), the pamphlet sounds very much like a warning\u2010note\u2014like\nthe weak cry of \u201cNo surrender!\u201d when surrender follows immediately, like\nMr. Winkle\u2019s \u201call right\u201d when Mr. Winkle felt satisfied that it was all\nwrong. With regard to its \u201cimportance,\u201d notwithstanding the writer\u2019s\n\u201cconviction\u201d on the point, we may be permitted to entertain some slight\ndoubt. Authors are sometimes apt to overrate the importance of their\nproductions. At all events, after a year of trial, we have heard of no\nvery wonderful result following the launching of this pamphlet on the\ntroubled waters of controversy. Catholics are Catholics still. The church\nstands precisely at its first starting\u2010point of some nineteen centuries\nago, while the Baptists stand at theirs\u2014a point involved still in a region\nof mist, and apparently rapidly dissolving into it. So that, with regard\nto this closing of the controversy generally, we are compelled to arrive\nat the painful conclusion that it has either been very greatly undervalued\nby the public at large, or is absolutely good for nothing.\n\nThe author proposed to himself to place the only two ideas of the church,\nBaptist and Catholic, which he acknowledges, in such juxtaposition, in so\nclear a light, that all who read must be compelled to adopt either the one\nor the other. In other words, be purposed ending forever all the\ncontroversies that have ever raged between church and church, in a\npamphlet of forty\u2010two pages. And his mode of setting about it is at least\noriginal.\n\n\u201cI do not propose to discuss this question of \u2018true church\u2019 after the\ncommon method. I shall not raise questions of apostolic or of historic\nsuccession, of \u2018legality\u2019 or \u2018validity\u2019 or \u2018regularity.\u2019 I propose to go\ndeeper than that into the heart of the subject.\u201d\n\nNow, with all due respect to the reverend author, these little items,\nwhich he finds it so convenient to throw overboard in such an arbitrary\nfashion, constitute, for his readers at least, the heart of the subject.\nHe tells us that \u201call the Christian ages with one consent acknowledge the\nchurch to be a divine society\u201d\u2014human\u2010divine, Catholics would say\u2014\u201cgoverned\nby divine law, established by Jesus Christ.\u201d\n\nHere we have, then, according to the author\u2019s own words, a society,\nestablished by a person, at a certain date, which has come down from that\nperson to to\u2010day. Men say that it has altered from its original. Two\nsocieties claim to be the original, the Baptist and the Catholic. It lies\nin one or the other, not between. We want to find out which it is. In this\ninquiry, history is nothing, legality is nothing, succession is nothing,\nvalidity is nothing. That is not the true method of going to work to find\nout what this society is; whether it has ever been broken, whether it\ncontains and carries out what Christ its founder gave it, whether its\nmembers practise to\u2010day what they practised at the beginning\u2014all that is\nnothing. The question is \u201cthe idea which underlies it all. What then is\nthe true idea of the church? This is the great question.\u201d\n\nIf the author proposed to argue in this style, he should have stated at\nstarting his definition of the true idea of the church. He should have\ndefined the term in order to explain clearly what he was seeking. But he\ndoes nothing of the kind. In fact, he soon loses the very word \u201cidea,\u201d and\nsubstitutes for it in one place \u201cview,\u201d in another \u201ctheories.\u201d So that\nafter all it comes down in plain English to what is your opinion on the\nsubject, or what is your notion about it, despite his trite \u201cchallenges of\nthe Catholic idea of the church at the bar of reason,\u201d and so forth.\n\nIn fact, there is just that show of shallow learning sprinkled throughout\nthe whole pamphlet which a preacher endowed with more words than weight\ngenerally uses to a thick\u2010headed congregation, who take his words for\nwisdom from the very fact that they cannot understand them. There are the\ndivisions and subdivisions: the 1, 2, 3, in large and small figures, and\noccasionally in Roman characters; the appeals to this, that, and the\nother; the citing of \u201cwell\u2010known facts\u201d and \u201cnotorious things\u201d without\nsubstantiating them by any references, as in p. 17. \u201cWitness the Baptist\noriginators of the British and Foreign Bible Society; Carey, Judson, and\ntheir successors\u201d in support of the view that with Baptists originated the\ndesire for the revision of the Bible. Again, speaking of Catholic\ndoctrine: \u201cIf men leave the church, they part from grace and are lost.\u201d\n_Apropos_ of which telling fact he informs us in the next sentence that\n\u201cthe history of Augustinianism is an instructive illustration. Augustine,\nBishop of Hippo, was, in many respects, what would now be termed a high\nCalvinist. His fervid eloquence and mental power made a deep impression\nupon the theology of the Catholic (not then _Roman_ Catholic) Church of\nthe Latin world.\u201d And that is all he says about him. As far as any\nevidence he furnishes to support it goes, he might just as well have\nsubstituted the name of S. Thomas Aquinas for S. Augustine, or Pius IX.,\nor, as far as the majority of his readers know to the contrary, Tippoo\nSahib. And in the very opening of the pamphlet the same shallowness is\nstrikingly exemplified. He chooses the text, Acts ii. 47, \u201cAnd the Lord\nadded to the church daily those who are saved,\u201d which, as he observes,\nreads in the version of King James, \u201cSuch as should be saved.\u201d This\ntext\u2014his own rendering\u2014\u201cis one of those passages in which an incidental\nstatement, as by a flash of lightning, reveals a whole body of doctrine.\u201d\nIn what it involves we find the true idea of the church, that is, the\nBaptist doctrine that we are regenerated in Christ by his death, and that\nbaptism is, as it were, only a symbol, a sort of mark, by which we are\nknown as belonging to the church, but not necessary for salvation,\ninasmuch as we are _saved_ before we receive it. He alleges, with\nreference to the Greek version, that \u201cshould be saved\u201d is wrong and \u201care\nsaved\u201d is right. And there the matter rests. Now, while on this very\nimportant point, whereon indeed rests his theory, he might as well have\nbeen a little more exact and explicit. A Greek reference is such a vague\nthing to build on. We agree with him that \u201cshould be saved\u201d is a wrong\nrendering; as \u201care saved\u201d happens also to be. The verse runs: \u039f \u03b4\u03b5 \u03ba\u03c5\u03c1\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2\n\u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03b5\u03c4\u03b9\u03b8\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03c3\u03c9\u03b6\u03bf\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b8\u1fbd \u03b7\u03bc\u03b5\u03c1\u03b1\u03bd \u03c4\u03b7 \u0395\u03ba\u03ba\u03bb\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03b1. The present participle\n\u03c3\u03c9\u03b6\u03bf\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 means being saved; but a present participle following a verb in\nthe imperfect or aorist tense must be rendered imperfect, and therefore\nthe passage should run, \u201cAnd the Lord added daily to the church such as\n_were being_ saved,\u201d that is, such as were in the act or state of coming\ninto the church through the merit of the death of Christ and the movements\nof his divine grace; a fact which throws altogether another light on the\nauthor\u2019s fixed starting point. These things we mention to show how little\ntrust can be placed on men who talk so loudly and pretentiously in this\nloose style. It shows also how very weak and treacherous is this absolute\ndependence on the private interpretation of the word of the Bible, whereon\nthe Baptists stake their doctrine and salvation; and how insufficient the\nabsolute creed which hangs for life or death on the possibly dubious\nrendering of a passage in a dead language.\n\nBut let us examine this doctrine, which all, whether Catholic or Anglican,\nMethodist or Jew, are bound to accept if they would be saved. We Catholics\nare asked to surrender for it the faith which we have held through the\ncenturies of the Christian era, in defence of which we have poured out our\nblood so lavishly, tracing the martyr stream down through the long vista\nof ages, from the death on the cross to the stoning of Stephen, to the\nmassacre of the nuns in China but yesterday. We are told to\u2010day that all\nour history, our sacraments, our doctrine, the faith on which we are\nbuilt, our succession of pontiffs, the sacred orders of our priests, the\nchurch itself, which we define as the union of all the faithful under one\nhead, which head is Jesus Christ, whose successor is the pope, are one and\nall \u201ca diabolical imposture,\u201d and that if we hope for salvation we must\nsurrender them for the true doctrine as explained by this author.\n\n\u201cThe Baptist holds that men receive salvation directly from Christ, and by\nvirtue of an independent transaction with him; that a believer\u2019s salvation\nis secured by a personal union with Christ; and that he is divinely\ncommanded, after being thus saved, to unite with the church for the sake\nof personal profit and of usefulness; and that the church so constituted\nis to be governed by the law of Christ. He makes doctrine and conversion\ncome first. Out of doctrine and out of conversion proceeds the church. And\nthe saved man, already saved, comes into the church for training, for\nwork,\u201d etc.\n\nNow, this passage is the author\u2019s exposition of the true idea of a church,\nand on this everything else hangs. We may be obtuse, but we confess the\nexposition is somewhat misty to us; at all events, it does not captivate\nour intellect so completely as we would wish in a matter all\u2010\nimportant\u2014eternal salvation. We are told here that salvation is a personal\nmatter between the individual and Christ; that there is no person or\nnothing intermediate. In plain English, that a man\u2019s own conscience is his\nrule and guidance; that it instructs and satisfies him on all points of\ndoctrine and conduct as a Christian. Now, it is Catholic doctrine that\nsalvation is an entirely personal affair between the individual soul and\nJesus Christ. The individual is not saved or condemned on the merits or\ndemerits of the society, the church of which he is a member: in exactly\nthe same way that a prisoner at the bar is held answerable to the law of\nthe land for his wrong actions, and judged on them, and it avails him\nnothing to speak of the respectability of his relations, or of their evil\nbehavior which may have partly led him into crime; such evidence may\nconstitute to an extent extenuating circumstances, but a man is condemned\nfinally on his own act. If the prisoner, on the verdict being given\nagainst him, pleads: But you condemn me; you do not take into\nconsideration my relations; you tell me that all that has nothing to do\nwith it; that I knew myself what was right and what was wrong; that, in\nfact, I was the best and only judge in the matter; well, I acknowledge it,\nI am the only judge, and if I am the only judge, and I make a mistake, you\ncannot punish me, there is nothing between you and my conscience. The\ncourt would respond: There is the law written plain for all men to read.\nThe government made the law, you are judged by that. And this is precisely\nthe Catholic doctrine of salvation. Though it be a final question between\nthe individual soul and Jesus Christ, the law of Christ comes between\nthem, as the law of Moses came between God and his people, and that law\nbeing made for the whole world, for the universal society of human beings,\nrests in the hands of the government duly constituted and appointed from\nthat society by Jesus Christ himself, who no longer abides among us\nvisibly, and is only known to us by faith.\n\nWell, then, faith is enough; faith saves us, say the Baptists. If this be\ntrue, then, are the devils saved since they must have a far more vivid\nfaith\u2014belief in God\u2014than the generality of human beings? If faith is\nenough to save a man, why not stop there? Why be baptized? Why join a\nchurch at all? \u201cFor the sake of personal profit\u201d (a phrase apt to be\nmisunderstood), \u201cand of usefulness,\u201d replies our author. After all, this\nidea of the church reduces itself to that of Mr. Beecher, which the author\nstigmatizes\u2014a church of \u201cexpediency.\u201d Later, on page 22, in \u201cchallenging\nthe Catholic idea of a church at the bar of reason,\u201d he says: \u201cNow, in the\ncase before us, what is the effect? Salvation.\u201d Well, here we have it; the\neffect; the thing that the whole world is looking for\u2014salvation. Why, that\nis everything; that is all we want, no matter how it comes. You are saved\nbefore entering the church. Then, what more is necessary? There is no need\nto go beyond that. Stay outside; live and let live; our safety is\nattained; let people wrangle as they may, there is no further fear. There\nis no need of a _church_ at all, of communion, and the rest, if we are\nsaved before entering it. That is all God asks of us, to save ourselves.\nIt is already accomplished by regeneration and faith in him. There we\nstop, happy and contented, without any more quarrelling with our\nneighbors.\n\nThen comes the further and final question: After all, who is Christ? How\ndo we know him? Where do we find him? When and how does he speak to us? Of\ncourse, to \u201cregenerate persons,\u201d it is unnecessary to put these questions:\nBut our author proposed going deeper into the matter than the common\nmethod, and, if the world is to become Baptist, it must know why. The\nregenerate enjoy \u201ca personal union\u201d with him, says the Baptist, and know\nwhen he speaks; when the Spirit impels them. This will never do for human\nnature. We must have something stronger than assertion, however strong.\nChristians can believe and understand S. Paul, when he tells them that he\nwas caught up into paradise, and heard secret words which it is not\ngranted to men to utter. The great apostle excuses himself for bringing\nthis to the knowledge of the faithful, and only mentions it as a single\nact in his life, and one that affected his salvation in no wise. If the\nBaptists hold that they are continually in the third heavens, well and\ngood. That at least has the merit of a clear, defined ground to stand on;\nbut they will scarcely win many converts. Who is Christ, then, with whom\nyou have this personal union? He is the founder of the Baptist Church, our\nauthor would respond; of what is known as Christianity? That is to say, of\nthe system or systems of religion held by all people of the present day\nwho call themselves Christians, but among whom the Baptists only hold the\ntrue church. Then we will work backwards to the foundation of your society\nand the others, and see which reaches to Jesus Christ. Oh! no, says our\nauthor; that is one of the common methods; they are poor. \u201cRead the New\nTestament. You will find the Baptist doctrine of salvation, and the\nresulting Baptist idea of the church, taught or implied on every\npage,(182) and you will not find a trace of the Catholic doctrine of\nsalvation, or of the Catholic idea of the church. If you doubt, search for\nyourselves the Scriptures, like the noble Bereans, and see whether these\nthings are so.\u201d\n\nIn support of this loose, sweeping assertion, this author contorts his\ntext into a puny quibble, which any well\u2010instructed child might see\nthrough at once. He says: \u201cWe do not read the priests or the apostles\nadded sinners to the church in order to save them,\u201d but we do read: \u201cThe\n_Lord_ added to the church daily those who are saved.\u201d _Ergo_, \u201csalvation\nwas dealt with as a personal matter.\u201d\n\nIf the Baptist Church rests on no better foundation than this, and if its\nteachers can only support its truth and doctrine on distorted meanings and\ntexts of this description, we fear it will not hold together much longer,\nand we feel half inclined to apply to it a few of the \u201ctruths spoken in\nlove\u201d of which our author is so lavish in dealing with the Catholics. This\nvery use of the word \u201cLord\u201d is eminently Catholic. When we speak of a\nconversion, of a mercy gained, or a favor bestowed from heaven, though all\nthese things happen through the hands and sometimes ministry of\nindividuals, we always say, \u201cThe Lord did it; God Almighty wrought it; No\nman converted me, but the grace of God; No medicine saved my sick child,\nbut the favor of God which accompanied its workings,\u201d as the child answers\nto the first question of the catechism, Who made you? God. But for all\nthis God works through human instruments. His priests are an ordination of\nhis own for the government of his church, and by a worthy probation and\npreparation receive certain graces of God necessary for their state\ninvolved in the reception of what the church calls the sacrament of Holy\nOrders: a certain form to be gone through which Christ ordained for the\nreception of the special powers and graces conferred on that particular\noffice, as in human governments a judge receives his insignia, a minister\nhis portfolio, a doctor his diploma, in order to prevent everybody taking\nthe administration of the law into his own hands, or every quack\npractising as he pleases. And so with the other sacraments.\n\nBut apart from appeals to texts, which we are almost weary of producing in\nfavor of Catholic doctrine, and of the church who watched over and\npreserved those texts from destruction, the mutilation of which was\nwrought, as our author himself complains, not by us, but by the\nProtestants in the version of King James, and because we know that version\nto be mutilated, we appeal against its use in the schools which our\nchildren frequent: let us look at the broad Christian system, how it would\nstand as built up by this writer.\n\nPeople who believe in Christ at all, and indeed all who acknowledge, as\nthey must, Christianity to be a fact, a vast social system, existing under\nour eyes, looking back, see a time when it did not exist. A man came into\nthe world at the point of time in its history which we fix upon as the\nbeginning of the Christian era. At that time religion, speaking largely,\nconsisted of the Hebrew and the pagan. The Hebrews were the chosen of God,\nand preserved the only true system which corresponds to the rational idea\nof the foundation and aim of humanity. This it kept to itself and did not\nseek to spread. Christ came, the man\u2010God, and founded a new order,\nenlarging upon the old, which was to embrace in its bosom the universe,\nand lead all nations back and up to God. The change contemplated was the\nvastest that could possibly be conceived, the union of the discordant\nelements of human nature in a system entirely above the capabilities of\nthat nature. Men were to be chaste, to be humble, to love poverty, to\nspeak no evil, to obey, to mortify themselves always, to pray always, to\nacknowledge the nothingness of their nature. This man, Jesus Christ, came,\nand, before he had converted people enough to form a single city even, was\ncrucified, rose from his grave, and ascended into heaven, leaving twelve\npoor ignorant, timid men, and a few others to spread this new doctrine,\nthis new and all\u2010absorbing social system, throughout the world and through\nall time. What did he leave to guide them in this tremendous work; a\nsystem, an order perfect in all its details, and capable of spreading with\nthe contemplated growth of the church? or did he leave each to follow his\nown will and do what he could, by means of what is called personal union\nwith himself, a being who no longer was present, visibly and palpably,\nbefore the eyes of men? As he chose men to do his work, to build up\nChristianity, he let them accomplish it after a human fashion, assisted by\nthe saving fact that he would allow them never to err in the doctrines\nwhich he bade them preach: and to this end he gave them an order which was\nto be handed down forever: the apostleship. That was his government, and\nat this government was a head, Peter. And Peter, like all other human\ngovernors, at his departure handed his authority down to the next chosen\nto fill his place, the promise of the abiding Spirit passing to all, or\nthe system must have broken down; and so to\u2010day Catholics recognize in\ninfallibility nothing more than the apostles recognized in the decisions\nof Peter at Antioch. And so this author is correct in saying that the\nchurch with Catholics comes first, and not the Bible; for the church\nembraces the Bible, which is only the written document of the laws and\nordinances of God to man, the letter of the law resting in the hands of\nthe government which has charge of it, but that government itself subject\nto the law. The government existed among the Hebrews before the law was\never written. This system which we have endeavored faintly to sketch here\nis denied by the Baptist. He says: Christianity comes this wise: Christ\ncame, died, and thus regenerated us. All who believed in him were saved.\n\u201cThe apostles preached the Gospel. Men were pierced to the heart and asked\nwhat they must do.\u201d They must be immersed, not as a necessity, for they\nwere saved by the fact of believing; but this act of immersion gave them\nthe entry to the church of Christ. Then the New Testament was written, not\nby Christ, though inspired by him, and left in the hands of everybody to\ninterpret the law as he pleased.\n\nNow, we ask, can this system commend itself to the human reason as rounded\nand complete enough to fulfil the Christian idea of a church, which should\nreceive and embrace the whole world in one union of religious harmony? A\nbook thrown into the world\u2014for so it must look to human eyes who knew\nnothing of its divinity\u2014which each one was to take up and interpret as he\npleased; a book subject to more or less of change in transmission from\nlanguage to language, and in the absolute loss of the living tongue in\nwhich it was originally written, and the verdict of its genuineness, the\nverdict for or against the teachings of a living God, resting upon the\ndictum of a grammarian.\n\nIf Christianity hangs on this, for we have not misrepresented the\nwriter\u2014then we refuse to be Christian at all; for such a system does not\nand cannot, as he alleges, \u201csustain the test of sound reason, of stern\nexperience, and of infallible Scripture, which ordeal the Baptist idea of\nthe church endures.\u201d\n\nWe need trouble ourselves with this writer no further. There is a great\ndeal more in the pamphlet that might be touched on as showing the either\nabsolute or wilful ignorance under which writers of this stamp labor when\nspeaking of Catholics. He speaks of the Catholic doctrine with regard to\nsacraments in this loose way: \u201cThey are useful to infants and the dying.\nMen come to them for grace apart from the state of their own hearts.\u201d Now,\nCatholics will perceive the utter absurdity of such a statement at once.\nThe sacrament of baptism is necessary to infants, who of course are\nunconscious recipients of it, as they are unconscious of the sin in which\nthey are born. This stain which they inherit, but do not incur by any act\nof their own, is washed away by the sacrament ordained by Christ, which\nadmits them into the society of the church at the same time that their\nbirth admits them to human society, its privileges as well as its trials.\nExtreme unction is administered to the dying person, even though he be\nunconscious, and is the most touching token of the love of the universal\nMother for her children, who at the last moment will, although the dying\nman cannot ask it, administer the sacrament which God has ordained for\nthat occasion, because she _knows_ that his heart desires such aid at its\npassage from the world. But all sacraments given to adults give grace only\nin proportion as the recipient receives them worthily.\n\n\u201cIf the priest refuses to come, then the sufferer, infant or adult, must\ndie unbaptized and unsaved.\u201d\n\nIf this gentleman had only taken the trouble to consult a Catholic\ncatechism, he would have been spared the trouble of putting this further\nabsurdity into print. He would have found little children taught at school\nthat \u201cin a case of necessity, when a priest cannot be had, any one may\nbaptize,\u201d and the instructions for administering the sacrament; and\nfurthermore, that, if a person were placed in such a position that even\nthis means could not reach him, the very desire is sufficient, as\nsometimes happens in the case of sudden conversions and martyrdoms.\n\nAs for Catholicity necessitating a ritual, all religions must more or\nless. Do men object to the old law because of its glorious ritual? Is not\nthe very Baptist\u2010act of immersion a ritual, and their singing in common?\nSo much so that, for neglect of this observance, Baptists cut off the\nwhole Christian body from community with them. Which is harder to\nbelieve\u2014the Catholic doctrine which teaches that we must obey the church\nwhich we believe to be the only church of Christ, and in support of which\nteaching we bring forward some very substantial proofs, or this? You may\ninterpret God\u2019s Word as you please; that alone is sufficient; but you are\nnot in communion with his church unless you are immersed; a fact which it\nis very difficult to twist out of the Scriptures.\n\nAgain, he shows his weakness in saying that \u201cFrancis Xavier, working on\nthe Catholic idea, baptized millions of Asiatics, and believed that in so\ndoing he had saved their souls. But the heathen remained heathen still.\nThere is no evidence, so far as I am aware, that under his labors one\nsolitary soul was transformed into the image of Jesus Christ.\u201d Not one,\nbut millions, so that Sir James Stephens, a Protestant lecturer on history\nin a Protestant university, calls him a saint, not only of the Catholic\nChurch, but of the world. Colleges were founded by him, and thousands of\nChristians suffered martyrdom for the faith. But \u201cJudson\u201d is the apostle\nafter our author\u2019s heart. Judson \u201clived to see thousands of civilized and\nchristianized disciples in that dark Burman land; and the work still goes\non, self\u2010sustained by the power of a true hidden life.\u201d This latter is a\nvery saving clause; so truly hidden is the work that our author can point\nto no fruit resulting from it. And as for those \u201cthousands of civilized\nand christianized disciples,\u201d we took the trouble to look for them, and we\nregret to say, for our author\u2019s veracity, found them all \u201cwanting.\u201d Judson\ndid not succeed in converting one either in Burmah or anywhere else; and\nhis own sufferings seem to have been reduced to the martyrdom of marrying\nsuccessively three wives.\n\nIf then, as our author says, \u201cLogically there is no middle position\nbetween the high rock ground of Baptist truth and the low marsh ground of\nCatholic error; all things follow their tendencies, and it is easier to go\ndown an inclined plane than to go up,\u201d we fear that, for all he can do to\nprevent them, people will follow their natural tendencies. As a last word,\nwe would strongly recommend him, before undertaking to set a church in its\ntrue colors before the eyes of men, to consider a little whether he knows\nanything of the subject he is writing about, and not stultify himself by\nan ignorance which looks like malice, though he calls it truth spoken in\nlove.\n\n\n\n\nA Retrospect.\n\n\nAnd it fell out, says the chronicle, that Childebert, hunting one day in\nthe forest of Compi\u00e8gne in company with his wife Ultragade, was suddenly\naccosted by S. Marcoul, a holy man who stood in great repute of sanctity\neven during his lifetime; he seized the king\u2019s bridle, and boldly\npetitioned alms for his poor and his church of Nanteuil, which was in a\nstate of shameful unrepair. While he was yet speaking, a hare, pursued by\nthe hounds, flew to the spot and took refuge under his mantle. S. Marcoul,\nletting go the bridle to place his hand protectingly on the trembling\nrefugee, the king\u2019s horse broke away, seeing which his piqueur rushed\nforward, and in tone of arrogance exclaimed:\n\n\u201cMiserable cleric! how durst thou interrupt the king\u2019s chase? Give back\nthat hare, or I will strike thee for thine insolence!\u201d\n\nThe saint, humbly unfolding his cloak, set free the hare; it bounded away,\nand the dogs dashed after it. But lo! they had not made three strides,\nwhen they were struck motionless, rooted to the ground as if turned to\nstone. The piqueur, infuriated, flew after the hare, but he had not taken\nmany strides, when he fell fearfully wounded by a large stone that had\nbeen hurled at him, no one saw whence, and laid his head open. The\nhuntsmen, seized with terror, fell upon their knees, and implored the holy\nman to forgive them and intercede for the life of their companion. S.\nMarcoul forgave them, and then, going towards the prostrate body of the\npiqueur, he touched it and prayed over it, and presently the stricken man\nrose up healed. Childebert, being quickly informed of the two miracles,\nhastened after the man of God and knelt for his blessing, and took him\nhome that night to the shelter of the castle, and dismissed him the\nfollowing day loaded with presents for his church and rich alms for his\npoor. So stands the legend.\n\nA witty Frenchman once said to a sceptic who sneered at the story of\nMucius Sc\u00e6vola: \u201cMy friend, I would not put my hand in the fire that\nMucius Sc\u00e6vola ever put his in it, but I should be desolated not to\nbelieve it.\u201d How much wiser was that Frenchman than the dull criticism of\nour XIXth century, that goes about with a broomstick sweeping away all the\nlovely fabrics that less prosaic ages have raised to mark their passage on\nthe road of history\u2014a vicious old fairy, demolishing with her Haussmann\nwand the storied, moss\u2010grown monuments of the past, giving us naught in\ntheir stead but ugly, rectangular blocks built with those stubborn bricks\ncalled facts, statistics, and such like! Why try to prove to us that\nFran\u00e7ois I.\u2019s heroic _Tout est perdu fors l\u2019honneur!_ was only the\npoetized essence of a rigmarole letter written not even from the field of\nPavia, but from Pissighittone? Why insist that Philip Augustus never said\nto his barons, gathered with him round the altar, before the battle of\nBouvines, \u201cIf there be one among you who feels that he is worthier than I\nto wear the crown of France, let him stand forth and take it\u201d? True,\nGuillaume le Breton, who wrote the history of the campaign and never left\nPhilip throughout, makes no mention of it, but what of that? The story is\nfar too beautiful not to be true. Let us turn a deaf ear, then, to this\nold hag called Criticism, or deal with her and her bricks and mortar as\nthe Senate of Berne did with a man who wrote a book to prove that William\nTell never shot the apple, and, in fact, that it was doubtful whether he\nand the apple were not both a myth. The Senate burnt the book by the hand\nof the hangman publicly in the market\u2010place. We will deal in like manner\nwith any profane mortal who questions the authenticity of the legend of S.\nMarcoul\u2019s hare, which furnishes the first mention we find in history of\nthe ch\u00e2teau of Compi\u00e8gne.\n\nThe forest was its chief attraction to the kings of old Gaul, as it has\nbeen in later days to their successors. Clotaire I. met with an accident\nwhile hunting there in 561, and died of it; he was interred at Soissons,\nwhither his fourteen sons accompanied him, bearing torches and singing\npsalms all the way. Fredegonda made the merry hunting\u2010lodge the scene of\natrocities never surpassed even by her, fertile as she was in inventive\ncruelties. Her infant son fell ill of a fever at Compi\u00e8gne and died, while\nthe son of the prefect, Mumondle, who was taken ill with the same illness\nat the same time, recovered. The courtiers, thinking to allay the despair\nof the terrible mother by giving it an outlet in revenge, whispered to her\ncertain stories that were current in the village about a witch who had\nsacrificed the royal infant to secure the potency of her charms in favor\nof the life of the other. Fredegonda caught at the bait like a tiger at\nthe taste of blood. She scoured the country for decrepit old women, and,\nafraid of missing the right one, caused the entire lot to be seized and\nput to death before her eyes. The details of the tortures inflicted on\nthem by the ruthless mother are too terrible to be described.\n\nClotaire II. lived many years at Compi\u00e8gne, much beloved for his gentle\nand benevolent disposition, but nothing particular marks that period. King\nDagobert made it likewise his principal residence, and enriched the\nsurrounding country with many fine churches and noble monasteries. The\nmost celebrated of these was the Abbey of S. Ouen\u2019s Cross. The king was\nout hunting, one hot summer\u2019s day in the year of grace 631, and emerging\nfrom the forest to the open road, he suddenly saw before him a gigantic\ncross of snow. Marvelling much at the unseasonable apparition, he sent for\nS. Ouen, who dwelt in the wood hard by, and bade him interpret its meaning\nto him. The saint replied that he saw in the sign a command to the king to\nbuild a church on the site of the miraculous cross. No sooner had he said\nthis, than the cross began to melt, and presently vanished like a shadow.\nDagobert at once set about obeying the mandate uttered in the peaceful\nsymbol, and raised on the road from Compi\u00e8gne to Verberie the stately pile\ncalled the Abbaye de la Croix de S. Ouen.\n\nMany other foundations followed, but no event of note took place at\nCompi\u00e8gne till Louis le Debonnaire appeared on the scene in 757\u2014unless,\nindeed, we may record as such the arrival there of the first organ ever\nseen in France. It was sent as a present to Pepin by the Emperor\nConstantine, and the first time it was played a woman is said to have\nswooned, and awoke only to die. Louis le Debonnaire lived chiefly at\nVerberie, the magnificent palace of Charlemagne, a right royal abode,\nbefitting the greatest monarch of France. Bronze, and marble, and precious\nstones, and stained glass, and all costly and beautiful materials were\nlavished with oriental prodigality on this wonderful Verberie, whose\ncolossal towers and frowning battlements and elaborately wrought gates and\ngables were the marvel of the age and the theme of many a troubadour\u2019s\nsong. But what monument built by the hand of man can withstand the ravages\nof man\u2019s ruthless passions? The palace of the Gallic C\u00e6sar was not proof\nagainst the successive wars and sieges that battered its massive walls,\ntill not even a vestige of the wonderful pile remains to mark where it\nstood.\n\nThe sons of Louis le Debonnaire, Louis, Pepin, and Lothair, rebelled\nagainst their father; Lothair got possession of his person, stripped him\nof all the ornaments of royalty, clothed him in sackcloth, and in this\nunseemly plight exhibited the old king to the insults and mockeries of the\npeople. After this he compelled him to lay his sword upon the altar, and\nsign his abdication in favor of the unnatural son, who presided in cold\u2010\nblooded triumph at the impious ceremony. As soon as this was done he sent\nhis father, bound hand and foot, to Compi\u00e8gne, where he was kept a close\nprisoner. Lothair\u2019s brothers, however, hearing of this, were moved to\nindignation, and, stimulated perhaps not a little by jealousy of the\nsuccessful rival who had started with them, but secured all the winnings\nfor himself, they set out for Compi\u00e8gne, stormed the fortress, and set\nfree the king. But the unhappy father was not to enjoy long the freedom he\nowed to these filial deliverers. Louis again rose up in arms against him,\nand the king was forced to take the field once more in defence of his\ncrown; he fell fighting against his three sons on the frontiers of the\nRhine, and expired with words of mercy and forgiveness on his lips.\n\nIn 866, Charles the Bald held a splendid court at Compi\u00e8gne to receive the\nambassadors whom he had sent on a mission to Mahomet at Cordova, and who\nreturned laden with costly presents from the Turkish prince to their\nmaster. Charles did a great deal to improve Compi\u00e8gne; the old ch\u00e2teau of\nClovis, which was no better than a hunting\u2010lodge grown into a fortress, he\nthrew down and rebuilt, not on its old site, in the centre of the town,\nbut on the banks of the Oise. Louis III. and Charles the Simple spent the\ngreater part of their respective reigns at Compi\u00e8gne, and added to the\nnumber of its institutions\u2014primitive enough some of them\u2014for the\ninstruction of the people. \u201cGood King Robert\u201d comes next in the progress\nof royal tenants (1017): his name was long a household word among the\npeople to whom his goodness and liberality had endeared him. One day at a\nbanquet, where he was dispensing food to a multitude of poor and rich, a\nrobber stole unobserved close up to him, and, under pretence of doing\nhomage to the king, clung to his knees, and began diligently cutting away\nthe gold fringe of his cloak. Robert let him go on till he was about\nhalfway round, and then, stooping down, he whispered discreetly: \u201cGo, now,\nmy friend, and leave the rest for some other poor fellow.\u201d Like many\nanother wise and good man, Robert was harassed by his wife; she was a hard\nand haughty woman, who, while professing great love for him, made his home\nwretched to him by her quarrels and her domineering temper. The people\nknew it, and hated Constance; but, like the king, they bore it rather than\nquarrel with the shrew. \u201cLet us have peace, though it cost a little high!\u201d\nthe henpecked husband was for ever repeating; and his people seemed to\nhave been of one mind with him, for Constance ruled both him and them with\nher rod of nettles to the end, and had her own way in everything.\n\nPhilip II.\u2019s occupation of Compi\u00e8gne, which in those days of simple faith,\nwhen religious fervor ran high, had a significance that can hardly be\nappreciated in our own chill twilight days, so slow to see beyond the\nmaterial world, so reluctant to recognize the supernatural as an aim or a\nmotive power in the great movements that enlist men\u2019s energies and direct\nthem, changing the face of nations. This was the translation of the holy\nwinding\u2010sheet from the casket of carved ivory\u2014in which it had been given\nto Charlemagne, along with many other relics of the same date,(183) by\nConstantine II. and the King of Persia, as a reward for his services in\nexpelling the Saracens from the Holy Land\u2014into a reliquary of pure gold,\ninlaid with jewels. The holy shroud, when it was taken by Charles the Bald\nto the Abbey of S. Corneille at Compi\u00e8gne, is thus described in the\n_proc\u00e8s\u2010verbal_ of the translation, given at full length in the _Grandes\nChroniques_: \u201cIt was a cloth so ancient that one could with difficulty\ndiscern the original quality of the stuff, being two yards (_aunes_) in\nlength and a little more than one yard in width.... The liquors and\naromatic ointments used in the embalmment had rendered it thicker than\nordinary linen, and prevent one from discerning the color of the stuff,\nesteemed by the greater number of the spectators to be of pure flax, woven\nafter the manner of the cloth of Damascus.\u201d There are old pictures still\nextant, representing Charles amidst a vast concourse of prelates and\nnobles, accompanying the relic with prayer and solemn ceremonial.\n\nIn 1093, Matilda of England, on rising from an illness which had been\nconsidered mortal, sent as a thank\u2010offering for her recovery a costly\nshrine of gold and precious stones to Philip II., with a request that the\nholy shroud might be placed in it. Philip, in a charter drawn up and\nsigned by himself, thus testifies to the gift and the translation: \u201cIt has\npleased us to place in a shrine (_chasse_) of gold, enriched with precious\nstones, and given to this church by the Queen of England, the relics of\nour Saviour; we have beheld this cloth (_linge_), in which the body of our\nLord reposed, and which we call shroud (_suaire_), according to the holy\nevangelist, and which has been withdrawn from the ivory vase.\u201d We cannot\nrealize, we say, how an event like this would stir the hearts of men in\nthose days. Peter the Hermit was preaching the first crusade; his burning\neloquence, like a lever, uplifting the arm of Christendom, and compelling\nevery man who could draw a sword to shoulder the cross and go forth to\nfight and die for the deliverance of the tomb, where for three days their\nLord had lain wrapped in this winding\u2010sheet. The union of mystical\ndevotion and enthusiastic service which characterized the crusaders was\nfed by every circumstance that tended to embody to their senses those\nmysteries which had their birth in that remote eastern land towards which\nthey were hastening, and the transfer of this sacred memento of the\nPassion from its simple ivory casket to a sumptuous one of gold and gems,\nthe offering of a powerful sovereign, occurring at such a moment, was\ncalculated to arouse a more than ordinary interest. They hailed the honors\nso apportioned paid to the holy shroud as a symbol and a promise; their\nfaith, already quickened by the renunciation of all that made life dear,\nhome, kindred, nay, life itself, for the deliverance of the Sepulchre, was\nstimulated to more heroic sacrifice; their hope was intensified to\nprophecy, by what appeared like a typical coincidence, a manifestation of\ndivine approval that must ensure beyond all doubt the success of their\nenterprise. We should not be astonished, then, at the paramount importance\nassigned by the historians of that time to this event, but recognize\ntherein the sign of our own condemnation, and of a spirit that is no\nlonger of our day, but belongs, like those glorious relics, to a bright\nand glowing past.(184)\n\nPhilip\u2019s son, Louis le Gros, like his father, lived principally at\nCompi\u00e8gne; while he was away carrying on the second crusade, his\nincomparable minister, Suger, took up his abode there, and, dividing his\ntime between prayer and the business of the state, governed wisely during\nthe king\u2019s absence.\n\nWhen another crusading hero, Philip Augustus, offered his hand and his\ncrown to the fair Agnes de M\u00e9ranie, destined to expiate in tears and exile\nthe ill\u2010fated love of the king and her own short\u2010lived happiness, it was\nat Compi\u00e8gne that he presented her to the court and the people; it was\nhere that amidst pomp and popular rejoicing the marriage was celebrated.\n\nBut the most curious episode in the whole range of the annals of Compi\u00e8gne\nis perhaps that of a claimant whose story opens at this date. Baldwin IX.,\nCount of Flanders and Hainaut, usually called Baldwin of Constantinople,\nbefore starting for the Holy Land came to Compi\u00e8gne to swear fealty to the\nKing of France, who invested him with knighthood on the same day that\nAgnes, like a softly shining star of peace and love, rose upon the\ntroubled horizon of the kingdom. At Constantinople Baldwin was proclaimed\nemperor, and solemnly crowned by the pope\u2019s legate at S. Sophia (1204). He\nimmediately sent off his crown of gold to his beloved young wife, Marie de\nChampagne, desiring her to hasten to rejoin him, and share his new\u2010found\nhonors. The countess obeyed the command and set sail for Constantinople,\nbut, overcome by the unexpected news of her husband\u2019s election to the\nthrone, she died upon the journey. Baldwin\u2019s grief was inconsolable; he\nlaid her to rest in S. Sophia, the scene of his recent honors, and swore\nupon her tomb never to marry again, but to devote himself henceforth to\nthe sole business of war: he kept his vow, and began that series of\nbrilliant feats which culminated in his triumphant entry to Adrianople.\nSuch was the fame of his prowess that powerful chiefs trembled at his very\nname: Joanice, the formidable king of the Bulgarians, sent a message to\n\u201cthe great French warrior,\u201d humbly praying for his friendship. But the\nwarrior mistrusted these overtures, and haughtily repulsed them. Whereupon\nJoanice, full of wrath, vowed vengeance, and in due time kept his vow. He\nraised an army, made war on Baldwin, whom he took prisoner after a fearful\nslaughter of his army at the battle of Adrianople. When the news of the\ndisaster reached Flanders, Henri of Hainaut, brother of Baldwin, was at\nonce proclaimed regent; he continued the war against Joanice, but without\nsuccess, nor could he by bribes, concessions, or threats obtain the\nemperor\u2019s release; Joanice would not even vouchsafe to reply to any of his\novertures on the subject. All else failing, the pope interfered, and\nbesought the conqueror not to sully his triumph by revenge, worthy only of\na savage, but to treat magnanimously, or at least according to the rules\nof civilized warfare, for the ransom of his captive. To this appeal\nJoanice condescended to reply that, alas! it was no longer in his power,\nor any man\u2019s, to comply with the desires of his holiness. The answer was\ntaken for an announcement of Baldwin\u2019s death, and universally accepted as\nsuch. Stories soon began to eke out concerning the horrible tortures\npractised on the unfortunate prince by his cruel captor; some accredited\neye\u2010witness declared that he had been barbarously mutilated, his hands and\narms cut off, and in this state thrown to the wild beasts, his skull being\nafterwards made into a drinking\u2010cup for the brutal Joanice, who had stood\nby gloating over the spectacle of his victim\u2019s agony. Years went by and\nnothing transpired to throw the least doubt on the fact of Baldwin\u2019s\ndeath, though the accounts as to the manner of it were somewhat\nconflicting. Henri of Hainaut was proclaimed sovereign of Flanders; after\nreigning ten years he died, and was succeeded by Jeanne, eldest daughter\nof Baldwin. She was not long in possession of the throne when the report\nwas bruited about that her father was alive; he had been seen by some\npilgrims journeying through Servia, who having lost their way in the\nforest of Glaucon came upon the grotto of a hermit, and were taken in and\nrestored by him and sheltered for the night. This hermit, they recognized\nas their former prince, Baldwin; he was much altered by suffering, and his\nlong white beard and uncouth garb were calculated to disguise him from any\neyes but such as had known him well, but the pilgrims recognized him at\nonce; they, however, discreetly forebore announcing the fact till they\nbrought other witnesses to corroborate their own assurance. They returned\nsoon with several trustworthy persons who had known Baldwin too well to\nmistake his identity after any lapse of years, and these declared\nunhesitatingly that the hermit was no other than the hero of Adrianople.\n\nBaldwin, finding his secret discovered, fled to a distant and more\ninaccessible part of the forest; he was tracked thither, and again fled;\nbut the pursuers finally got possession of him, and dragged him by main\nforce into the neighboring town; the people flocked eagerly to see him,\nand with one voice they proclaimed him their long\u2010lost Baldwin, welcoming\nhim with joyful acclamations as a father returned from the dead. Whether\nthis popular welcome merely emboldened the real Baldwin to confess his\nidentity and, as a necessary consequence, claim his rights, or whether it\nsuggested to the false one the idea of simulating the person whom he\nresembled and was taken for, it is impossible to say, but at any rate from\nthis period we no longer see him dragged, but marching forth, of his own\nfree\u2010will, from town to town, and surrounded by all the paraphernalia of\nan injured claimant. His march was not, however, one of unbroken triumph;\nthe town of Flanders refused to believe in him, and indignantly scouted\nhimself and his followers as a band of impostors. The daughters of the\ndead man, Jeanne and Marguerite, refused to believe in him, and denounced\nhim as a malefactor whose aim was to stir up disorder in the state for his\nown ambitious purposes. But Jeanne\u2019s government was odious to the people;\nto escape from her harsh and cruel rule they would have willingly adopted\nany claimant who came with a fair show of right to enlist their credulity.\nJeanne knew this, and at once took strong measures to put down the\nmovement. It proved more difficult than she anticipated. Before many\nmonths the country was in a blaze, divided into two camps, one of\nbelievers, the other disbelievers, but both ready to devour each other to\nprove and disprove their special theories. A witness whose testimony went\nhard against the claimant was that of the old bailiff of Quesnoy; he had\nknown Baldwin from a child, and mourned over him like a father, and, when\nhe now appeared at the castle gates and demanded admittance, the old man\nrefused to open to him, and vowed solemnly that he was not his master, but\na base impostor. The conduct of this stubborn sceptic drew forth a\npathetic appeal from the claimant. \u201cI find,\u201d he says, \u201cmore cruel enemies\nin my own house than in the land of strangers. Flanders, my mother, dost\nthou repulse thy son whom Greece and Macedonia received with open arms! I\nescaped from Adrianople through the carelessness of my guards; I fell into\nthe hands of barbarians, who dragged me to the distant plains of Asia;\nthere, like a vile slave, I, who had wielded the sceptre, was condemned to\ndig the earth; I dug until some German merchants, to whom I confided my\nstory, ransomed me, and sent me back to my country, and lo! I arrive and\nshow myself, and you repulse me! My daughter Jeanne refuses to own me in\norder not to resign her rank and subside into the subject of a court!\u201d\nUnmoved by this touching denunciation, Jeanne persisted in disowning him,\nbut, failing to prove her case, she referred it to Louis VII. of France.\nLouis, much interested in the extraordinary story, willingly undertook the\narbitration. The claimant, on his side, testified great satisfaction on\nhearing that his fate was placed in the hands of a wise and powerful\nmonarch, who was sure to prove a just and discerning judge; he set out in\nhigh spirits to Compi\u00e8gne, where the king was then residing. Attired in\nthe violet robes of a hermit, and bearing a white wand in his hand, he\nentered the august assembly with a countenance full of unblushing\nassurance, saluted the King of France with an air of proud equality, and\nnoticed the barons and knights by a courtly inclination of the head.\nLouis, who had carefully studied the case, conducted the examination\nhimself; he put many subtle and perplexing questions to the supposed\nBaldwin concerning events which had passed in his youth, and which it was\nthought impossible he could have learned from any one he had seen since\nhis return, and the claimant answered accurately with an assurance that\ncarried conviction with it. The examination lasted several hours, and, the\ncloser it pressed him, the more triumphantly it established his identity.\nThe witnesses who boasted of being able to confound the imposture in the\ntwinkling of an eye were themselves confounded; they withdrew covered with\nconfusion, and vowing inwardly that \u201cthis man was sold to the devil,\u201d as\nonly the father of lies could have told him so many hidden things, and\nborne him to success through such a quagmire of difficulties. There was,\nindeed, much conflicting evidence forthcoming. Henri, his brother, was\ndead, but the Dukes of Brabant and Limbourg, cousins and contemporaries of\nBaldwin\u2019s, swore that the claimant was the real man; on the other hand,\nsixteen knights of unimpeachable honor swore to having seen the real man\ndead on the field of Adrianople. The king, after hearing with great\npatience, and weighing most impartially what was said on both sides,\ndeclared in favor of the claimant. The excitement was indescribable when\nhe rose to pronounce the verdict; but at this point the Bishop of Beauvais\nstepped from his seat, and, holding up his right hand, adjured Louis to\nsuspend for one moment the final words while he put a few short questions\nto the hermit. The king consented; a deathlike silence fell upon the\nassembly, and the bishop, going close up to the hermit, who was seated on\na chair in the centre of the great hall, addressed him thus in a loud\nvoice:\n\n\u201cAnswer me three questions: 1st, In what place did you render homage to\nKing Philip Augustus? 2d, By whom were you invested with the order of\nknighthood? 3d, Where did you marry Marie de Champagne?\u201d\n\nThe claimant stammered, grew pale, and, after a vain attempt to fence with\nthe questions, broke down. Extraordinary as it may seem, he had never\ngiven a thought to these prominent events in the life of Baldwin of\nConstantinople, or foreseen that he would be questioned concerning them.\nThe enthusiastic sympathy of the court was changed in an instant to rage\nand scorn. Sentence of death was pronounced on the hermit of Glaucon on a\ncharge of high treason, conspiring, fraud, perjury, and the long list of\niniquities that make up the sum of a claimant\u2019s budget. But having thus\nfar acquitted himself of his office, the king handed over the criminal to\nJeanne to be dealt with as she thought fit. In those rough and ready days\nthere were no back\u2010stairs for a plucky claimant to escape by, no counsel\nto save him with a nonsuit, or such like modern convenience; the make\u2010\nbelieve Baldwin was without more ado hung up between two dogs on the\nmarket\u2010place of Flanders. Some chroniclers throw uncomfortable doubts on\nthe justice of the execution; a few maintain that this was the true man,\nand anathematize Jeanne as a parricide who sacrificed her own father to\nthe love of power. P\u00e8re Cahour, who is certainly a conscientious writer,\nspeaks of her, on the other hand, as a just and upright woman, utterly\nincapable of so diabolical a crime, and stoutly vindicates the evidence of\nthe sixteen knights, though how he adapts it to the belief in Baldwin\u2019s\ncapture by Joanice, which appears to have been general after the battle of\nAdrianople, it is difficult to see. The _Chronique de Meyer_, again,\ndenounces Jeanne as an execrable monster, and declares that the man who\nwas hanged was the real Baldwin. Clearly claimants have been always a\ntroublesome race to deal with; even hanging does not seem to make an end\nof them, for their claims outlive them, and leave to historians a legacy\nof doubt and discord that is exceedingly difficult to settle.\n\nThe passage of S. Louis at Compi\u00e8gne is marked by an event characteristic\nof him and of his time. He had ransomed from the Venetians at at an\nenormous price the crown of thorns of our Saviour. To do it public honor\nhe carried it bare\u2010headed and bare\u2010footed from the wood of Vincennes to\nthe Cathedral of Notre Dame, and thence to the Sainte Chapelle, that\ngemlike little shrine which had been raised expressly to receive the\npriceless relic, and whose beauty is invested with a fresh interest since\nit escaped the fire of the Communists; the Conciergerie and the Palais de\nJustice were burning so close to it that the flames might have licked its\nwalls, yet not even one of its wonderful stained\u2010glass windows was\ninjured.\n\nOther monuments S. Louis left behind him, not built of stone or precious\nmetals, but which have nevertheless endured and come down to us unimpaired\nby the lapse of ages, while houses and castles of stony granite have\ncrumbled away, leaving no record on the hearts of men. Compi\u00e8gne in the\ndays of the saintly king was the refuge of God\u2019s poor, of the sick and the\nsorrowing; S. Louis gave up to them all the rooms he could spare from his\nhousehold, and devoted to tending and serving them with his own hands what\ntime he could steal from the affairs of state.\n\nTo Be Continued.\n\n\n\n\nThe Russian Clergy.\n\n\nWe have heard nothing new of late about the project of certain zealous\nAnglicans and members of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United\nStates to establish communion between their churches and the schismatic\nOriental Christians in the empire of Russia. It seemed fitting enough at\nfirst glance that the special variety of Christianity introduced by Henry\nVIII. should agree with the methods of ecclesiastical discipline\nprescribed by an equally autocratic sovereign at the opposite extremity of\nEurope; and there were, of course, abundant reasons why the Anglicans and\ntheir American descendants should covet a recognition from a branch of the\nchurch which, whatever its corruptions and irregularities, can at least\nmake good its connection with the parent stem. Our readers have not\nforgotten, however, how coldly the overtures of these ambitious\nProtestants were received. The Russian clergy ridiculed the hierarchical\npretensions of their English and American friends. They denied their\napostolical succession. They questioned their right to call themselves\nchurchmen at all; and, in short, looked upon them as no better than\nheretics, and not very consistent heretics either. The movement for union\nwas a foolish one, begun in utter misconception of the radical differences\nbetween the two parties, and sure from the first to end in discomfiture\nand irritation.\n\nIndeed, it was even more foolish than most of us still suppose. Not only\nwas it impossible for the Russian Church to make the concessions required\nof it, but there is no reason to believe that the Episcopalians would have\nbeen very well satisfied with their new brethren had the alliance been\neffected. The Russian Church is an organization which stands far apart\nfrom every other in the world, presenting some monstrous features which\neven Protestantism cannot parallel. The Jesuit Father Gagarin has\npublished a very curious work on the condition and prospects of the\nRussian clergy,(185) which would perhaps have modified the zeal of the\nEnglish and American petitioners for union and recognition if they could\nhave read it before making their recent overtures. We see here the\nrottenness and uselessness into which a national church falls when it is\ncut off from the centre of Christian unity and the source of Christian\nlife.\n\nThe Russian priests are divided into two classes, the white and the black\nclergy, or seculars and monks. The great difference between them is, the\nwhite clergy are married, and the black are celibates. Whatever learning\nthere is in the ecclesiastical order is found among the monks. The bishops\nare always chosen from the monastic class; and the two classes hate each\nother with remarkable heartiness. The marriage of priests is an old custom\nin the East, which antedates the organization of the Russian schism. It\nprevails in some of the united Oriental churches to this day. But in\nRussia it exists in a peculiarly aggravated form. Peter I. and his\nsuccessors, by a multitude of despotic ukases, succeeded in erecting the\nwhite clergy into a strict caste, making the clerical profession\npractically hereditary, and marriage a necessary condition of the secular\nclerical state. The candidate for orders has his choice between matrimony\nand the monastery; one of the two he must embrace before he can be\nordained.\n\nThe rule seems to have originated in an attempt to improve the education\nof the white clergy. The deplorable ignorance of the order led the\ngovernment to establish ecclesiastical schools. But the schools remained\ndeserted. The clergy were then _ordered_ to send their children to them,\nand sometimes the pupils were arrested by the police and taken to school\nin chains. The Czar Alexander I. ordered, in 1808 and 1814, that all\nclerks\u2019 children between six and eight years of age should be at the\ndisposal of the ecclesiastical schools; and, that there might be no lack\nof children, the candidate for the priesthood was compelled to take a wife\nbefore he could take orders. Once in the seminary, the scholar has no\nprospect before him except an ecclesiastical life. He cannot embrace any\nother career without special permission, which is almost invariably\nrefused. At the same time, the seminaries are closed against all except\nthe sons of the clergy. The son of a nobleman, a merchant, a citizen, a\npeasant, who wanted to enter, would meet with insurmountable obstacles,\nunless he chose to become a monk.\n\nThus the paternal government of the czar secures first an unfailing supply\nof pastors for the Russian Church, which otherwise might be insufficiently\nserved; and, secondly, a career for the children of the clergy, free from\nthe competition of outside candidates. And, indeed, the priests might very\nwell say: Since you compel us to marry, you are bound, at least, to\nfurnish a support for our offspring. But the system does not stop here.\nWhat shall be done with the priests\u2019 daughters? In the degraded condition\nof the Russian Church, where the white clergy or popes are popularly\nranked lower in the social scale than petty shopkeepers or noblemen\u2019s\nservants, these young women could not expect to find husbands except among\nthe peasantry, and they might not readily find them there. The obvious\ncourse is to make them marry in their own order. The seminarian,\ntherefore, by a further regulation of the paternal government, is not only\nobliged to marry, whether he will or no, but he must marry a priest\u2019s\ndaughter, and some bishops are so careful of the welfare of their subjects\nthat they will not suffer a clerk to marry out of his own diocese. Special\nschools are established for these daughters of the church; and we could\nimagine a curious course of instruction at such institutions, if the\nRussian ecclesiastical schools really attempted to fit their pupils for\nthe life before them; but, as we shall see further on, they do nothing of\nthe kind.\n\nSometimes it happens that a priest has built a house on land belonging to\nthe church. He dies, leaving a son or a daughter. His successor in the\nparish has a right to the use of the land, but what shall be done with the\nhouse? The law solves this difficulty by providing that the living shall\neither be saved for the son (who may be a babe in arms), or given to any\nyoung Levite who will marry the daughter. Thus the clerical caste is made\nin every way as compact and comfortable as possible, and, for a man of\nmean extraction, moderate ambition, and small learning, becomes a\ntolerable, if not a brilliant career.\n\nThe clergy of a fully supplied parish consists of a priest, a deacon, and\ntwo clerics, who perform the duties of lector, sacristan, beadle, bell\u2010\nringer, etc. The deacon has little to do, except to share on Sunday in the\nrecitation of the liturgy, which, being inordinately long, is sometimes\ndivided into sections and read or chanted by several persons concurrently,\neach going at the top of his speed. The clerks of the lower ranks,\nhowever, may pursue a trade, but they are all enrolled in the same caste,\nout of which they must not marry. The number of parish priests in Russia\nis about 36,000; of deacons, 12,444; of inferior clerics, 63,421. One\u2010half\nthe revenue of the parish belongs to the priest, one\u2010quarter to the\ndeacon, and one\u2010eighth to each of the two clerics. The prizes of the\nprofession are the chaplaincies to schools, colleges, prisons, hospitals,\nin the army, in the navy, about the court, etc., most of which are\nliberally paid. The parochial clergy are supported by: 1. Property\nbelonging to the parish, chiefly in the towns, yielding about $500,000 per\nannum; 2. A government allowance of $3,000,000 per annum; 3. About\n$20,000,000 per annum contributed by parishioners; 4. Perpetual\nfoundations, with obligation to pray for the departed, invested in\ngovernment funds at four per cent., say $1,075,000. The average income of\na priest is thus about $341. In addition to this, however, each parish has\na glebe, of which the usufruct belongs to the clergy. The minimum extent\nof this church domain is about eighty acres, and it is divided after the\nsame rule as the revenues, namely, one\u2010half to the priest, one\u2010quarter to\nthe deacon, and the remainder to the inferior clerks. When there is no\ndeacon, the priest\u2019s share is, of course, proportionately larger. In many\nparishes, the glebe is much more extensive than eighty acres. In Central\nRussia, it amounts sometimes to 250, 500, even 2,500 acres; and, in those\nfertile provinces known as the Black Lands, the share of the priest alone\nis sometimes as much as 150 acres. At St. Petersburg, the church provides\nthe parish priest a comfortable and elegant home. \u201cThe furniture is from\nthe first shops in Petersburg. Rich carpets cover the floors of the\ndrawing\u2010room, study, and chamber; the windows display fine hangings; the\nwalls, valuable pictures. Footmen in livery are not rarely seen in the\nanteroom. The dinners given by these cur\u00e9s are highly appreciated by the\nmost delicate epicures. Occasionally their salons are open for a soir\u00e9e or\na ball; ordinarily it is on the occasion of a wedding, or the birthday of\nthe cur\u00e9, or on the patron saint\u2019s day. The apartments are then\nmagnificently lighted up; the toilettes of the ladies dazzling; the\ndancing is to the music of an orchestra of from seven to ten musicians. At\nsupper the table is spread with delicacies, and champagne flows in\nstreams. A Petersburg cur\u00e9, recently deceased, loved to relate that at his\ndaughter\u2019s nuptials champagne was drunk to the value of 300 roubles\n(\u00a348).\u201d\n\nConsidering the education and social standing of a Russian priest, this is\nnot bad. In the rural districts there is much less clerical luxury; there\nis even a great deal of poverty and hardship. But we must not forget that\nthe rustic clergy is but a little higher in culture than the rudest of the\npeasantry, and a life which would seem intolerable to an American laborer\nis elysium to a Russian hind. Most, even of country priests, have\ncomfortable houses, well furnished with mahogany and walnut; and, though\nthey do not eat meat every day that the church allows it, they have their\nballs and dancing parties, at which their daughters dance with the young\nmen from the neighboring theological seminaries. The wives and daughters\nof the reverend gentlemen, to be sure, have to labor sometimes in the\nfields; but \u201cthey are dressed by the milliner of the place; you will\nalways see them attired with elegance; they do not discard crinoline, and\nnever go out without a parasol\u201d\u2014except, of course, when they are going to\nhoe corn and dig potatoes.\n\nThe voluntary contributions of the parishioners are collected, or\nenforced, in a variety of ways, and paid in a variety of forms. Towards\nthe feast of S. Peter each house gives from three to five eggs and a\nlittle milk. After the harvest, each house gives a certain quantity of\nwheat. When a child is born, the priest is called in to say a few prayers\nover the mother, and give a name to the baby; the fee for this is a loaf\nand from 4 to 8 cents. Baptism brings from 8 to 24 cents more. For a\nsecond visitation and prayers at the end of six weeks there is a fee of a\ndozen eggs. At betrothals the priest gets a loaf, some brandy, and\nsometimes a goose or a sucking\u2010pig. For a marriage he is paid from $1 60\nto $3 20; for a burial, from 80 cents to $1 60; for a Mass for the dead,\nfrom 28 to 64 cents; for prayers for the dead, which are often repeated, 4\nor 8 cents each time; for prayers read at the cemetery on certain days\nevery year, some rice, a cake, or some pastry. The peasants often have a\nTe Deum chanted either on birthday or name\u2010day, or to obtain some special\nfavor; the fee for that is from 8 to 16 cents. The penitent always pays\nsomething when he receives absolution; but as confession is not frequent\nin the Russian Church, the income from this source must be small. In the\ntowns the fee is often as high as $1, $2, $4, and even more. Among the\npeasantry it sometimes does not exceed a kopec (one cent); but if the\npenitent wishes to receive communion, he must renew his offering several\ntimes. At Easter, Christmas, the Epiphany, the beginning and end of Lent,\nand on the patron saint\u2019s day, which sometimes occurs two or three times a\nyear, it is customary to have prayers chanted in every house in the\nparish, for which the charge varies in the rural districts from 4 cents to\n60 cents each visit, according to the importance of the occasion. In the\nlarge cities the fees are much more considerable. Father Gagarin cites the\ncase of a parishioner in St. Petersburg to whom the clergy presented\nthemselves in this manner twenty\u2010seven times in a single year, and at each\ncall he had to give them something. This, however, was an exception.\nGenerally the visits are only fifteen a year. \u201cSometimes it happens,\u201d\ncontinues our author, \u201cthat the peasant cannot or will not give what the\npriest asks. Hence arise angry disputes. One priest\u2014so runs the\nstory\u2014unable to overcome the obstinacy of a peasant refusing to pay for\nthe prayers read in his house, declared that he would reverse them. He had\njust before chanted, \u2018_Benedictus Deus noster_\u2019; he now intoned, \u2018NON\n_Benedictus_, NON _Deus_, NON _noster_\u2019 thus intercalating a _non_ before\neach word. The affrighted peasant, the chronicle says, instantly complied.\nOften enough, too, in spite of all the prohibitions of the synod, the\nwives and children of the priests, deacons, and clerks accompany their\nhusbands and fathers, and stretch out _their_ hands also. The worst of all\nthis is that the Russian peasant, while long disputing merely about a few\ncentimes, will think himself insulted unless the priest accept a glass of\nbrandy. And when the circuit of all the houses in the village has to be\nmade, though he stay only a few minutes in each, this last gift is not\nwithout its inconveniences.\u201d It must be an edifying round certainly. But\nthen the reverend gentleman has a wife to help him home.\n\nThe black clergy is not in a much better condition than the white. All the\nmonasteries are supposed to be under the rule of S. Basil; but they are\nnot united in congregations, each establishment being independent of all\nthe rest. Most of them do not observe the great religious rule of poverty\nand community of goods, but each monk has own purse, and the superiors are\noften wealthy. One hundred years ago, the number of convents, not\nreckoning those in Little and White Russia, was 954. The ukase of\nCatharine II., which confiscated the property of the clergy, suppressed\nall but 400. Since then the number has increased.\n\nThe great increase in the number of monks between 1836 and 1838 is\naccounted for by the forcible incorporation of the United Greeks. This was\nnot formally effected until 1839, but the United Greeks were reckoned as\npart of the Russian Church in 1838, and many of their monks were\ntransferred from their own to the non\u2010united monasteries earlier than\nthat. It will be seen, however, that the increase thus obtained was not\npermanent.\n\nThe curious discrepancy between the number of monks and the number of nuns\nhas an equally curious explanation. Women are forbidden, by a decree of\nPeter the Great, to take the vows under forty years of age. Hence the\nconvents are crowded with postulants who must wait sometimes twenty years\nbefore they can take the veil. Some persevere, some return to the world,\nand many continue to live in the convent without becoming professed. If we\nreckon the whole population of the convents\u2014monks, nuns, novices, and\naspirants\u2014we shall find the number of the two sexes more nearly agree.\n\nIt is interesting to see from which classes of society these monks and\nnuns are drawn. F. Gagarin distinguishes five classes: I. The clergy,\nincluding priests, deacons, and clerks, with their wives and children; II.\nThe nobility, embracing not only the titled nobility, but government\nfunctionaries and members of the learned professions; III. The urban\npopulation, comprising merchants, artisans, citizens, etc.; IV. The rural\npopulation, consisting of peasants of all conditions; V. The military. The\nmonks are recruited from these five classes in the following ratio:\n\nClergy:             54.3 per cent.\nUrban population:   22.3    \"\nRural population:       16.3    \"\nMilitary:            3.4    \"\nNobility:            3      \"\n\nThe immense preponderance of the clerical element is owing primarily, of\ncourse, to the regulation of caste, which virtually compels the children\nof the clergy to follow the profession of their fathers. For the\nambitious, the monastery alone offers an alluring prospect, since it is\nfrom the black clergy that the bishops are taken. The religious calling,\ntherefore, in Russia is not so much a vocation as a career. If there were\nreally an unselfish devout tendency towards the monastic life among the\nchildren of the clergy, we should expect to find it stronger with the\ndaughters than with the sons. But the case is far otherwise. There are no\nbishoprics for the women; their career is to marry priests, go with them\nfrom house to house collecting alms, and help them home when they have\ntaken too much brandy. Hence we find the following ratio among the\npopulation of the nunneries:\n\nUrban population:    38.8 per cent.\nRural population:       31      \"\nClergy:              13      \"\nNobility:            12      \"\nMilitary:             4      \"\n\nThe number of recruits supplied to monasteries by the clerical profession\naverages 140 a year. These comprise a curious variety of persons. First,\nthere are priests or deacons who have committed grave crimes; they are\nsentenced to the convent, as lay convicts are sentenced to the galleys.\nNext there are seminarists who have failed in their studies; if they quit\nthe ranks of the clergy altogether, they are forced into the army; if they\nremain among the white clergy, they have no prospect of becoming anything\nbetter than sacristans or beadles; by entering a convent they will at\nleast live more comfortably and may aspire to become deacons or priests.\nThen there are deacons and priests who have lost their wives; they cannot\nmarry again; the Russian government hesitates to entrust a parish to a\nwifeless priest; the wife indeed, as we have just seen, has some very\nimportant functions to perform in the administration of parochial rites;\nso the unfortunate widower is not only advised but sometimes compelled to\ngo to a convent. Again, there are seminarists who after completing their\nstudies act as professors for some time before they are ordained. Suppose\nsuch a man has been married and his wife dies. He cannot be ordained if he\nmarry again. He cannot be ordained a secular priest without a wife. He\nmust either go to the convent or seek some career outside the clerical\nprofession, and that, as we have seen, it is almost impossible to find.\nAmbition draws many to the monastery. A student of any one of the four\ngreat academies of St. Petersburg, Moscow, Kasan, and Kieff, who embraces\nthe monastic life during his academical course, is morally certain on\nquitting the academy of being named inspector or prefect of studies in a\nseminary; at the end of a few years he becomes rector; and if he do not\nimpede his own advancement he can hardly fail to be a bishop after a\nwhile. Still there is difficulty in obtaining from the academies a\nsufficient number of educated monks, and according to F. Gagarin some\nextraordinary devices are resorted to in order to supply the demand. When\npersuasion has failed, the student whom the convent wishes to capture is\ninvited to pass the evening with one of the monks. Brandy is produced and\nit is not difficult to make the young man drunk. While he is insensible\nthe ceremony of taking the habit and receiving the tonsure is performed on\nhim, and he is then put to bed. When he awakes, he finds by his side,\ninstead of the lay garments he wore the night before, a monastic gown. All\nresistance is useless. He is told that what is done cannot be undone, and\nafter a while he submits angrily to his fate. This at any rate was the\nmethod of impressment into the religious state adopted fifty years ago.\nNow, says our author, it is unnecessary, inasmuch as a shorter way has\nbeen found of reaching the same result. The students of the academies\n(these are students of theology, be it remembered\u2014equivalent to our\nseminarians) are in the habit of frequenting public\u2010houses and getting\ndrunk. They are carried home on hand\u2010barrows, and this proceeding is known\nas the \u201cTranslation of the Relics.\u201d When a young man has been fixed upon\nas a desirable recruit for the monastery, the superior has only to watch\nuntil he is brought home on a barrow; the next morning, while his head and\nhis stomach are rebuking him, he is informed that he has been expelled for\nhis disgraceful conduct; but, if he will give a proof of his sincere\nrepentance by making a written request to be received as a monk, he may be\nforgiven.\n\nThere is no novitiate in the Russian convents. The neophyte makes his vows\nat once\u2014provided he has reached the age prescribed by the law\u2014and\ninstances are not wanting of monks who have even attained the episcopate\nwithout ever having lived in a convent. According to the Russian law,\nacademy pupils may make the religious profession at 25; other men at 30.\nIt often happens that a youth has finished his studies before reaching 25;\nin that case, instead of applying for a dispensation, he makes a false\nstatement of his age. Others who fail at their books wait for their\nthirtieth year, and are placed meanwhile each one under the care of some\nmonk, who is supposed to form him for the monastic state. But he receives\nno religious training. He does not learn to pray, to meditate, to examine\nhis conscience. He waits upon his master; he joins in the long service in\nthe church; and the rest of the time he spends in amusement within or\nwithout the convent. His pleasures are not always of the most edifying\ncharacter, and his excursions are not confined to the day.\n\nWhat sort of monks can be formed by such training? The asceticism\nprescribed by S. Basil is rarely observed. Meat is forbidden, but it is a\ncommon dish on the convent tables. Drunkenness is so prevalent that it\nhardly causes surprise. \u201cAfter that,\u201d says our author, \u201cone can imagine\nwhat becomes of the vow of chastity.\u201d There is, as we have already said,\nno pretence of observing holy poverty. Every monk has a certain share of\nthe convent revenues, proportioned to his rank, and this share is\nsometimes large. The average income of the black clergy is not easily\nascertained. There are two sorts of convents\u2014those which receive aid from\nthe state, as compensation for confiscated estates, and those which depend\nentirely upon private resources. Those of the first kind are divided into\nmonasteries of the first, second, and third classes, receiving from the\ngovernment respectively 2,000, 1,600, and 670 roubles a year ($1,680,\n$1,344, $563). There are 278 of these convents, receiving 259,200 roubles,\nor about $217,728 from this source. In former years, each convent was\nentitled to the compulsory services of a certain number of peasants. Since\nthe emancipation of the serfs the government has commuted this privilege\nby paying an annual sum of 307,850 silver roubles, or $258,594. Endowments\nwith an obligation to pray for the departed yield in addition $2,150,400\nto white and black clergy together. Let us suppose that the monks get one\u2010\nhalf; that would be $1,075,200 per annum. Then the convents possess large\nproperties in arable lands, woodlands, meadows, fisheries, mills, etc. One\nconvent is mentioned which has derived an income of $10,000 merely from\nthe resin collected in its forests. The greater part of the revenues,\nhowever, are derived from the voluntary contributions of the people. These\nseem to be enormous. Russians prefer to be buried within the precincts of\nthe monasteries, and the monks not only ask an exorbitant price for the\ngrave, but make the deceased a permanent source of profit by charging for\nprayers over his remains. Images famous for miracles, churches enriched\nwith the relics of saints, have multitudes of visitors who never come\nempty\u2010handed. How much can be made from this concourse of the faithful may\nbe imagined when it is remembered that a single laura, that of S. Sergius\nat Moscow, is visited every year by a million pilgrims. Begging brothers\ntraverse all Russia, gathering alms. A very pretty trade is driven in wax\ntapers. The various arts resorted to by the white clergy to collect money\nare well known to the monks also. The Laura of S. Sergius is said to have\na revenue all told of at least 2,000,000 roubles ($1,680,000), and a\nsingle chapel in Moscow yields to the convent to which it is attached an\nannual income of about $80,000. These princely revenues are not devoted to\nlearning, education, charity, religion. A large part is misappropriated by\nthe persons appointed to gather them. A third is the property of the\nsuperiors. The rest is divided among the monks. The annual income of the\nsuperior of one of the great lauras is from $33,600 to $50,400; of the\nsuperior of a monastery of the first class, from $8,400 to $25,200; second\nclass, $4,200 to $8,400; third class, $840 to $4,200. All this is for\ntheir personal use; the monastery gives them lodging, food, and fuel, and\nthey have to buy nothing but their clothing.\n\nThe seminaries, governed by the state, teach successfully neither piety\nnor learning. The tendency of the courses of instruction is to become\nsecular rather than ecclesiastical. A proposal has recently been made that\neach bishop shall choose for his diocesan seminary a learned and pious\npriest to hear the confessions of the pupils, and excite them to devout\npractices; but it is objected that no secular priest can be found who is\nfit to discharge such important functions, while those monks who are fit\nare already employed in more important duties; besides, if one could\ndiscover among the white clergy the right sort of man, so much virtue\nwould come very expensive, and the bishops could not or would not pay the\nsalary he would be in a condition to demand. The seminarians are required\nto confess twice a year, namely, during the first week of Lent and during\nHoly Week. In reality, most of them omit the second confession; they go\nhome to their families at Holy Week, and rarely approach the sacraments,\nthough they always bring back a certificate from the parish priest that\nthey have done so. A new regulation prescribes two additional confessions\nand communions, namely, at Christmas and the Assumption, and attempts\nanother reform by ordaining that seminarians shall say their prayers\nmorning and evening, and grace before and after meat.\n\nThe bishops are appointed by the czar, and transferred, promoted,\ndegraded, imprisoned, knouted, or put to death at the imperial pleasure.\nUntil very recently, no bishop could leave his diocese without the\npermission of the synod, so that consultations among the episcopacy were,\nof course, impossible. Now, however, a bishop may absent himself for eight\ndays, on giving notice to the synod. It is the synod at St. Petersburg\nthat exercises, under the czar, the whole ecclesiastical authority of the\nempire. The bishop has no power, and nothing to do but to sign reports.\nAll the business of his diocese is really transacted by a lay secretary,\nappointed not by the bishop, but by the synod. Under the secretary is a\nchancery of six or seven chief clerks, with assistant clerks and writers.\nThis office superintends all the affairs of the clergy, and transacts no\nbusiness without drink\u2010money. It is the most venal and rapacious of all\nRussian bureaus, and such a mine of wealth to the officials that recently,\nwhen the chancery of a certain town was abolished on account of the\ndestruction of its buildings by fire, the employees petitioned to be\nallowed to restore them at their own expense. The secretary is the one\nall\u2010powerful person of the diocese. From 12,000 to 15,000 files of\ndocuments are referred to the chancery every year for decision, and it is\nhe who passes upon them, asking nothing of the bishop except his\nsignature. He is almost invariably corrupt, and as he possesses, through\nhis relations with the synod, the power to ruin the bishop if he chooses,\nthere is no one to interfere with him.\n\nThe synod consists of the metropolitan of St. Petersburg and a number of\nother bishops chosen by the czar and changed every now and then, and of\ntwo or three secular priests, one of whom is the czar\u2019s chaplain, and\nanother the chief chaplain of the army and navy. But in reality, the whole\npower of the synod is held by an imperial procurator, who sits in the\nassembly, watches all its proceedings, stops deliberations whenever he\nsees fit, is the intermediary between the church and the state, and\nformulates decisions for the signature of the synod. Most of these\ndecisions are signed without reading, and sometimes they are made to\nexpress the direct contrary of the sense of the assembly. The procurator,\nin a word, is to the synod what the secretary is to the bishop\u2014the\nrepresentative of the civil power ruling the enslaved and submissive\nchurch. The czar speaks through the procurator, the procurator speaks\nthrough the lay secretaries of the bishop, and so the church is governed\npractically without troubling the clergy at all.\n\nThe \u201cOld Catholics\u201d of Germany, and the new and improved Catholics who are\n(perhaps) going to be made under the patent of Father Hyacinthe and wife,\nare understood to be looking eagerly for connections in various parts of\nthe world. Let them by all means go to Russia. They will see there how\nmuch liberty a church gains when it cuts itself off from its obedience to\nthe See of Peter, and what kind of a clergy is constructed when men try to\nimprove upon the models of Almighty God.\n\n\n\n\nThe Cross Through Love, And Love Through The Cross.\n\n\nMaheleth Cristalar was the daughter of a Spanish Jew. Her father had once\nbeen very wealthy, and indeed until the age of sixteen she had lived in\nprincely splendor. The beauties of her Spanish home were very dear to her;\nshe had many friends, and as much time as she chose to spend in study.\n\nBut one day, her mother, a stately, handsome matron, came into her little\nsitting\u2010room, looking pale and worn.\n\n\u201cMaheleth, my child,\u201d she began, in faltering tones, \u201cwe have had some bad\nnews this morning. I am afraid we are in danger of being totally ruined.\u201d\n\nThe young girl looked up; she was very beautiful, and the spiritual\nexpression on her face intensified and heightened her beauty in a singular\ndegree.\n\n\u201cRuined, dear mother? Is my father very unhappy about it?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is more angry than unhappy; it has happened through the dishonesty of\npersons he trusted.\u201d\n\n\u201cShall we have to leave home?\u201d asked Maheleth.\n\n\u201cI fear we shall; it is a heavy trial.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will be for our good in the end, mother darling. I am so sorry for you\nand my father, because you have always been used to riches.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo have you, my poor child.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut not for so long a time; and it is easier to root up a sapling than a\nfull\u2010grown tree.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! you hardly know what may be before you, Maheleth; your sisters are\nmere children; we have but few relations; with fortune, so also friends\nwill forsake us; the shock will be very sudden, and we shall have to bear\nit alone.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou forget our God,\u201d said the girl gently.\n\nA shade of impatience passed over the elder woman\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cWe do not hope for miracles now, child,\u201d she answered; \u201cyour father has\nworked hard for his wealth, but God will not treat him as he treated Job.\u201d\n\n\u201cDepend upon it, if he does not, mother mine, it is because he knows what\nis best for us. You would not have us lose our hopes of the hereafter for\nthe sake of more or less comfort in the earthly present?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy child, you should have been a boy; such sayings would tell well in a\nsermon, but in practical business matters they are but cold comfort.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! they _are_ comfort sufficient, believe me; besides, they do not debar\nus from prudent measures and precautions in a temporal point of view.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, child, you are a visionary, I always knew that; it remains to be\nseen if you can be a stoic.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat need of that, dear mother? Stoicism is not obedience nor\nresignation.\u201d\n\nHere a light step was heard, and the half\u2010open door was pushed quickly\nback. A little girl, about nine years old, ran in with flushed face, and,\nholding in her hands a velvet casket, cried out in gleeful voice:\n\n\u201cO mother! sister! see! I got leave to bring this in myself. It has just\ncome from the jeweller\u2019s, just as my father ordered it!\u201d\n\nAnd she opened the casket, displaying a wonderful _parure_ of opals and\ndiamonds, exquisitely and artistically wrought. Se\u00f1ora Cristalar turned\naway impatiently, saying to the child:\n\n\u201cThamar, I am engaged; don\u2019t come fooling here about these jewels; put\nthem down, and go into the next room.\u201d\n\nThe child, hurt and astonished, looked blankly at her sister. Maheleth\nreached out her hand for the casket, and half rose from her seat.\n\n\u201cI will come to you presently, little sister, if you wait in there; never\nmind the pretty gems just now.\u201d\n\nAnd so saying, she kissed the little eyes that were ready to overflow with\nchildish tears, and, setting the jewels on a table out of sight of her\nmother, resumed her seat.\n\n\u201cThere are the first\u2010fruits of our circumstances,\u201d said the mother\nbitterly. \u201cThe man expects to be paid for those to\u2010day, and I shall have\nto tell him to take them back!\u201d\n\n\u201cCome! if there were nothing worse than that! Now, mother, we will both go\nto my father, and pray together, and then consult among ourselves.\u201d\n\nMaheleth\u2019s father was very fond and very proud of his eldest daughter, and\nthis indeed was his best trait. Shrewd and clever in worldly affairs, yet\nstrictly honest in his dealings, he was not devoid of that hardness that\ntoo often accompanies mercantile success, and as often turns to weakness\nwhen that success disappears.\n\nOne thing seemed to sustain him, but it was only a hollow prop after\nall\u2014his pride of race. For generations his family had been well known and\nhonored: he could trace his ancestry back in an unbroken line of descent\nfrom one of the exiles from devastated Jerusalem. Rabbis and learned men\nhad borne his name, and though in later times no opening save that of\ntrade and banking had been available to those of his race, yet his blood\nyielded it in nothing to that of the proverbially haughty nobles of Spain.\nIt mattered little that by some he was shunned as of an inferior\nextraction or lower social status; his own wealth, his wife\u2019s beauty, his\nlavish hospitality, his daughter\u2019s charms, were strong enough, he knew, to\nbreak the barriers of prejudice, at least as far as appearances went. As\nto marriages, he did not covet for his children the alliance of a poor\nforeigner, and poor most of the proud families were whom he daily\nentertained at his splendid house\u2014poor in brains, poor in beauty, poor in\nenergy and strong will.\n\nAnd yet, though he almost despised his neighbors, this shock was very\ngalling to him. _They_ now would turn from him, would forget his open\u2010\nhandedness, and remember only his race and creed; would pity him perhaps,\nbut with the pity that is almost contempt. And this seemed to paralyze\nhim, for all his fiercely expressed consciousness of superiority to his\nfriends.\n\nMaheleth tried to persuade him to take the trial calmly; for even in a\ntemporal aspect calmness would sooner show him how to retrieve his\nfortunes.\n\n\u201cFor,\u201d she said, \u201cyou know that, with your abilities, you can, if you\nwill, gain enough for my little sisters\u2019 dowry by the time they will be\ngrown up; and that is the first thing to be considered, and after that we\nshall even have enough to live in comfort.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what is to become of you, Maheleth?\u201d asked her father fondly.\n\n\u201cOh! you and I will be co\u2010workers. I will look after those two until you\ncan marry them well, and so we will both have a definite object in life.\nWe can keep my mother in some degree of comfort from the very beginning,\nif we only look things in the face.\u201d\n\nThe opals and diamonds had to be returned to the jeweller\u2019s; the pleasant\nhome was broken up, and what with the sale of his property, and various\nother legal arrangements, Ephraim Cristaler was able to pay all his\ncreditors, with a few trifling exceptions, for which he bound himself by\nsolemn promise to provide shortly.\n\nThen the banker and merchant disappeared, and the nine days\u2019 wonder was\nforgotten by his former circle of acquaintances.\n\nOne day, a young Englishman, travelling or rather sauntering about Europe\nin a way unlike the usual useless rush of tourists from one point to\nanother of Murray\u2019s _Guide\u2010Book_, arrived at Frankfort and settled\nthere\u2014for how long, he, least of all, could have told.\n\nAt the hotel, nothing was known of him but his name, Henry Holcombe, and\nthat he had come with a black portmanteau containing a number of books. He\nwent slowly to see the sights, one by one, as if he had plenty of leisure\nand wanted to enjoy it; and, when he _did_ go, he never measured the\nlength and breadth of saloons, the height of towers, the number of statues\nin the cathedral\u2010niches; nor did he ever disgrace his name by carving it\nside by side with the ambitious Joneses or the heaven\u2010soaring Smiths on\nthe pinnacle of a temple, or the bark supports of a summer\u2010house; when he\nwent out with a book in his hand, it was neither the obtrusive _Murray_\nnor the ostentatious _Byron_; and, in fact, he departed altogether from\nthe standard of the regulation British tourist.\n\nHe was walking one day down the _Juden\u2010Strasse_, the picturesqueness of\nwhose medi\u00e6val\u2010looking houses had a special attraction for him, when it\ncame on to rain very suddenly, and the sky seemed to threaten a storm in\ngood earnest; the street was soon deserted, and the narrow roadway became\na miniature stream. Presently he heard a step behind him, and a slight\nfigure, half\u2010hidden by a large umbrella, pressed quickly past him. It was\na woman, and, he thought, a very young one, but more than that he could\nnot tell, because she was veiled and muffled, and held the dripping\numbrella very close down upon her head. She had not gone a dozen paces\nbeyond him before she dropped something white like a roll of music, and\nstooped slowly to pick it up. The cloak and long skirt she was holding\nfast to keep them from the mud embarrassed her, and the young Englishman\nhad time to spring forward and restore the white roll of paper to her hand\nbefore she had grasped it.\n\n\u201cOh! thank you, _mein Herr_!\u201d said a low, rich voice, in very soft German.\nAnd, as Henry took off his hat in silence, the girl made a pretty sweeping\ninclination, and left him, walking as quickly as before.\n\nBut he had seen more this time, and he knew she was beautiful, and had a\ndainty, graceful hand. Curious and interested, he watched the dark\u2010clad\nfigure down the street, quickened his own steps as it hastened on,\nslackened them as it paused to clear a crossing without splashing the long\nand rather inconvenient garments. He saw it stop at last, and ring a bell\nat an old forlorn\u2010looking door, where he might have expected to see the\nface of a gnome appear, as guardian of unsuspected treasures within.\n\nHe was dreadfully romantic, this young Englishman, but in a subdued, quiet\nway that seldom showed itself in words, and was specially repelled by the\n_gushing_ style too much followed just then by some of his fair\ncountrywomen.\n\nThe door was opened and shut, and, except through his notice of the number\nover it, 25, his relation with the beautiful stranger was cut off.\n\nHe thought of it day after day, got a directory, and found out that in the\nhouse No. 25 there lived three families of the names of Zimmermann,\nKrummacher, and L\u00f6wenberg. The occupations of the heads of the families\nwere given thus: \u201cmoney\u2010lender,\u201d \u201cbanking\u2010clerk,\u201d and \u201clace\u2010merchant,\u201d\nrespectively; no clue whatsoever, of course; and, unless in a regular and\nreceived manner, Mr. Holcombe could not think of entering the house.\nStill, the face he had seen veiled under the prosaic tent of a wet\numbrella kept between him and his thoughts, and would not be driven away.\nThen, too, what business was it of his to go and throw himself in the way\nof a girl who most likely was a Jewess? Yet, reason as he might, the\nmysterious face _would_ visit him, and it seemed to him as the face of an\nangel. Very often he passed the house, and once or twice even made a\npretence of sketching it; but he never saw the figure again. Once a young\nface looked out over the flowers in the window of the ground\u2010floor room, a\nmerry face full of health and mischief\u2014not _his_ dream. The blinds were\nalways drawn on the first floor, even when the windows were open, and he\nbegan to fancy _she_ must be hidden behind those discreet shrouders of\nprivacy. A friend of his met him at his hotel one day when he came home\nfrom the _Juden\u2010Strasse_, and surprised him by telling him he was going\nhome in a fortnight to get married.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve been half over the world, my dear fellow,\u201d he said, \u201cand enjoyed\nmyself immensely. And I\u2019ve got such a pile of things going home to my\n_fianc\u00e9e_, for our house. She _will_ be delighted, she is so fond of\nqueer, foreign things, not like what other people have, you know. I\u2019ll\nshow you some, but most are gone in packing cases through agents from the\ndifferent parts of the world I\u2019ve been in.\u201d\n\nAnd the two young men went upstairs to examine the bridal gifts.\n\n\u201cLook here,\u201d said Ellice to his quieter friend, \u201cit was a pasha\u2019s wife\nsent me these,\u201d dragging out a handful of Eastern jewelry, golden fillets,\nand embroidered jackets and slippers. \u201cA cousin of mine is the wife of the\nconsul at Smyrna, and she got them for me, for of course I was not allowed\nto go near the Eastern lady! And look here, these are carved shells, and\nmother\u2010of\u2010pearl crucifixes from Jerusalem, and boxes made from Olivet\ntrees and cedars of Lebanon; you should value those.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope your future wife will,\u201d gravely said young Holcombe; \u201cthe wood of\nthe olives of Gethsemani is almost a relic in itself.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! Miss Kenneth will appreciate them just as much as you do, Holcombe,\nshe is very reverential. See, here is some alabaster, Naples coral, and\nByzantine manuscripts, and marble ornaments from the Parthenon. Ah! here\nis the filigree silver of Genoa; that is one of my last purchases, except\nthese pictures on china from Geneva; see the frames, too, they are Swiss.\u201d\n\nThen he turned out a huge tiger\u2010skin, and said: \u201cAll my Indian things\nexcept this were sent from Bombay, and a year ago I sent home all kinds of\njolly things from North America\u2014furs and skins, antlers, and other\ncuriosities. By the bye, I have some old _point_ from Venice, but some\npeople had been there before me and cleaned the shop out pretty nearly, so\nI shall have to get some more. Belgium is a good place, isn\u2019t it?\u201d\n\nHolcombe looked thoughtful; his truant mind was at No. 25 again, and he\ndid not answer. His friend went on:\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll just ask the landlady, she\u2019ll be likely to know if there is any\nplace here, just for a souvenir of Frankfort.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Holcombe, \u201cI suppose she knows.\u201d And, as he spoke, the phantom\nface was directly in his mind\u2019s eye, and he could not drive the vision\naway.\n\n\u201cAnd now, old fellow, suppose you show me the lions here,\u201d said Ellice;\n\u201cyou have been here longer than I have.\u201d\n\nSo they walked out, and of course in due time came to the high, irregular\nhouses bordering the curious _Juden\u2010Strasse_. It was Friday evening, and\nthe street was full of people hurrying to one spot; the air was balmy, and\ntold of summer; the scene was very striking. The stream of people\ndisappeared under the archway of a splendid Moorish\u2010looking building, with\nHebrew characters carved above the portal. It was the new synagogue. The\ntwo friends followed the men; the women were lost to view in the stair\u2010\ncases leading to the galleries. A gorgeous lattice\u2010work defended these\ngalleries, and the assemblage in the main part of the temple were men with\ntheir hats on and light veils or shawls across their shoulders.\n\nThe service began; low, plaintive chants resounded through the building;\nsometimes the congregation joined. It was very solemn, and Henry Holcombe\nseemed fascinated. Some one passed him a book and found the place for him.\nAnd now came the prayer for the mourners, the mourner\u2019s _Kaddisch_, as he\nsaw it printed before his eyes. There was a stir among the people, and he\ncould hear the women\u2019s clothes rustling in the gallery. Those who had\nrecently lost friends and relations stood up during the intercession, and\nthen another prayer was offered up in German. Holcombe thought the sound\nof the old Hebrew was like the passing of water through a narrow rocky\nchannel; it was soothing and flowing, sad and majestic, and he wondered if\nthe girl he had seen once thought and felt about it as he did.\n\nWhen the crowd dispersed, he tried to linger at the entrance, watching the\nwomen as they passed out. His friend was hardly so patient, and reminded\nhim of the _table d\u2019h\u00f4te_ they had most likely already missed.\n\n\u201cI am afraid,\u201d he said, \u201cyour people would scarcely approve your\nadmiration of the pretty Jewesses.\u201d\n\nHolcombe blushed and moved away, and, just as he came out on the sidewalk,\na girl in black passed him slowly, with an anxious, absent look.\n\n\u201cBy jove! that _is_ a pretty face!\u201d exclaimed Ellice; but the other said\nnothing. For the second time, he had seen the face he was always dreaming\nof, \u201cShe looks like an angel,\u201d he thought, \u201cand yet she is not even a\nChristian.\u201d\n\n\u201cI never saw a German Jewess like that,\u201d his friend went on to say. \u201cShe\nlooks like a Spaniard.\u201d\n\nThe next day, Ellice had got an address written down, and said to\nHolcombe:\n\n\u201cIf you care to go with me, we will go and look after this lace\u2010merchant\nthis morning.\u201d\n\nHolcombe\u2019s heart gave a great throb as he asked carelessly to see the\naddress: \u201cJacob Zimmermann, 25 _Juden\u2010Strasse_.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know much about laces,\u201d he answered, \u201cbut I will go with\npleasure.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt feels like going on an adventure, like something you read of in a\nbook,\u201d said Ellice, \u201cthis penetrating into the privacy of those tumble\u2010\ndown dens of the _Juden\u2010Strasse_.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d returned Holcombe quietly, \u201cit does give one the idea.\u201d\n\nThey rang at the door No. 25, and the merry, mischievous face he had seen\nonce at the window greeted Henry as he entered. They inquired for Herr\nZimmermann.\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d said the girl, laughing and looking astonished, \u201che is up on the\nthird floor. Shall I show you the way? But he is ill, and, as he lives all\nalone, he has got into very queer ways.\u201d\n\nThey went up, guided by the laughing girl, who rattled on as she preceded\nthem.\n\n\u201cGentlemen like you most often inquire for _us_, for my father, I mean,\nand no one ever comes to see old Zimmermann except some wrinkled old\nladies, and heaven knows how they find him out; and as to Herr L\u00f6wenberg,\nhe is a stranger and has no friends.\u201d\n\nThe two young men then knew that she was the money\u2010lender\u2019s daughter, and\nHolcombe thought his dream companion must bear the name of L\u00f6wenberg.\n\n\u201cBut is not Zimmermann a rich old merchant, and is he not well\u2010known in\nthe town?\u201d asked Ellice. \u201cMy landlady named him at once when I asked for\nlaces.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! yes; _rich_ he is; so rich he won\u2019t sell generally; but then an\nEnglishman is another thing! He lives like a rat in a hole, and starves\nhimself.\u201d\n\nBy this time, they had reached the door of the miser\u2019s room; a low,\nsubdued voice was heard within reading.\n\nTheir knock was answered by a noise of light footsteps, and the door was\ndrawn ajar by some one inside.\n\n\u201cRachel, what is it? You know Herr Zimmermann is ill.\u201d\n\nHolcombe knew that voice _must_ belong to the girl he had never forgotten.\nJust then the light from the door fell upon the men in the darkened,\nnarrow passage, and the slight figure drew back a little.\n\n\u201cThey are English gentlemen,\u201d said Rachel. \u201cThey want to buy.\u201d\n\n\u201c_To\u2010day_, Rachel? It is the Sabbath.\u201d\n\nRachel shrugged her shoulders, and Ellice stepped forward.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon. I forgot that. But since we are here, perhaps you will\nlet us _see_ the laces, and we can come back and choose on Monday.\u201d\n\nThe girl looked uneasily back into the room, and then said, in a very low\nvoice:\n\n\u201cNo; please do not ask to come in to\u2010day; he is hardly conscious, and he\nmight forget it was the Sabbath in his excitement.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well,\u201d said Ellice politely, and Holcombe whispered to him: \u201cCome\naway; don\u2019t you understand?\u201d\n\nThe door was closed gently, and Henry said:\n\n\u201cShe was afraid he could not resist the temptation of a good offer, if it\nwere made to him, and she wanted to prevent his doing anything wrong.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow stupid I am!\u201d said Ellice. \u201cOf course that\u2019s it. But, I say, is she\nnot pretty?\u201d\n\n\u201cBeautiful!\u201d answered Holcombe very quietly.\n\n\u201cIs that Fraulein Zimmermann?\u201d asked Ellice of Rachel.\n\n\u201cNo; Fraulein L\u00f6wenberg,\u201d said the girl. \u201cShe is very kind to the old man.\nHer own father is ill and can\u2019t work, and she is very good to him. She\nreads to old Zimmermann, and looks after him, too, when he is ill. She has\ntwo little sisters also.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how do they live?\u201d asked Ellice.\n\n\u201c_She_ keeps them, I think. The father used to be clerk in Hauptmann\u2019s\nbank; but he has been laid up six months now, and the mother died two\nmonths after they came here.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre they Germans?\u201d said Ellice, really interested.\n\n\u201cTheir name is, but I fancy they are foreigners. Maheleth speaks like a\nforeigner.\u201d\n\n\u201cMaheleth! A curious name.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, an unusual one; so is her sister\u2019s\u2014Thamar.\u201d\n\nThey were at the street\u2010door now, and Ellice bade the girl good\u2010morning,\nsaying they would come again on Monday.\n\n\u201cWhat a curious chance!\u201d he went on. \u201cIt is the same girl we saw coming\nout of the synagogue last night. Did you notice?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Holcombe.\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t seem very much interested, anyhow.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear fellow, I never could get up an ecstasy!\u201d\n\n\u201cStill waters run deep, Holcombe. I suspect that is the case with you, you\nsly fellow.\u201d\n\nMonday came, and the two friends were again at No. 25. Rachel admitted\nthem as before, and showed them into the old lace\u2010merchant\u2019s den. He was\nalone, and looked very eager; but his wasted, wrinkled hands and dried\u2010up\nface spoke his miserly character, and froze the sympathy he so little\ncared to receive. He laid out his precious wares with trembling fingers,\nand it was curious to see these cobweb treasures drawn from common drawers\nand boxes, and heaped on a rickety deal table near the stove that was just\nlighted, because he was still so ill. Everything about the room looked\ncold and hungry; the floor was bare; the paint on the walls dirty and\ndiscolored; and an untidy assortment of tin pans and cheap crockery\nlittered the neighborhood of the stove. The window looked into a back\u2010\nyard, and what panes were not broken were obscured by dirt. In strange\ncontrast to all this was a bouquet of fresh flowers on a chair.\n\nWhile Ellice and the old man were bargaining, Holcombe fastened his eye on\nthe flowers, conjecturing well whose present they were.\n\nThe old Jew asked enormous prices for his laces, and gave marvellous\naccounts of the difficulties he had sustained in procuring them as an\nexcuse for his exorbitant demands. So the time seemed long to Henry, who\nknew little or nothing about such things, when suddenly Rachel appeared at\nthe door with a basin of soup. \u201cFraulein L\u00f6wenberg sent you this,\u201d she\nsaid to the old man, and then to the strangers: \u201cYou must excuse us; he is\ntoo weak to do without this at the accustomed time, and the fraulein is\ngone out.\u201d\n\n\u201cGone out!\u201d querulously said the miser. \u201cGone out without coming to see\nme!\u201d\n\n\u201cShe knew you were engaged,\u201d retorted Rachel. \u201cYou will see her again to\u2010\nnight.\u201d She spoke as to a spoiled child.\n\n\u201cWell, well, business must be first, and she has business as well as I\nhave.\u201d And he went on with his flourishing declamations over his lovely\nlaces.\n\nHolcombe understood why she had omitted her morning\u2019s visit to her old\n_prot\u00e9g\u00e9_, and, indeed, it would have been unlike his ideal of her had she\nacted otherwise.\n\n\u201cHave you nearly done, Ellice?\u201d he said, coming up to the table.\n\n\u201cYes; all right. See, I have chosen the nicest things I could find, as far\nas I know; but the fellow asks such confounded prices.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you had only that to expect,\u201d was the smiling answer, and then the\nyoung man turned to the lace\u2010merchant.\n\n\u201cHave you been ill long?\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly a month, and I should be dead if it were not for Maheleth. I cannot\ndo without her.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut she is poor herself; she cannot bring you what you want, can she?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, she cannot; she is poor, and her father is poor, and so am I. I sell\nnothing now; I have no customers.\u201d\n\nHolcombe smiled slightly, but he went on:\n\n\u201cAre you fond of flowers?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but I cannot afford them.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen it would be cruel of me to ask a violet hearts\u2010ease of you; but, if\nyou would give me that, I will send you more flowers, and bring you\nsomething you will like to\u2010morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, you may take one; but, if you want flowers, Maheleth can give you\nsome; she has some growing in her room.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, this one is enough. Good\u2010by, and I will try and see you again.\u201d\n\nAs they left the house, Ellice said to his friend:\n\n\u201cWell, Holcombe, you _are_ green! You don\u2019t mean to say you believe he is\npoor?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I don\u2019t believe it; but he will be none the worse off for a few\nflowers and some good food, if he won\u2019t get them for himself.\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose you remember that there is another invalid in the house, and\nthe same person nurses both?\u201d\n\n\u201cI know what you mean, Ellice, and I wish you wouldn\u2019t joke; it is not\nfair.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, old fellow; but, if you were anybody but yourself, I should\nsay \u2018take care.\u2019 You always were the steadiest old chap going.\u201d\n\nA day or two afterwards, Holcombe was left alone again; he had sent things\nto Zimmermann as he had promised; but as yet he had not revisited the\n_Juden\u2010Strasse_. On Friday, there was a special service at the Catholic\ncathedral, at eight o\u2019clock, and the young man, hardly knowing why,\ndetermined to go.\n\nThe church was only partially lighted, except the chancel, which was\ndazzling. The music was good, the congregation devout, and the German\nsermon as interesting as could be expected. The whole effect was very\nbeautiful, and seemed to Henry a peace\u2010giving and heart\u2010soothing one. A\nrush of voices came breaking in upon his reverie at the _Tantum Ergo_, and\nthe surging sound was like a mighty utterance of his own feelings. As the\npriest raised the Host, he bowed his head low, and prayed for peace and\nguidance; and when he lifted it again the first object his eye fixed on\nwas a slight, dark\u2010robed figure, standing aside in the aisle, drooping her\nhead against one of the columns. He knew the figure well; but, with a\nstrange thrill, he asked himself why was she here? For the music? For the\nbeauty of the sight? For love of a creed she was half ashamed to embrace?\nOr from the curiosity of a chance passer\u2010by?\n\nHe watched her as she moved behind the shadow of the pillar, and waited\ntill she was enticed from her hiding\u2010place by the quick desertion of the\nonce crowded church. Now the light from a lamp streamed down on her; the\nface was anxious and troubled, as if weary with thought.\n\n\u201cFriday, too!\u201d he said to himself. \u201cAnd she has come here on the very\nSabbath. Perhaps she has been to her own service first. But what can it\nmean, if she only were what this would point to?\u201d\n\nTo Be Continued.\n\n\n\n\nOdd Stories. IV. The White Shah.\n\n\nIf thou wouldst hear a choice history of princes, go into the garden of\nthe shah\u2019s pleasure\u2010house, and hearken to what the humming\u2010birds tell thee\nin sleep. How else could thy servant have learned the memory of Shah\nMizfiz, the forgotten? Was it not he who built the palace of a hundred\ntowers in the valley of groves? Beautiful beyond compare was that valley\u2019s\nlake which presented itself like a mirror before the pavilion of the shah;\nand magnificent as a house in the sky were the hundred delicate towers\nthat rose one above the other, amid gardens and fountains, and half lost\nin groves of venerable height and shade. High hills whose sides were\ncovered with woods and flowers, and watered with streams and fountains,\nshut out the valley from the world save where it was entered through a\ngreat gate crowned with towers; and a long colonnade of loftiest trees\npranked with beds of tulips, hyacinths, and roses, and intertwined with\nflowering vines that here and there made curious arbors. From the windows,\nor from the balconies, or from the pavilions of his palace, the shah could\nsee the lords and ladies who, dressed in gold\u2010broidered silks of all\ncolors, shook their plumes as they rode up to his gate, or, listening to\nthe song of minstrels, sailed upon the bosom of the lake.\n\nNaught now could the shah do but dream. Surrounded by hills that fenced\nhim from mankind, by waters that mirrored the skies or leaped into the\nsunlight, by flowers whose odors inspired the sense, by trees which\neverywhere made repose for him, and by towers, the intricacies and\ningenuities of which rendered his palace ever new to him, he forgot all\ncommon things. The cares of state he left to his ministers at the gate of\nthe valley; while in one or other of the innumerable courts of his palace,\nor among its unknown and invisible gardens, he retired from the intrusion\nof mortals. \u201cI went to seek the rose\u2010king,\u201d said or sang a poet of the\ncourt; \u201cso I stripped a great rose of all its leaves, one by one, and in\nits heart of hearts I found the Shah Mizfiz.\u201d Now, having captured the\ntenth of a number of white elephants, the like of which was never seen,\nexcept in the woods and by the lake of the imperial valley, where they\nroamed in romantic innocence and tameness, the Shah Mizfiz betook himself\nto his dreams as others do to their books.\n\nAt times, seated high on his favorite white elephant, the old shah rode in\nstate through his grounds. Thence it came to pass that, seeing his beard\nlike almond\u2010blossoms, and the milky color of his throne\u2010bearer, they who\nvisited the gardens of the lake remembered him as the White Shah. Leaning\non the cushions of his vine\u2010encircled pavilion, his silken beard and\nsilvery locks floating in the breath of the zephyr, how often have the\nminstrels passed by beneath him over the mirror of the lake, singing under\ntheir gorgeous sails or to the time\u2010beat of their oars those songs which,\nwith a tinkling and rippling melody, lingered in his ear. Less was it\nknown how looked and fared the shah when he retired to the inmost bowers\nof the interior gardens of the hundred towers. But what wonder if in one\nof those fine day\u2010dreams so celebrated by the poet Bulghasel the flower\u2010\nfairies themselves did him veritable honor, and, circling gardens of\nroses, tulips, and lilies, danced at his feet and round about him, an\nillusion of humor and beauty?\n\nAh! the deep\u2010eyed, far\u2010gazing White Shah! What dreams he dreamed of green\nages in the youth of the world, of far\u2010off golden centuries to come, of\nships navigating the air of sunset, of adventures in the stars, and of\nnights with the great moon\u2010shah! They were not to be told or counted; the\nnumber and wonder of them would have tasked a hundred scribes, and put as\nmany dreamers to sleep. Howbeit, the shah\u2019s visions persuaded him to\nbecome an oracle for all his empire. Statesmen consulted his dreams, and\npoets made themes of them, and doubtless the humane spirit of his visions\nfound its way into the laws. Thanks to them, the people had abundant\nfeast\u2010days, and, if a mine of precious stones were discovered, or the\ncaravans were richer than usual, or the lords were moved to more than\nwonted bounty, or new fountains were built on the dry roads, or new\ntemples set up here and there, the shah\u2019s dreams were praised. When he had\ncompleted the thousandth of a line of dreams, the smallest of which would\nhave made a paradise on earth again, he dreamed that his people were\nprosperous like none other under the sun; for his prime minister had\nartfully omitted to report that his eastern provinces were suffering the\nhorrors of a famine, and those of the west were threatened by war. But on\nneither of these facts did the White Shah lay the blame for that final\neclipse which ruined his dreams. In a fatal hour, having too long slept\namong the poppies, and drunk too much wine and coffee, he dreamt that the\ndemon Sakreh had caught him up in a storm on the desert of Lop, out of\nwhich he let him drop into the Lake of Limbo, whence, fishing him up by\nthe hair of his head, he banged him against the Caucasus and set him down\nto cool on the Himalaya, ere, taking him to the topmost height of the\npalace of the hundred towers, he allowed him to fall through the many\u2010\ncolored glasses of the dome of delights. His displeasure with the effects\nof this dream was heightened and consummated when the poet Bulghasel, in a\nmoment of malediction, trod on his particular corn. From that moment,\npeace forsook the couch of the White Shah, and dreams of glory visited not\nhis slumbers.\n\nHenceforward what had been dreamland to the too happy shah became the\nsaddest reality. In a white age he had lost his visions as old men lose\ntheir teeth. He wandered about the valley\u2014no longer seated high on the\npride of his white elephant, but crownless and on foot\u2014murmuring from hour\nto hour: \u201cI have lost my dream\u2014I have lost my dream.\u201d One day, leaving\npalace and throne, he passed out of his gate liked one crazed, to seek, as\nhe said, his dream. Far away among the Parsees the poet Bulghasel found\nhim after many pilgrimages: \u201cAnd O my white\u2010haired sire,\u201d cried the\naffectionate poet, \u201chast thou found the object of thy search?\u201d \u201cYea, son,\u201d\nrejoiced the White Shah, \u201cI have found that which I never lost, but would\nthat I had possessed; for then my dream was a fiction, and now truth is a\nsufficient dream for me. If the new shah would sleep well, let him have\nthis dream.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nSigns Of The Times.\n\n\nIn Europe, of late, meetings have been the order of the day. There have\nbeen meetings of emperors and Internationalists; of \u201cOld Catholics\u201d and\nCatholics; of church congresses and congresses to disestablish the church;\nof \u201cHome\u2010Rulers\u201d and Dilkites. The voluntary expatriation of the Alsace\u2010\nLorraine population has followed close on the heels of the violent\nexpulsion of the Jesuits, both influenced by the same motive power;\ntrades\u2010unions have called together a society of German professors, who, by\ndint of powerful speeches of an explosive nature, succeeded finally in\nshowing, in a very conclusive manner, that they knew little or nothing of\nwhat they were talking about. Gambetta has found his voice again; Russia\nhas mildly but decidedly objected to its inflammable utterances, and in\nthe midst of all the hubbub the eyes of the world have been attracted to\nthe strange spectacle in these days of a nation, by a sudden and\nspontaneous movement, turning its steps to an humble shrine of the Blessed\nVirgin.\n\nAs for the meeting of the emperors, we were _not_ present at the council,\nand had no secret emissary concealed in the cup\u2010board. What was effected,\nor what was intended to be effected, is an utter mystery to us. We very\nmuch doubt if anything were effected at all; that is, anything real,\nlasting, and permanent. The composing elements were in themselves as\nincapable of mingling as oil and water. If people looked to permanent\npeace or peace for any length of time from it, we fear they will be sadly\nmistaken in view of what we have since seen. The effective forces of\nAustria are fixed at 800,000 men. The government, actuated doubtless by\npeaceful motives; finds it necessary to keep on hand a peace effective of\n250,000; and, that this force may be in fighting order at any moment, the\nrecruits must be kept for three years under colors. To supply this\ncontingency, 30,000 more men are required, which draws a sum of $1,850,000\nout of the national chest, a chest neither very deep nor very safe. The\nmeasure was objected to, whereupon Count Andr\u00e1ssy spurred them up by\ninforming the astonished members that, notwithstanding the imperial\nexhibition of brotherly love at Berlin, the speeches, man\u0153uvrings,\nfireworks, and the rest, he would not venture to answer for the\ncontinuance of peace even to the end of the present year. As an echo of\nthe truth of this, Prussia has just given an order for 3,000,000 rifles of\na new pattern, on the strength, doubtless, of the discharge of the French\ndebt. Russia is increasing her already vast army steadily and surely,\nwhile France hopes by her new scheme of raising forces to show at the end\nof five years an active army of 715,000, and a territorial force of\n720,000 men. So much for the effects of the imperial conference as regards\npeace.\n\nThe _Internationale_, true to the discordant elements of which it was\ncomposed, adjourned without effecting anything or coming to any\nconclusion. This was only to be expected; but we should not judge from\nthis that it is dead, as has been too hastily done by many journals. Its\nlife is disorder, and, if it can catch the trades\u2010unions, its influence\nwould be paramount.\n\nAs for the meeting of the \u201cOld Catholics\u201d\u2014we presume they call themselves\n\u201cOld\u201d Catholics as the Greeks called the furies _Eumenides_\u2014it will soon\nhave passed out of memory. We rejoice that it did occur, in order to show\nthe \u201cmovement\u201d in its true light. Luther himself had not half the chance\nwhich D\u00f6llinger and the rest enjoyed. The strongest of governments at\ntheir back, the whole anti\u2010Catholic world looking with eager eyes on this\nmountain in travail\u2014_parturiet_; and not even the _ridiculus mus_ is born\nin recompense for all this labor, storm, fuss, and anxiety. We forget;\nthere issued a long string of resolutions, which one or two newspapers\npublished, the generality very sensibly finding them of too great length\nand of too little importance to burden their leaders with them. The whole\naffair was utterly ridiculous even to the _m\u00e9nu_, which, as became a solid\ndinner, composed for the most part of German professors with a few\nEpiscopal waifs and strays from England and America, was in Latin, and\ncommenced thus:\n\nSymposium. _Gustatio_: Pisciculi oleo perfusi et salmones fumo siccati ad\ncibi appetentiam excitandam. Mensa prima, etc.\n\nAnd this is the way in which the \u201cOld Catholics\u201d meet to found or reform a\nchurch! The effect of it all is shown in the comments of the secular\npress. The cleverest journals in England and America, those who expected\nmuch from it, generally express themselves to the effect that, though far\nfrom saying that the meeting was without significance, it did not succeed\nin erecting a platform whereon a body could stand. The fact is this: We\nare far from denying to the majority of the men there assembled abundance\nof intellect and that sort of talent that can make a fine speech or\nperhaps compose a readable book, but the world, if it must be changed,\nwants something more solid than this.\n\nPrince Bismarck\u2019s measures are what Strafford would call \u201cthorough\u201d; and\nhe is carrying out this \u201cthorough\u201d policy with far greater effect than the\nvacillating Stuart. The latter lost his head for too much heart; the\nGerman chancellor is not likely to imitate him in that. The Jesuits had\nsmall respite. We presume they are all out of Germany by this time. How\nmuch the country at large will gain in peace, solidity, and security by\ntheir expulsion it is impossible for us to say. Oddly enough, in Prince\nBismarck\u2019s stronghold, Prussia itself, we find that the new order is not\ndestined to run quite smoothly. The diet is dissolved because the Upper\nHouse refused to pass the country reform bill in the face of the emperor\nand an official intimation from the minister of the interior that if the\nmeasure were defeated the government would dissolve the diet and convoke a\nnew one. Whether the members of the Upper House will continue the fight,\nand come into direct collision with the power which they so helped to make\nsupreme, we do not know yet, but we expect not.\n\nMeanwhile, the Jesuits have not gone out of their fatherland alone. The\nsympathy of the whole Catholic world has gone out with them, and its\nexpression is gaining volume daily. Addresses of condolence and\nprotestations against the legal violence which expelled them are rising up\nday after day from the hearth\u2010stones of the land they have quitted, as\nwell as from lands and multitudes to whom they as individuals are utterly\nunknown. Perhaps the most noticeable of the many which are continually\nappearing in their own land is that of the society of German Catholics\nrecently assembled at Cologne, which passed a series of resolutions\nprotesting strongly:\n\n1. Against the assertion that the Catholic population is indifferent to\nthe interests of fatherland, and hostile to the empire. 2. Against the\nlaic laws which would control the affairs of the churches. 3. Against the\nstate direction of the schools. 4. Against the expulsion of the Jesuits.\n5. Against the encroachment of the state on the jurisdiction of the\nbishops. 6. Against the suppression of the temporal power of the Pope.\n\nSuch is the Catholic voice all the world over. If rulers can respect this\nvoice, they will have no more faithful, earnest, or devoted children than\nthe children of the Catholic Church. If they cannot respect it, they have\nonly to expect an unfailing legal opposition until they are compelled to\nrespect it, as Ireland, speaking in O\u2019Connell, compelled England to do; as\nGermany, by lawful agitation and peaceful though unceasing and determined\nprotest, will compel Prince Bismarck to do, until we see again restored to\nthe country which they love and which loves them the sons who, by peaceful\ncounsel and wise guidance, and religious instruction, will bring more\nglory, solid prosperity, enlightenment, and peace to the nation than a\ncycle of Bismarcks.\n\nThe Bishop of Ermeland still survives the terrible threats of the\nchancellor which have been gathering over his head in deepening thunder\nthis long while for excommunicating heretic priests; the bolt has not yet\nfallen. Perhaps Jove finds himself a little puzzled how to fulminate it to\na nicety. To show the justice of the Bismarck government, and how equally\nit deals with all classes, the Consistory of Magdeburg has quite recently\ndecreed the excommunication of all Protestants who by mixed marriages\nshall educate their children as Catholics; the decree has been carried\ninto execution at Lippspring; the case brought before the civil courts,\nand of course the pastor, one Schneider, who wrought the excommunication\npublicly and openly in the church, was supported by the just weight of the\nlaw. Now, excommunication is excommunication whether you call it Catholic\nor Protestant. Why, then, threaten with impeachment? Why stop the salary\nwhich the government for the country bestows in the one case, and let the\nother go entirely free? And yet this is all according to law!\n\nAnother anomaly according to law is displayed in the seizing of the\nschools by the government. We have not space here to go into the whole\nquestion, instructive though it would be, as showing the determination of\nthis government to uproot the Catholic faith by every means in its power.\nBut we will mention one instance. A ministerial circular accompanied the\nnotice of the new arrangements, informing the teachers that it was\ndesirable that their scholars should belong to no religious\nconfraternities\u2014of the Rosary, Blessed Virgin, and such like\u2014and that if\nthey persisted in belonging to them they should be dismissed. We find it\nnecessary to endorse this statement by informing our readers that it is\nplain, unvarnished fact. Civil marriage is now in full sway; that is to\nsay, it is no longer a sacrament according to law. What wonder that the\nGerman bishops assembled at Fulda gave utterance to their solemn protest,\nan extract of which we cull? It reads as though it had been penned in the\ndays of Diocletian, or Julian the Apostate, or Henry VIII. But in these\ndays, when mere human society has come to know its power, and dream that\nit possesses freedom, the protest jars on our ears as something out of\ntune, out of time, out of date altogether:\n\n\u201cWe demand, as a right which no one can dispute to us, that the bishops,\nthe parish priests of the cathedral churches, and the directors of souls,\nbe only appointed in accordance with the laws of the church and the\nagreement existing between the church and state.\n\n\u201cIn accordance with these laws and agreements, the Catholic people and\nourselves cannot consider as legal a director of souls or a teacher of\nreligion one who has not been so named by his bishop; and we, the Catholic\npeople and ourselves, cannot consider as legally recognized a bishop who\nhas not been named by the Pope.\n\n\u201cWe claim equally for ourselves and for all Catholics the right of\nprofessing throughout Germany our holy Catholic faith in all its\nintegrity, at all times and in all freedom, and to rest upon the principle\nthat we are in no wise constrained to suffer within the bosom of our\nreligious community those who do not profess the Catholic faith, and who\ndo not submit entirely to the authority of the church.\n\n\u201cWe consider as a violation of our church and of the rights which are\nguaranteed to it every attack made against the liberty of religious\norders. We regard and vindicate, also, as an essential and inalienable\nright of the Catholic Church, the full and entire liberty which it\npossesses of elevating its servants in accordance with ecclesiastical\nlaws, and we demand not only that the church exercise over the Catholic\nschools (primary, secondary, and higher) the influence which alone can\nguarantee to the Catholic people that its children shall receive in the\nschools a Catholic education and instruction, but we claim also for the\nchurch the freedom to found and direct in an independent manner, certain\nprivate establishments ordained for the teaching of the sciences in\naccordance with Catholic principles. In fine, we maintain and defend the\nsacred character of Christian marriage as that of a sacrament of the\nCatholic Church, as well as the right which the divine will has given to\nthe church in connection with this sacrament.\u201d\n\nThe signatures of the bishops are affixed to this document, which is\naddressed to all the German governments, and produced a commotion and\nirritation among all the national liberal journals which were unexampled.\nWe have given this extract here in order to bring home to the minds of our\nreaders how hard the church is driven in Germany. When the bishops and the\nlaity combined feel themselves called upon to protest in this style, the\ngovernment which for no reason whatever can give rise to such a\nprotest\u2014signed by the saintly chiefs of a body of 14,000,000, and endorsed\nin meeting after meeting by those 14,000,000 and the countless numbers of\ntheir co\u2010religionists outside of Germany scattered through the broad\nworld\u2014must be one which does not govern, but tyrannizes.\n\nThe same \u201cthorough\u201d policy prevailed in Alsace and Lorraine. On the very\nday, October 1, when the option of declaring for France or Germany\narrived, all the men who remained in the countries named were enrolled in\nthe Prussian service from that date. This, beyond what Mr. Disraeli would\ncall a \u201csentimental grievance,\u201d drove them from the country, as it must\nhave been intended to do. Service under the power that annexed them, which\nthey but yesterday fought against, and a service the most rigorous and\nexacting that exists, as it must be in order to retain its supremacy, was\nsomething that seems to have been ingeniously invented in order to drive\nthe people out. The provinces are more than decimated; the Prussian army,\nif increased at all, is increased in the event of a renewed war by\nuntrustworthy men, and a new drop of gall is thrown into the already\noverbitter cup which France is compelled to swallow. And yet the\n_Provinzial Correspondenz_ (official) of Berlin, in view of October 1,\nsaid: \u201cThe government has not hesitated an instant in calling without\ndelay on the inhabitants of Alsace and Lorraine to serve in the German\narmy, as the best and surest means to evoke and develop speedily among the\npopulation newly reunited to Germany the sentiment of an intimate\ncommunity with the German people.\u201d\n\nThis smacks of excess of credibility. If Bismarck wanted really to annex\nthe provinces in heart and soul, he adopted the very surest means of\nemptying them in the speediest manner, and letting in the Germans, who\nnow, sick of war and of the rumors of war, wish to emigrate in such\nformidable numbers. Probably the chancellor proposes using the deserted\nprovinces as a safety\u2010valve for these recreant spirits. One of the most\nsignificant signs of the instability of the new empire is the desire of so\nmany earnest workers to leave it just when it has been established in all\nits glory and power. But glory and power do not last long in the eyes of\nmen who look to a peaceful life and to which side, in a popular phrase,\ntheir bread is buttered. Instead of peace, they find the service more\nrigorous than ever; the money which was won by the blood of their kin and\ncountrymen going to the pockets of the generals, to carry out emperors\u2019\nf\u00eates, and purchase millions of rifles of a new pattern. Evidently _the_\nbusiness of the German Empire wears a very martial look. But the artisan\nand clerk have fought well, and find no returns. Your German is of a\nlogical bent, so he determines on going elsewhere, where he may live at\npeace, and let Bismarck look after his own empire.\n\nIn France, we have had and are having the pilgrimages to Lourdes. Not\nalone to Lourdes, and not alone in France, but in Belgium and Germany also\nthere have been numerous pilgrimages to various shrines. Of course the\nwits of the secular journals, with a few honorable exceptions, have had a\nfine time of it, and have twisted the stories of the miracles of Lourdes\nand La Salette into every possible shape in which they might squeeze a\nlaugh out of it. They are at great pains to show what we were long ago\nconvinced of\u2014that they do not know what faith means.\n\nMgr. Mermillod, after a residence of seven years in full enjoyment and\nexercise of his ecclesiastical functions, has suddenly come to be non\u2010\nrecognized by the Swiss government, or, more properly, by the Grand\nCouncil of Geneva, and his pension stopped. The Grand Council of Geneva\nhad already expelled the Sisters of Charity and the Christian Brothers. It\nessays the r\u00f4le of Bismarck, and where it purposes stopping we do not yet\nsee. But as the population of Geneva is composed of 47,000 Catholics\nagainst 43,000 Protestants, we may presume that the Grand Council of\nGeneva will very speedily be brought to its senses. Its miserable pension\nof 10,000 francs was raised to 23,000  in two days by a voluntary\ncontribution set on foot by M. Veuillot of the _Univers_. The Grand\nCouncil has incurred the contempt of all rational minds, while Mgr.\nMermillod is supported in his action by all his fellow\u2010bishops, by his\nHoliness, and by the Catholic world. It may be as well to remember that\nthe Protestant party in the Swiss cantons voted, but were happily\noutvoted, for union with Prussia. It is not difficult to see whence the\npersecution of Mgr. Mermillod starts.\n\nGentlemen who have visited the Alhambra in London, or any one almost of\nthe Parisian theatres, or Niblo\u2019s in New York, are not apt to be squeamish\non the score of the decent and moral in theatrical representations. Things\nmust therefore be at a very bad pass when we find the correspondents of\nthe London _Times_ and the other English newspapers, in common with those\nof our own and the Parisian press, uniting in condemning in the most\nunsparing terms the pieces which are now in vogue on the boards of the\nRoman theatres. Cardinal Patrizi addressed an official letter to Minister\nLanza on the subject. That gentleman, who is extremely active in\nsuppressing a Catholic paper which dares to caricature his majesty\u2019s\ngovernment, sends back an answer which, divested of its diplomatic wool,\nis cowardly, stupid, and insulting. We have been astonished to find\n\u201creligious\u201d newspapers in this city gleeful over these representations\nwhich the good sense, if nothing more, of the secular correspondents of\nall journals in all countries condemns as odious, detestable, and utterly\nunfit to be presented in any civilized, or for that matter uncivilized,\ncommunity. These journals which are religious see in them \u201ca new means of\nevangelizing Italy.\u201d Another feature in \u201cunited Italy\u201d is the utter\ninsecurity of life and property in Rome, Naples, and Ravenna principally,\nthough, in fact, through the length and breadth of the land. Victor\nEmanuel has held the country long enough now to give some account of his\nstewardship. The government of the Pope and of the Bourbons, we were told,\nfavored brigandage and every other atrocity; yet the correspondents of the\nLondon _Times_, the London _Spectator_, and by this time most of the other\nanti\u2010Catholic journals, are furnishing articles which must rather astonish\nthe upholders of the blessings which were to flow from \u201cItaly united.\u201d\nThey picture scenes of rapine and blood before which the graphic Arkansas\nletters of the _Herald_ pale, while the doers of these deeds, the thieves\nand murderers, are \u201cwell known to the police,\u201d in fact, on excellent terms\nwith them, and walk about in the open day with any man\u2019s life in their\nhands who dares frown on them. The government is simply afraid of them,\nafraid to use the only remedy now in its hands by proclaiming martial law,\na proceeding which the English journals strongly advise. If such a state\nof things continues much longer, we fear the inevitable verdict must come\nto Victor Emanuel, \u201cNow thou shalt be steward no longer.\u201d Of his ill\u2010\ngotten power, indeed, it may be said, \u201cblood hath bought blood, and blows\nhave answered blows.\u201d People are apt to be logical; if a government robs\nand kills and calls it law, why should not they do the same? Italy will\ncontinue in a state of chronic anarchy until religion is restored to it;\nthen order will follow as it is following in France to\u2010day.\n\nIn England, though Parliament has not been sitting, questions of moment\nhave been rife. Mr. Miall has again raised the war\u2010cry against the\nEstablished Church, ably seconded by Mr. Jacob Bright. The _Times_ and\n_Saturday Review_ and other journals affect to laugh at Mr. Miall, as they\nand such as they laughed at the Reform Bill, the Act of Catholic\nEmancipation, and the disestablishment of the Irish Church. We believe Mr.\nMiall\u2019s measure to be the logical sequence of the last of these measures,\na fact which Mr. Disraeli in opposing it foretold. It is an anomaly\u2014a\nchurch supported by a majority which does not believe in it. Mr. Miall\u2019s\nmeasure is only a growth of time; in fact, it only requires the conversion\nof such organs as the _Times_ and _Saturday Review_ to bring it to pass\nto\u2010day.\n\nAs a corollary to Mr. Miall\u2019s movement comes the annual Church Congress\nheld this year at Leeds under the presidency of the Bishop of Ripon. This\nannual congress is a curious thing; it is a meeting of everybody, high and\nlow, church and lay, to compare notes and see how the church is getting\non\u2014a very useful proceeding, no doubt, if there were only something\nfaintly approaching unanimity among its members. As it happened, unanimity\nwas the one thing wanting, and certain stages of the proceedings were as\nwarm as those of the \u201cOld Catholics\u201d at Cologne. In fact, the account of\nthe whole proceedings reads like an extract from _The Comedy of\nConvocation_.\n\n\n\n\nNew Publications.\n\n\n    THE HISTORY OF THE SACRED PASSION. From the Spanish of Father Luis\n    de la Palma, of the Society of Jesus. The Translation revised and\n    edited by Henry James Coleridge, of the same Society. London:\n    Burns & Oates. 1872. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication\n    Society.)\n\n\nThis is the third volume of the Quarterly Series which the Jesuit Fathers\nare bringing out in London. The series is beautifully got up, and we wish\nit every success.\n\nThe present work on the Passion has a prologue by the author, in which he\nsets forth the end he has had in view. The prologue is followed by a brief\ntreatise on the method of meditation on the Passion, together with four\nsections suggestive of aids to the memory, the understanding, the will,\nand the colloquy. The whole is prefaced by the editor, from whose remarks\nwe transcribe the following: \u201cThat he (the author) was a man of sound and\ndeep theological learning is sufficiently proved by the work which is now\npresented to the English reader.... Everything he has written is of the\nmost sterling value, and has always been very highly esteemed, especially\nby those who have labored in illustrating and explaining the _Spiritual\nExercises of S. Ignatius_.... He tells us (in the prologue) that the book\nis designed both for simple reading and also for the purpose of furnishing\nmatter to those who are in the habit of practising meditation and of\npreparing their meditation for themselves. Those who use the book for the\nfirst\u2010named purpose will hardly discover that it is intended also to serve\nthe other; while those who practise meditation, and refer to these pages\nfor matter pregnant with such considerations and suggestive of copious\naffections and practical resolutions, will not find it easy to exhaust the\nstores which are here so unostentatiously collected. It may be worth while\nto point out that the design of the author, that his book should thus\nserve the purpose of a storehouse for meditation on the Passion, accounts\nfor the only kind of amplification which he has allowed himself. This is\nthe paraphrastic commentary which he generally substitutes for or subjoins\nto the words of our blessed Lord in the various scenes of the Passion. The\nmeaning of these sacred words is often very fully and lovingly brought\nout, although the narrative form in which the whole work is cast might\nless naturally suggest this method of treatment, so valuable to those who\ndesire to feed on the sayings of our blessed Saviour in all their rich\nfertility and meaning.\u201d\n\nThe editor expresses a fear \u201cthat the translation will be found to be, at\nleast in parts, rugged and unpolished\u201d; but says he has \u201ctried, on the\nother hand, to make it as faithful as possible; and to that object has\nbeen well content to sacrifice smoothness of style, though the original\ndeserves the most careful rendering in matter and in form.\u201d \u201cPalma\nbelongs,\u201d he adds, \u201cto what I believe is the best age of Spanish religious\nliterature\u2014the age of Louis of Grenada, John of Avila, Louis of Leon, S.\nTeresa; S. John of the Cross, Louis da Ponte, and other famous writers. In\npoint of style he is, perhaps, not equal to them; but he shares with many\nof these writers the characteristic of masculine common sense, theological\nculture alike exquisite and solid, and the tenderest and simplest piety.\nHappily, these are qualities which do not easily evaporate in a\ntranslation.\u201d\n\nHe then goes on to say that he has \u201cthought it better not to attempt in\nany way to edit Father Palma as to points on which he would perhaps write\ndifferently were he living in the present century.\u201d We quite agree with\nhis decision; and shall here close our notice of the book, since, after\nwhat we have borrowed from the preface, any comments of our own would be\nsuperfluous.\n\n\n    ALL\u2010HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY, AND OTHER STORIES. New\n    York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1872.\n\n\nThis book, containing three tales, _All\u2010Hallow Eve_, _Unconvicted_, and\n_Jenifer\u2019s Prayer_, while it will doubtless afford much amusement to many\nreaders during the long winter evenings, will, we trust, have other and\nmore decided effects. By contrast, it shows that fiction of the very\nhighest order may be successfully written without the extraneous aid of\nbad taste and more than doubtful morality, and by example it will\nencourage our aspiring writers who, now overawed by the shadow of departed\ngenius, are unwilling or afraid to risk their reputations in endeavoring\nto rival the efforts of those who formerly delighted and instructed us by\ntheir compositions. When the Star of the North, Scott, set, it was feared\nthat this species of literature had suffered an irreparable loss; but soon\na host of writers sprang up in England, Ireland, and, we may say, America,\nwho not only compensated for the loss, but more than repaid us for the\ndecadence of the historico\u2010romantic school. When those in turn\ndisappeared, it was confidently predicted that the present generation,\nbarren of imagination and powers of observation and description, could not\nproduce anything equal to what adorned the pages of men like Griffin,\nDickens, and Hawthorne. Daily experience teaches us that this was a\nfallacy. New buds of promise are constantly springing up around us which\nneed but the encouraging voice of the press and the smiles of a\ndiscriminating public patronage to warm into full\u2010blown vigor and\nloveliness.\n\nThe three tales before us are an earnest of this. The story entitled _All\u2010\nHallow Eve_, the first in this collection, as it is, we think, the first\nin merit, is a tale of singular beauty, power and truthfulness. In\nconstruction artistic without the appearance of art, in verisimilitude it\nis all that would be required by the most orthodox French dramatist. The\ncharacters are few and clearly defined, the plot simple, the scene\nscarcely changes, the time from beginning to end is short, and the\n_d\u00e9no\u00fbment_, though tragic, offends neither our sensibilities nor our\nsense of justice. Ned Cavana and Michael Murdock are two aged well\u2010to\u2010do\nUlster farmers whose lands lie contiguous. The former has a daughter\nWinifred or Winny, and the latter a son Thomas; and the natural desire of\nthe fond parents is to form a matrimonial alliance between their children,\nand thus unite the families and the farms. Tom Murdock is handsome,\nattractive, cunning, mercenary, and unscrupulous, while Winny, who is\nlimned with more than a painter\u2019s art, adds to her natural graces a noble\nheart and keen perception. Edmond Lennon, a young peasant rich in\neverything but money, falls in love with her, and, besides encountering\nthe secret or open hostility of the Murdocks, he finds an almost\ninsurmountable barrier in the caste pride of the father of his lady\u2010love.\nAided, however, by the gentle and astute Winny, he partially succeeds in\novercoming this difficulty, when the machinations of his rival are\nemployed against him, and the result is\u2014but we will not destroy the\npleasure of our fair and necessarily curious readers by unfolding the\ncatastrophe. The contrasts of character of the two old men, each in his\nway aiming at the best, and also between the suitors, are excellently\ndrawn; the interludes, such as the All\u2010Hallow Eve festival and the\n\u201churling\u201d match, are accurate and lifelike, and the bits of pathos which\nhere and there dot the course of the story are so touching in their very\nsimplicity that we venture to say many an eye unused to the melting mood\nwill be none the less moistened on their perusal. The style adopted by the\nauthor is easy and familiar, a little too much so, we imagine, to suit the\ntastes of the more exacting reader; and herein lies the only defect, if it\ncan be called one, that we can perceive in this story.\n\n_Unconvicted; or, Old Thorneley\u2019s Heirs_, is a tale of an altogether\ndifferent character, illustrating what may be called a more advanced state\nof civilization. The scene is laid in London, and the principal personages\noccupy a high social position. It is a story of suffering and affection,\nof deep, dark, and unruly passion, and undying love and friendship. It\nwould be vain to attempt to epitomize the plot, which is woven so closely\nand so dexterously that our interest in the actors is kept constantly on\nthe _qui vive_, and it is only at the very last chapter that we are\nrelieved from all anxiety on their account. The tale opens with the death\nof old Gilbert Thorneley, it is supposed by poison, and the discovery of\nhis murderer forms the principal theme of the entire narrative. This\ninvolves a great deal of legal discussion and analysis, and, for the first\ntime in the history of fiction, as far as our knowledge goes, we have a\nclear and accurate description of the niceties, quibbles, and profundity\nof English law. Though more curious and instructive than amusing, this\ndoes not, however detract from the interest of the novel as such, but\nrather acts as an offset to the numerous scenes of connubial and filial\naffection with which it is replete. The moral is of course unexceptionable\nand easily drawn.\n\n_Jennifer\u2019s Prayer_, a shorter but no less meritorious story of English\nlife, completes the volume, which, appearing at this season when good\nbooks become more a necessity than a luxury in the household, will no\ndoubt be warmly welcomed by those who, from taste or inclination, prefer\nthe attractions of the novel to the more serious study of science and\nhistory.\n\n\n    THE ILLUSTRATED CATHOLIC FAMILY ALMANAC FOR THE UNITED STATES, FOR\n    THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1873, calculated for different parallels of\n    latitude, and adapted for use throughout the country. New York:\n    The Catholic Publication Society.\n\n\nThere are something over five million Catholics in the United States,\nrepresenting over five hundred thousand families. This little Catholic\nFamily Almanac, then, should have a circulation of five hundred thousand.\nIf it has not, the fault is not with the Publication Society, but in the\nCatholics themselves neglecting to diffuse it each in his own circle. A\nfew years ago such a little annual would have been regarded as an\nimpossibility. Beautiful in typography, with woodcut illustrations which\nin design and execution rival those of any work issued in the country, it\nis something that a Catholic can view with pride, and can never blush to\nopen before any one. This is merely taking it at its mechanical value. Its\nscope is to give the yearly calendar of the church with what is locally\ninteresting to us as Catholics in America, or associated with the trials\nand triumphs of the church in that Old World to which by some degrees more\nor less we must all trace our origin.\n\nIn this year\u2019s little volume, we find portraits of various ages, with\noriginal sketches, telling us of great prelates among ourselves,\nArchbishop Spalding and Bishop McGill, representative men who knew the\nnecessity of diffusing information among our people; bishops of the last\ngeneration like Milner, whose works are familiar to all, yet whose\ncounterfeit presentment few have ever met; or Bishop Doyle, J.K.L., whom\nIreland can never forget; or like De Haro, who extended his kindness to\nAmerican Catholics in their early struggles; or like the illustrious\nHughes, whose large mind gave us a national life and position. The\nVenerable Gregory Lopez will be new to many, great as was his fame in\nMexico. Crespel represents the French pioneer clergy at the frontiers in\ncolonial times\u2014a man who saw rough life by sea and land in his missionary\ncareer. Father Mathew needs no comment. The likeness is speaking and fine.\nWhat part Catholics bore in the days of the Revolution we see in the\nsketch of Charles Carroll of Carrollton, illustrated with a portrait and a\nview of the old mansion. With his cousin, a priest, he was laboring to\nmake our cause continental before the Declaration of Independence was\ndebated in Congress.\n\nMrs. Seton, as the lady of wealth and influence in New York society, while\nWashington as President resided there, shows the wonderful hand of\nProvidence. Who that saw that young wife then could have said that she\nwould be the foundress of a Catholic sisterhood, and not be deemed insane?\nMother Julia, foundress of the Sisters of Notre Dame, whom some people may\nhave heard of, and whose schools in this country alone contain sixty\nthousand pupils.\n\nNext comes the Venerable de la Salle, founder of the Christian Brothers,\nwhose pupils in our land, one might say, \u201cno man can number for\nmultitude.\u201d The portrait and sketch of this servant of God will be read in\nthousands of American families which owe the Christian training of their\nboys to his devoted community of Brothers; and, happily in the same work,\nwe have a portrait and sketch of the brilliant Gerald Griffin, who closed\nhis days as a Christian Brother.\n\nThe view of old S. Mary\u2019s, the cradle of Maryland, the Catholic settlement\nfounded by the Ark and Dove, is alone worth all the _Almanac_ costs. And\nthis is but a portion of its contents. We have a stirring incident of the\nearly missions, the Rock of Cashel, the Church of Icolmkill, the\nCathedrals of Sienna and Chartres.\n\nEvery Catholic of means should feel it a bounden duty to order a number of\ncopies of this _Almanac_, and distribute them among the families less\nlikely to hear of its merits. In this way much is yet to be done in the\ndiffusion of popular Catholic literature. Our laity have to feel that\nthere is an apostolate incumbent upon them. _Fas est et ab hoste doceri._\n\n\n    TRADITION. Principally with reference to Mythology and the Law of\n    Nations. By Lord Arundell of Wardour. London: Burns, Oates & Co.\n    (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\n\nThis is a work in which the chronologies, mythologies, and fragmentary\ntraditions of many nations are gathered together and made to do service in\nthe cause of Revelation.\n\nThe opponents of revealed truth not unfrequently assume this department of\nknowledge to be their exclusive possession\u2014they have been foremost in\nworking this mine, all it contains is theirs, and must be made to sustain\ntheir theories. Lord Arundell\u2019s book shows how utterly groundless is this\nassumption. Here we have facts and figures, arguments and inferences,\ntaken from their own writings, which go to establish the truthfulness of\nthe sacred Scriptures from the very standpoint whence it has been sought\nto convict them of falsehood. The first chapter in Genesis is a key to\nevery cosmogony. The rudest code of barbaric laws bears some impress of\nthe Almighty Finger of Sinai. Traditions, however distant and vague, point\nin one general direction. These facts have long since been established.\nLord Arundell proves them anew, and brings forth much new matter in his\nproofs. Indeed, while in many books we often have occasion to note the\nabsence of data and ideas, this, we may say, is crowded with both.\n\nWe doubt not that this book will forward greatly the interests of truth,\nand thus the zeal and devotion of its noble author will be fully requited.\n\n\n    GOD AND MAN. Conferences delivered at Notre Dame in Paris. By the\n    Rev. P\u00e8re Lacordaire, of the Order of Friar\u2010Preachers. Translated\n    from the French by a Tertiary of the same Order. London:\n    Rivingtons. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\n\nThe translator has already given us two volumes of the great Dominican\u2019s\nConferences, and promises more in the same readable form. Persons as yet\nunacquainted with Lacordaire will find his papers kindle their enthusiasm\nbeyond, perhaps, those of any other author\u2014that is, if they can at all\nappreciate the originality of his argument, together with his giant grasp\nof thought and diction. And especially do we commend these conferences to\nearnest thinkers outside the church, with whom the supernatural is the\nquestion of questions.\n\nIndebted as we are to the translator, he must not think us hypercritical\nif we complain of bad punctuation, a comma being sometimes found where a\ncolon or even a full stop ought to be; or if we take leave to remind him\nthat, to render French idiomatically, it will not do to preserve the\nsudden changes of tense which are forcible in that language, as in Latin,\nbut sound very strangely in English.\n\n\n    THE HYMNARY, WITH TUNES: A Collection of Music for Sunday\u2010Schools.\n    By S. Lasar. New York and Chicago: Biglow & Main.\n\n\nWe could recommend this hymn\u2010book to Catholic schools, and, on account of\nits intrinsic worth, would have been glad to do so, if the compiler had\nexcluded the few hymns, of no special merit in themselves or in the tunes\nadapted to them, which are anti\u2010Catholic in doctrine. Poison is dangerous,\nand we cannot offer it even in the smallest quantities to our children.\n\n\n    THE ISSUES OF AMERICAN POLITICS. By Orrin Skinner, Philadelphia:\n    J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1873.\n\n\nAttracted by the title of this book, the fact of its dedication to a\ndistinguished citizen of New York, and by its comprehensive table of\ncontents, we took it up and read it from cover to cover. In all candor, we\nmust say a more confused, ungrammatical, and shallower book it has seldom\nfallen to our lot to peruse; and why any respectable publishing house\nshould have been induced to bring it out in such good style, or in any\nform at all, passes our comprehension. To grapple with the great issues of\nour American politics, to state each leading question clearly and fairly,\nand to draw deductions therefrom that will stand the test of justice and\nreason is a task requiring infinitely more experience, judicial ability,\nand knowledge of our language than the author displays or evidently ever\nwill possess. Judging from this production, Mr. Skinner has not the\nfaintest conception of the principles upon which rests the framework of\nour government. Though a lawyer, he is sadly ignorant of law as a science;\nand, though ambitious of authorship, he seems unable to write a paragraph\nintelligibly. For instance, take the following, snatched at random:\n\n\u201cThe deduction from this criticism constitutes, of course, an advocacy of\nintelligent suffrage. The plea is here urged that an unrestricted suffrage\nis its own incentive to the education of those who exercise it. The\nassertion betrays an unpardonable ignorance of one of the most prominent\ncharacteristics of human nature. Frail humanity is so constituted that,\nwhen it has presented to it two ways of effecting its purposes, one with\neffort and the other without, it invariably chooses the latter. Equality\nas a fundamental element of republican institutions is also urged, Let\nsuch a sciolist read his conviction in the quotations from Burke already\ncited.\u201d\n\nIt were, however, useless to further attempt to criticise this most\npretentious and least readable of books, and the best wish we can afford\nthe author, and one that we have no doubt will be gratified, is that it\nwill be read by few and soon forgotten.\n\n\n    A MANUAL OF AMERICAN LITERATURE: A Text\u2010Book for Schools and\n    Colleges. By John S. Hart, LL.D. Philadelphia: Eldridge & Bro.\n    1873.\n\n\nMr. Hart has gathered considerable fresh material on American literature\nin this volume. There is still much which he has omitted. With the same\nindustry and care which he has already bestowed on this manual, he may\nrender it complete. There is a personality in some of his remarks which is\nuncalled for. In spite of these defects, this is the best work of the kind\nwith which we are acquainted.\n\n\n    THE MARBLE PROPHECY, AND OTHER POEMS. By J. G. Holland. New York:\n    Scribner, Armstrong & Co.\n\n\nWhen our holy church, with its venerated head, its divine sacraments and\nsacred ceremonies, is chosen by a writer of merit as the object upon which\nhe feels himself moved to pour forth his scathing abuse or stinging\nridicule, we bear his ponderous strokes or parry his keen thrusts as best\nwe may, confessing to the pardonable weakness of feeling complimented at\nbeing called to the lists by an adversary of some strength of arm or\nsharpness of weapon; but, when one from the common crowd of chance\u2010\nassembled knights, like our quondam _Timothy Titcomb_, presumes\nunchallenged to invite the attention of that respectable audience\u2014the\nAmerican public\u2014to _his_ little tilt against the giant of centuries, and,\nin his overeagerness to take a share in the fray, disports himself upon\nsuch a sorry steed as the \u201cMarble Prophecy,\u201d laden with \u201cother poems\u201d as a\nmakeweight, we at once look about us to see if we have not a serviceable\ncane at hand for the use of the same discriminating public, _et voila!_\n\n\n    ROUNDABOUT RAMBLES IN LANDS OF FACT AND FANCY. By Frank R.\n    Stockton. 1 vol. small 4to. New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co.\n\n\nThis is an instructive work, compiled with much judgment and good taste\nfrom various authors, and is beautifully illustrated, making it a very\ndesirable holiday present for the young folk.\n\n\n    NIAGARA: Its History and Geology, Incidents and Poetry. With\n    illustrations. By George W. Holley. New York: Sheldon & Co. 1872.\n\n\nThis is something more than a mere _Murray_, or guide\u2010book, at the same\ntime that it serves as a valuable reference to the intelligent tourist.\nBesides some historical and topographical descriptions, for which he draws\non the works of Shea, Parkman, Marshall, the Relations of the Early Jesuit\nMissionaries, and State Documents, in addition to his own observations, he\nindulges in some geological speculations which will attract the attention\nof scientific readers. The whole is interspersed with anecdotes,\nincidents, and poetical scraps which will serve to relieve the tedium of\ntravel, and hotel life.\n\n\n    A HIDDEN LIFE, AND OTHER POEMS. By George Macdonald, LL.D., Author\n    of \u201cWithin and Without,\u201d \u201cWilfred Cumbermede,\u201d etc. New York:\n    Scribner, Armstrong & Co. 1872.\n\n\nThere is true poetry in this volume. The author possesses, in our\njudgment, powers of a high order. His mind, too, is of a deeply religious\ncast; and we wonder how he can remain a Protestant after his struggles\nwith doubt on the one hand, as shown in the poem of \u201cThe Disciple,\u201d and\nhis attractions to Catholicity on the other, as evinced especially in his\npoem on \u201cThe Gospel Woman,\u201d and most in the opening one, \u201cThe Mother\nMary.\u201d But then he has a laudatory sonnet \u201cTo Garibaldi.\u201d\n\nThe \u201cCatholic Publication Society\u201d has in press, and will publish\nsimultaneously with its appearance in England, from advance sheets\nfurnished by the author, a new work, entitled, _My Clerical Friends_, by\nthe author of _The Comedy of Convocation_. This will be the only\nauthorized edition published in this country.\n\n\n\nBooks and Pamphlets Received.\n\n\nFrom KREUZER BROTHERS, Baltimore: The Catholic Priest. By Michael M\u00fcller,\nC.SS.R. 18mo, pp. 163.\u2014The \u201cOur Father.\u201d By the same. 18mo, pp. 221.\n\nFrom J. A. MCGEE, New York: Sister Mary Francis\u2019 (the Nun of Kenmare)\nAdvice to Irish Girls in America. 12mo, pp. 201.\n\nFrom BURNS, OATES & CO., London: Reflections and Prayers for Holy\nCommunion. From the French. With a preface by Archbishop Manning. (New\nYork: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) 18mo, pp. xii., 498.\n\nFrom R. WASHBURNE, London: A Dogmatic Catechism. From the Italian of\nFrassinetti. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) 18mo,\npp. xix., 244.\n\nFrom JAMES DUFFY, Dublin: Sermons on Ecclesiastical Subjects. By Henry\nEdward Manning, D.D. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\npp. viii., 456.\n\nFrom GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, New York: The Moral of Accidents, and other\nDiscourses. By the late Thomas T. Lynch. 12mo, pp. xviii., 415.\n\nFrom T. & T. CLARK, Edinburgh, and SCRIBNER, WELFORD & ARMSTRONG, New\nYork: Biblical Commentary on the Books of the Kings. By C. F. Keil. 8vo,\npp. viii., 523\u2014Sermons from 1828 to 1860. By the late Wm. Cunningham, D.D.\n8vo, pp. xxxvi, 416.\u2014The Old Catholic Church. By W. D. Killen, D.D. 8vo,\npp. xx., 411.\u2014Biblical Commentary on the Book of Psalms. By F. Deleutzsch,\nD.D. Vol. III. 8vo, pp. 420.\n\nFrom HOLT & WILLIAMS, New York: Fly Leaves by C. S. C. 12mo, pp. vi., 233.\n\nFrom the AUTHOR: Key to the Massoretic Notes, Titles, and Index generally\nfound in the margin of the Hebrew Bible. Translated from the Latin of A.\nHahn. With many additions and corrections. By Alex. Merowitz, A.M.,\nProfessor of the Hebrew language and literature in the University of New\nYork. New York: J. Wiley & Son. 8vo, paper, pp. 22.\n\nFrom ELDREDGE & BROTHER, Philadelphia: A French Verb Book. By E. Lagarde,\nA.M. 12mo, pp. 130.\n\nFrom P. O\u2019SHEA, New York: Month of the Holy Rosary. By Rev. P. M. Chery,\nO.P. 18mo, pp. iv., 200\u2014The Scapular of Mount Carmel. By Rev. P. Tissot,\nS.J. 24mo, pp. 105.\n\nFrom the AUTHOR: The Irish Republic. A Historical Memoir of Ireland and\nher Oppressors. By P. Cudmore, Counsellor\u2010at\u2010Law. St. Paul: Pioneer\nPrinting Company, 1871.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD. VOL. XVI., NO. 94.\u2014JANUARY, 1873.\n\n\n\n\nA Son Of The Crusaders.\n\n\n    ... \u201cOn his breast a bloodie crosse he bore,\n    The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,\n    For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore,\n    And dead, as living, ever him ador\u2019d:\n    Upon his shield the like was also scor\u2019d.\n    For soveraine hope which in his helpe he had,\n    Right faithful true he was in deede and word.\u201d\u2014SPENSER.\n\n\nOne day in the month of November, 1833, a stranger descended from the\nlumbering _Schnellpost_ at the little town of Marburg (Electoral Hesse),\non the pleasant banks of the Lahn. Looking around him, he discovered but a\nsingle object of interest\u2014the old cathedral of the place, a noble Gothic\nedifice, which, although stripped and cold in its modern dedication to the\nLutheran service, still preserved the salient features of its inalienable\nbeauty and majesty of form.\n\nThe traveller, a young man of twenty\u2010three, a Catholic, and an enthusiast\nin his intelligent and cultivated admiration of the grand architecture of\nhis church, recognized in the building a monument celebrated at once for\nits pure and perfect beauty, and the first in Germany in which the pointed\narch prevailed over the round in the great renovation of art in the XIIIth\ncentury.\n\nContrary to Lutheran observance, the church happened on that day to be\nopen, in compliance with a traditional custom, for the cathedral bore the\nname of S. Elizabeth, and this was S. Elizabeth\u2019s Day. The stranger\nentered. There was no religious service. There were no worshippers, and\nchildren were at play among the old tombs. He wandered through the vast\nand desolate aisles, which not even the devastation and neglect of\ncenturies had robbed of their marvellous elegance. Naked altars from which\nno ministering hand now wiped the dust, pillars, defaced statues, nearly\nobliterated paintings, broken and defaced wood carvings, successively\nstruck his eye and attracted his attention. All these remains of Christian\nart, even in their ruin telling the story of their origin in days of fresh\nand fervent faith, appeared also to picture in a certain sequence the\nevents of some devout life. Here was the statue of a young woman in the\ndress of a widow; further on, in painting, a frightened girl showing to a\ncrowned warrior her robe filled with roses; yet further, these two, the\nyoung woman and the warrior, tearing themselves in anguish from a parting\nembrace. Again, the lady is seen stretched on her bed of death amidst\nweeping attendants, and, later, an emperor lays his crown on her freshly\nexhumed coffin.\n\nIt was explained to the traveller that these pictured incidents were\nevents in the life of S. Elizabeth, queen of that country, who, that very\nday six hundred years ago, had died in Marburg and lay buried in the\nchurch. A silver shrine, richly sculptured, was shown to him. It had once\nenclosed the relics of the saint, but one of her descendants, turned\nProtestant, had torn them from it, and scattered them to the winds. The\nstone steps approaching the shrine were deeply hollowed by the countless\npilgrims who, more than three centuries agone, had come here to kneel in\nprayer. \u201cAlas!\u201d thought the stranger, \u201cthe faith which left its impress on\nthe cold stone has left none upon human hearts!\u201d\n\nHe desired to know more of the saintly patroness of Marburg\u2019s cathedral,\nand leaving the church sought out a bookseller, and asked for a life of S.\nElizabeth. The man stared at him, bethought himself a moment, and then\nwent up into a garret, from which he presently emerged with a dust\u2010covered\npamphlet. \u201cHere it is,\u201d he said, \u201cthe only copy I have: no one ever asked\nfor it before.\u201d\n\nThe traveller resumed his journey, reading his pamphlet to beguile the\ntedium of his way. Although written by a Protestant in a cold,\nunsympathizing, matter\u2010of\u2010fact way, the essential charm of its mere record\nof youthful self\u2010devotion laid a powerful spell upon him. His artistic\nenthusiasm, his heart, his piety, were all touched and aroused. Just\nemerging in sorrow from one of the most trying ordeals of the battle of\nlife, with repelled longings and disappointed hopes, his pent\u2010up youthful\nenergies were now seeking some outlet for escape, some fresh field of\naction. Uncertain what this field, this outlet, might be, he had vowed\nthat, with the choice before him of several different objects to pursue,\nhe would decide for that which was the most Catholic. He had found it. \u201cTo\nS. Elizabeth he would,\u201d in his own words, \u201csacrifice his fatigue and his\nhopes.\u201d He would write her life, and strive to place on record its\ntouching story\u2014at once a tender love\u2010legend, a page of medi\u00e6val romance,\nand the hallowed tradition of a saintly career. At the first stopping\u2010\nplace he left the diligence, and, taking a return carriage, went\nimmediately back to Marburg.\n\nThis traveller, this young stranger, was Charles, Count de Montalembert,\npeer of France. His sudden impulse, his enthusiastic vow, were not as\nwords written in water. To what would at this day seem to many an\ninconsiderate, quixotic rashness, succeeded the deliberate realization of\nan undertaking full of labor and difficulty. He ransacked libraries,\nsought out chronicles, legends, and popular traditions, read old books and\nlong\u2010forgotten manuscripts, and travelled far and wide throughout Germany,\nwherever a locality offered the attraction of the slightest association\nwith the name of S. Elizabeth. The charm and fascination of his theme grew\nupon him with every additional fact he learned regarding her. Beginning at\nthe famous old castle of Wartburg, where Elizabeth came a child, the\ndaughter of a race of kings, from distant Hungary, he made a veritable\npilgrimage, taking for his route the itinerary of his heroine\u2019s life\u2014to\nKreuzburg; to Reinhartsbr\u00fcnn, where, a young wife and mother of twenty,\nshe parted in anguish from her husband, a crusader setting out for\nPalestine; to Bamberg, where she was driven by persecution; to Andechs, to\nErfurth, and finally to Marburg, \u201cwhither,\u201d as he says, \u201che returned to\npray by her desecrated tomb, and to gather with pain and difficulty some\nremembrance of her from the mouths of a people who have renounced with the\nfaith of their fathers the regard due to their benefactress.\u201d\n\nBow down your heads, O generation of stockbrokers and speculators in\nprovisions and railway shares, to the memory of this Montalembert, who, in\nthe flower of his youthful manhood, for years went up and down the world\nwith an idea in his head and heart!\n\nBut this book, this life of S. Elizabeth. you object, was, after all, a\nmere pious legend of dubious trustworthiness? On the contrary, it was a\nwork of the highest value, even judged by the severest canons of\nhistorical criticism. Its introduction alone is sufficient to make the\nwork classic. Sainte\u2010Beuve, high academic and critical authority, calls it\nmajestic,(186) and reviewers of all nations have contributed their\nverdicts of approval.\n\nThis was Montalembert\u2019s first literary production\u2014a success, as it\ndeserved to be, worthy forerunner of his yet greater work, _The Monks of\nthe West_, and the first\u2010fruit of a splendid literary and oratorical\ncareer, whose main inspiration was always drawn from the sources of\nCatholic truth and Catholic faith.\n\nMontalembert died in March, 1870, leaving a name and a reputation which\nfor all time to come will remain one of the proudest illustrations of\nFrance.\n\nWe are fortunate in already having an admirable memoir of his life,(187)\nwritten by one of the most distinguished women of England. It cannot but\nbe gratifying to all who cherish the memory of Montalembert that the task\nshould have fallen into the hands of one so eminently capable as Mrs.\nOliphant. Personally intimate with his family and on terms of friendship\nwith his wife (_n\u00e9e_ Comtesse de Merode), thoroughly familiar with the\nlanguage, modern history, and politics of France, and the successful\ntranslator of _The Monks of the West_, it would have been difficult to\nfind a writer better fitted, in knowledge and in sympathy, to record the\nlife of Charles de Montalembert. Let us add here that, for reasons which\nthe intelligent reader may easily divine, we are glad that the biography\nhas been written by a Protestant. Although to a Catholic reader it would\nbe more pleasant to read a life in which nothing could be found which is\nnot in perfect harmony with the spirit of faith and loyalty toward the\nchurch, yet, for the public generally, the testimony of a fair and candid\nProtestant in respect to certain very important events in the career of\nMontalembert will be more free from the suspicion of bias, and therefore\nof more value in establishing the fact of his essential devotion to the\nHoly See to the end of his life.\n\nWe trust that the ladies of Sorosis and of the various wings and vanguards\nof the grand army of \u201cThe Rights of Women\u201d will not take offence if we\nendeavor to compliment Mrs. Oliphant by saying that we especially admire\nthe style in which her memoir is written, for a tone and quality\nwhich\u2014turn whither we may\u2014we cannot otherwise describe than as \u201cmanly.\u201d\nMaking due allowance for the almost inevitable partiality of the\nbiographer for his hero, there is a directness, a solidity, a sound\ncommon\u2010sense view of practical questions, and an absence of mere\nsentimentality, all eminently to her credit and in admirable keeping with\nthe dignity of her subject. Mrs. Oliphant\u2019s modesty, too, equals her\nability. Referring to her translation of _The Monks of the West_, she\ntells us: \u201cWe are sorry to add, to our personal humiliation, that\nMontalembert was by no means so much satisfied with at least the first\npart of the translation. He acknowledged that the meaning was faithfully\nrendered; \u2018but,\u2019 he wrote, \u2018I cannot admire the constant use of French or\nLatin words instead of your own vernacular. My Anglo\u2010Saxon feelings are\nwounded to the quick by the useless admission of the article _the_ or _a_;\nand by such words as _chagrin_ instead of _grief_, _malediction_ instead\nof _curse_, etc.\u2019 The proofs of the translation came back from him laden\nwith corrections in red ink\u2014a circumstance which communicated to them a\ncertain additional sharpness, at least to the troubled imagination of the\ntranslator; and the present writer may be perhaps allowed here to avow in\nher own person that up to this present moment, when she happens to have\nthe smallest French phrase to translate, she pauses with instinctive\nalarm, hastily substituting _freedom_ for _liberty_ when the word occurs;\nand will cast about in her mind, with a certain sensation of fright, how\nto find words for _authority_, _corruption_, _intelligence_, etc., in\nother than the French form.\u201d\n\nCharles Forbes Ren\u00e9 de Montalembert was born in London on the 15th of May,\n1810. His father was a noble French _emigr\u00e9_; his mother, the daughter of\nJames Forbes, an Englishman of distinction. The first nine years of his\nlife were spent principally in England under the immediate care and in the\npersonal companionship of his maternal grandfather, and, dating from this\nperiod, the English language was always to him a second mother tongue. At\nthe age of fourteen we find him at the college of S. Barbe in Paris. The\nfact may be discouraging to many young gentlemen of the present day now at\nschool and in sad possession of a class of ideas too generally accepted,\nto the effect that men become useful and distinguished by reason of the\npossession of some unaided special gift rather than by study and the\nlaborious acquisition of knowledge\u2014we say the fact may be discouraging to\nthem, but nevertheless it remains a fact that the young Montalembert laid\nthe foundation of his future distinction as a man of letters, an\narch\u00e6ologist, a great orator, a great writer, an eminent political leader,\nand the ornament of the Chamber of Peers, in close, unremitting, laborious\napplication to his studies while at school. After he had completed his\ncollege course and entered society, we find him writing to a friend: \u201cIt\nis usual to say that youth is the time for the pleasures of society. I\nlook upon this opinion as a complete paradox. It seems to me, on the\ncontrary, that youth should be given up with ardor to study, or to\npreparation for a profession. When a young man has paid his tribute to his\ncountry; when he can appear in society crowned with the laurels of debate\nor of the battle\u2010field, or at least of universal esteem; when he feels\nentitled to command respect, if not admiration\u2014then is the time to enter\nsociety with satisfaction.\u201d\n\nSoon there came for him the period of _illusions perdues_, which,\ncommencing with the entrance into life of every intelligent and ambitious\nyoung man, accompanies him with more or less persistence to the edge of\nthe grave. Young Montalembert spent some time in Sweden, at whose court\nhis father was the ambassador of Charles X. On his return to France, he\nwrote an article upon that country which M. Guizot, the editor of the\n_Revue Fran\u00e7aise_, advised him to cut down to half its length. He\ncomplied, sent in his abbreviated article, and the editor suppressed the\nbest portion of what remained!\n\nAbout this time he met Lamartine, became intimate with Victor Hugo, \u201cthen\nthe poet of all sweet and virtuous things,\u201d and numbered among his friends\nSainte\u2010Beuve, who then shared Montalembert\u2019s religious enthusiasm and his\nbelief that Europe was to be regenerated by the church. Ireland, too, came\nin for a full share of his sympathy. He wrote an article on that country\nwhich Guizot allowed to go in entire. A friend tells him that his article\non Sweden is dull, and that on Ireland commonplace. \u201cDisappointing,\u201d\nwrites the young author in his diary, \u201cbut better than if my friend had\npraised me insincerely.\u201d O\u2019Connell, then in the fulness of his powers and\nhis popularity, greatly attracted him. He would go all the way to Ireland\nto see him. And he did. Crossing the two channels, and traversing England,\nhe made the journey over the mountains of Kerry on horseback, with a\nlittle Irish boy for his guide. He visited O\u2019Connell at Derrynane,\nprepared and anxious to discuss with him the great subjects which filled\nhis mind. The Liberator received him kindly, and after dinner\u2014looking at\nthe ingenuous face of twenty before him\u2014did what he thought precisely the\nproper thing to do\u2014ushered him at once into the drawing\u2010room, where the\nyoung count was thrown on the tender mercies of a crowd of pretty and gay\nyoung Irish women. _Encore une illusion perdue!_ He had crossed seas and\nmountains to discuss freedom, the church, English rule and Irish\nemancipation, with Ireland\u2019s greatest man, who, without listening to a\nword from him, thrust him into another room amid a bevy of laughing girls!\n\nAfter Montalembert\u2019s return from Ireland came his intimacy with Lacordaire\nand Lamennais, and the joint literary enterprise of the three in the\nestablishment of the _Avenir_, whose motto was \u201cGod and Liberty.\u201d Its\nfirst number was issued Oct. 15, 1830. We will not dwell on its history,\nso familiar to all Catholics, except to refer to the holy war waged by it\nand its friends against the monopoly of education by the government. Under\nthe law, every private school, every educational institution not licensed\nand regulated by the University of Paris, was absolutely forbidden. Utter\nirreligiousness then pervaded the colleges and schools of France. The\ngeneration which passed through those schools bears witness to their evil\ninfluences, and confirms Lacordaire\u2019s own record, who says that he left\ncollege \u201cwith religion destroyed in his soul,\u201d and that he, like almost\nall the youths of his period, \u201clost his faith at school.\u201d\n\nMontalembert\u2019s picture of these evil influences was everywhere recognized\nas truthful. \u201cIs there a single establishment of the university where a\nChristian child can live in the exercise of faith? Does not a contagious\ndoubt, a cold and tenacious impiety, reign over all these young souls whom\nshe pretends to instruct? Are they not too often either polluted, or\npetrified, or frozen? Is not the most flagrant, the most monstrous, the\nmost unnatural immorality inscribed in the records of every college, and\nin the recollections of every child who has passed as much as eight days\nthere?\u201d\n\nTo test the law forbidding freedom in education, Lacordaire and\nMontalembert opened a free school for poor children at Paris in the Rue\ndes Arts. They were indicted for the offence, and tried at the bar of the\nChamber of Peers. The audience, as may well be imagined, was made up from\nthe nobility and intelligence of the land. The prisoners defended their\ncause in person. Lacordaire, who spoke first, referred to the fact that\nthe government had lately impeached the previous ministers by virtue of\npower in the charter not reduced to a special law. \u201cIf they could do it,\nso could I,\u201d said the brave priest, \u201cwith this difference, that they asked\nblood, while I desired to give a free education to the children of the\npoor.\u201d He ended by recalling to his judges the example of Socrates \u201cin the\nfirst struggle for freedom to preach.\u201d \u201cIn that _cause c\u00e9l\u00e8bre_ by which\nSocrates fell,\u201d said Lacordaire, \u201che was evidently culpable against the\ngods, and in consequence against the laws of his country. Nevertheless,\nposterity, both pagan and Christian, has stigmatized his judges and\naccusers; and of all concerned have absolved only the culprit and the\nexecutioner\u2014the culprit, because he had failed to keep the laws of Athens\nonly in obedience to a higher law; and the executioner, because he\npresented the cup to the victim with tears.\u201d\n\nWith this proud and plain warning ringing in their ears, the judges next\nheard Montalembert. He was just twenty\u2010one, and by the recent death of his\nfather but a few weeks in his place as a peer of France. Sainte\u2010Beuve saw\nthat his youth, his ease and grace, the elegant precision of his style and\ndiction, veiled the fact that it was a prisoner\u2014not a peer\u2014who spoke, and\nhis judges were the first to forget it.\n\n\u201cThe entire chamber listened with a surprise which was not without\npleasure to the young man\u2019s bold self\u2010justification. From that day M. de\nMontalembert, though formally condemned, was borne in the very heart of\nthe peerage\u2014he was its Benjamin.\u201d The sentence was a gentle reprimand and\na mild fine of a hundred francs.\n\nThe _Avenir_, it will be remembered, had incurred no censure from Rome.\nNevertheless, it had not prospered, and it was resolved by its founders\nthat they would appeal to the head of the church for his explicit\napproval. Accordingly, the publication of the paper was suspended, and its\nlast number announced \u201cwith pomp,\u201d as Lacordaire says, that \u201cthe purpose\nof its editors was to suspend it until they had gone to Rome to seek\nsanction and authority for its continuation.\u201d The biographer well remarks\nthat \u201cneither from primitive Ireland nor romantic Poland had such an\nexpedition set forth.\u201d They asked the head of the church \u201cto commit\nhimself, to sanction a new and revolutionary movement, to bless the very\nbanners of revolt, and acknowledge as pioneers of his army the\necclesiastical Ishmaels who had carried fire and flame everywhere during\ntheir brief career.\u201d There could, of course, be but one result\u2014failure.\nThe _Avenir_ was condemned. Lacordaire and Montalembert at once submitted\nto the decision. Poor de Lamennais did not, and unhappily persisted in his\nsad mistake. In connection with this subject, we cannot here refrain from\nrepeating at length some reflections which, coming as they do from an\nintelligent Protestant, have a peculiar force and value.\n\nThey are from the pen of Montalembert\u2019s biographer, and present so\nadmirable, so eloquent a _r\u00e9sum\u00e9_ of the question of apostasy, that we\nhave not the heart to curtail the passage containing them by so much as\nthe omission of a single word:\n\n\n    \u201cExcept at the Reformation, when the great overflow of spiritual\n    rebellion was favored by such a combination of circumstances as\n    has never occurred since, no man or group of men have succeeded in\n    rebelling against Rome, and yet continued to keep up a religious\n    character and influence. No man has been able to do it, whatever\n    the excellence of his beginning might be, or the purity of the\n    motives with which he started. Even in the Church of England the\n    career of a man who separates himself from her communion is\n    generally a painful one. He makes a commotion and excitement in\n    the world for a time before he has fully made up his mind; and at\n    the moment of his withdrawal he is sure of remark and notice, at\n    all events, from certain classes. But after that brief moment he\n    sinks flat as the spirits do in the _Inferno_, and the dark wave\n    pours over him, and he is heard of no more. All that sustained and\n    strengthened and gave him a fictitious importance as the member of\n    a great corporation has fallen away from him. He has dropped like\n    a stone into the water\u2014like a foundered ship into the sea. In\n    England, however, after all has been done, there is a sea of\n    dissent to drop into, and though his new surroundings may please\n    him little, yet he will come out of the giddiness of his downfall\n    to take some comfort in them\u2014will accustom himself by degrees to\n    the lower social level, the different spiritual atmosphere. But he\n    who dissents from the Church of Rome has no such refuge. The\n    moment he steps outside her fold he finds himself in outer\n    darkness, through which awful salutations are shrieked to him by\n    the enemies of religion, by those whom he has avoided and\n    condemned all his life, and with whom he can agree only on the one\n    sole article of rebellion. If he ventures to hold up his head at\n    all after what all his friends will call his apostasy, the best\n    that he can hope for is to be courted by heretics, professed\n    enemies of the church which he has been born in, and which\n    probably he loves most dearly still, notwithstanding his\n    disobedience. To quarrel with your home is one thing\u2014to find its\n    domestic laws hard, and its prejudices insupportable; but to\n    plunge into the midst of the enemies of that home, and to hear it\n    assailed with the virulence of ignorance\u2014to join in gibes against\n    your mother, and mockery of her life and motives\u2014is a totally\n    different matter. Yet this is almost all that a contumacious\n    priest has to look forward to. A recent and striking example, to\n    which we need not refer more plainly, will occur to every one who\n    has watched the contemporary history of the Roman Catholic Church.\n    In this case a brilliant and remarkable preacher\u2014a man supposed\n    the other day to be one of the most eminent and promising sons of\n    Rome\u2014after wavering and falling away in some points from\n    ecclesiastical obedience, suddenly appeared in an admiring circle\n    of gentle Anglicanism, surrounded by a fair crowd of worshipping\n    Protestants, ready to extend to him all that broad and universal\n    sympathy which he had no doubt been trained to regard as vilest\n    latitudinarianism, or the readiness of Pilate to make friends with\n    Herod. This prospect must chill the very soul of a man who has\n    received the true priestly training, and who has been educated in\n    that love of his church which is of itself a noble and generous\n    sentiment. The best thing that can happen to him is to fall among\n    heretics; the other alternative, and the only one, so far as\n    events have yet made it apparent, to fall among infidels: and as\n    his education has taught him to make but small distinction between\n    them, and the infidels are nearer at hand, and his own countrymen,\n    what wonder if it is into their hands that the miserable man, torn\n    from all his ancient foundations, ejected from his natural place,\n    heart\u2010weary with the madness which is wrought by anger against\n    those we love, should fall\u2014what wonder if he should rush to the\n    furthest extremity, hiding what he feels to be his shame, and\n    endeavoring to take some dismal comfort in utter negation of that\n    past from which he has been torn! Whether there are new\n    developments in the future for the new Protesters whom a recent\n    decision has raised up, we cannot tell. But such has been the case\n    in the past. Life is over for the rebellious priest who breaks\n    with his church; his possibility of service in his vocation has\n    come to an end; even the most careless peasant in his parish will\n    turn from him. He is a deserter from his regiment in the face of\n    the enemy, false to his colors, a man no longer of any human use.\u201d\n\n\nIt was during Montalembert\u2019s sojourn in Italy, on his remarkable _Avenir_\npilgrimage, that he became the intimate friend of Albert de la Ferronays,\nthe hero of Mrs. Craven\u2019s beautiful _R\u00e9cit d\u2019une S\u0153ur_. He appears in the\nbook designated under the name of Montal. From the same period, also,\ndates his intimacy with Rio, the future historian of Christian art. The\nyoung peer\u2019s taste for art, always strong, and his enthusiastic admiration\nof the glorious remains of medi\u00e6val architecture, were both developed and\nstrengthened under the teaching and influence of Rio. In March, 1833, he\npublished an article in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_, in which he\nenergetically denounced the desecration and ruin of the grand old\narchitectural monuments of France. It was addressed in the form of a\nletter to Victor Hugo, then leader of the Romantic school, who strongly\nsympathized with him on this subject, and whose _Notre Dame de Paris_ had\nbeen reviewed in the _Avenir_ by Montalembert with enthusiastic praise for\nthe grand historical framework of the story. During the autumn of that\nyear, Montalembert went to Germany, and, as we have seen, accidentally\nstopped at Marburg. Travel, research, and the collection of materials for\nthe life of Elizabeth now engrossed all his time, until, attaining the\nlegal age, twenty\u2010five, he took his seat in the Chamber of Peers. His\nfirst appearance at the bar of this chamber had been in defence of the\nliberty of teaching, and his first speech was in defence of the liberty of\nthe press. These two discourses prefigured his parliamentary career. He\nwas always the ardent advocate of liberty; rarely heard on the side of the\ngovernment; and generally the leader of a conscientious and loyal\nopposition: which, well considered, would have been found the most prudent\nadviser of the administration in power.\n\nStrongly imbued with English ideas, he fully appreciated the conservative\npower of an energetic opposition, ever ready to criticise, to question, to\nchallenge, or to expose whatever might seem arbitrary or unconstitutional\nin the acts of the government. But this idea of an opposition at once\nloyal and law\u2010loving, was unfamiliar to his countrymen. To them, as a\ngeneral thing, opposition meant revolution, and to many the spectacle of a\npeer of France, a Catholic, and a _proprietaire_, who was at once the\nfriend of the proletaire, the dissenter, the oppressor, and the slave, was\na paradox. And yet paradox there was none, for his declaration of\nprinciples was always clear and bold. Thus, in striving to cull from the\nChamber of Peers a public expression of sympathy for the Poles, he\ninsisted that it was their right and their duty to make an avowal of\nnational sentiments, an expression of national opinion, that it was an\nobligation imposed by humanity and required by wise policy. \u201cWhat is it,\u201d\nhe asked, \u201cthat has raised the British parliament to so high a degree of\npopularity and moral influence in Europe? Is it not because for more than\na century no grave event has happened in any country without finding an\necho there? Is it not because no right has been oppressed, no treaty\nbroken anywhere, without a discussion on both sides of the question before\nthe peers and commons of England, whose assemblies have thus become, in\nthe silence of the world, a sort of tribunal where all the great causes of\nhumanity are pleaded, and where opinion pronounces those formidable\njudgments which, sooner or later, are always executed?\u201d\n\nAnd his independence was that of the man as well as of the orator. He was\ncommitted to no policy, sought no party ends, but always, and at all cost,\nmaintained the good, the just, the honorable. A lost or desperate cause,\nif equitable, was always sure of his support. The three oppressed nations\nof the earth, Poland under Russia, Ireland under England, and Greece under\nTurkey, were his most cherished clients. The weaker side ever strongly\nattracted him. \u201cPenetrated by the conviction that just causes are\neverlasting,\u201d says M. Cochin, \u201cand that every protest against injustice\nends by moving heaven and convincing men, he sought out, so to speak,\nevery oppressed cause when at its last breath, to take its burden upon\nhimself, and to become its champion. There is a suffering race, a race\nlost in distant isles, the race of black slaves, which has been oppressed\nfor centuries. He took its cause in hand, and from the year 1837 labored\nfor its emancipation. There are in all manufacturing places a crowd of\nhollow\u2010cheeked children, with pale faces and worn eyes, and the sight of\nthem made a profound impression upon him; he took their cause also in\nhand. If you run over the mere index of his speeches, you will find all\ngenerous efforts contained in it.\u201d\n\nThe year 1836 brought two notable events in the life of Montalembert\u2014the\npublication of his first work, his _Life of S. Elizabeth_, and his\nmarriage to a daughter of the noble house of de Merode in Belgium.\nMeantime, he continued his attacks on vandalism in art and his\nparliamentary labors, and was mainly instrumental in the creation of the\ncommittee of historical art and the commission on historical monuments,\nfrom both of which he was excluded under the Empire, which no more\nsympathized with his pure conceptions of Christian art than it did with\nhis conception of Christian morals.\n\nRio has recorded the result of the impression made by Montalembert upon\nthe English poet Rogers, which admirably illustrates the fact that\nMontalembert\u2019s religion was not a sort of moral \u201cSunday suit\u201d to be put\noff and on as occasion might require, and at the same time reveals to us\nthe old poet in an entirely new aspect. The Montalemberts had spent the\nevening with Rogers, \u201cand after their departure,\u201d Rio relates, \u201cwhen I\nfound myself alone with Rogers, the expression of his countenance, which\nup to that moment had been smiling and animated, changed so suddenly that\nI feared I had offended him by some word of doubtful meaning which I might\nnot altogether have understood. He paced about the room without saying\nanything, and I did not know whether I might venture to break this\nincomprehensible silence. At last he broke it himself, and said to me\nthat, if he had the power of putting himself in the place of another, he\nwould choose that of Montalembert, not on account of his youth and his\nbeautiful wife, but because he possessed that immovable and cloudless\nfaith that seemed to himself the most enviable of all gifts.\u201d\n\nMr. Neale advised Montalembert that he had been elected an honorary member\nof the Cambridge Camden Society. On receipt of the news of this\n\u201cunsolicited and unmerited honor,\u201d Montalembert replied in a letter\nprotesting against the usurpation of the title \u201cCatholic\u201d by the Camden\nSociety. Here are some of its trenchant passages:\n\n\n    \u201cThe attempt to steal away from us, and appropriate to the use of\n    a fraction of the Church of England, the glorious title of\n    Catholic, is proved to be an usurpation by every monument of the\n    past and present, by the coronation oath of your sovereigns, by\n    all the laws that have _established_ your church. The name itself\n    is spurned with indignation by the greater half at least of those\n    who belong to the Church of England, just as the Church of England\n    itself is rejected with scorn and detestation by the greater half\n    of the inhabitants of the United Kingdom. The judgment of the\n    whole indifferent world, the common sense of humanity, agrees with\n    the judgment of the Church of Rome, and with the sense of her 150\n    millions of children, to dispossess you of this name. The Church\n    of England, who has denied her mother, is rightly without a\n    sister. She has chosen to break the bonds of unity and obedience.\n    Let her therefore stand alone before the judgment\u2010seat of God and\n    man. Even the debased Russian Church\u2014that church where lay\u2010\n    despotism has closed the church\u2019s mouth and turned her into a\n    slave\u2014disdains to recognize the Anglicans as Catholics. Even the\n    Eastern heretics, although so sweetly courted by Puseyite\n    missionaries, sneer at this new and fictitious Catholicism. That\n    the so\u2010called Anglo\u2010Catholics, whose very name betrays their\n    usurpation and their contradiction, whose doctrinal articles,\n    whose liturgy, whose whole history, are such as to disconnect them\n    from all mankind except those who are born English and speak\n    English\u2014that they should pretend on the strength of their private\n    judgment alone to be what the rest of mankind deny them to be,\n    will assuredly be ranked among the first follies of the XIXth\n    century.... You may turn aside for three hundred years to come, as\n    you have done for three hundred years past, from the fountain of\n    living waters; but to dig out a small channel of your own, for\n    your own private insular use, wherein the living truth will run\n    apart from its own docile and ever obedient children\u2014_that_ will\n    no more be granted to you than it has been to the Arians, the\n    Nestorians, the Donatists, or any other triumphant heresy. I\n    protest, therefore, against the usurpation of a sacred name by the\n    Camden Society as iniquitous; and I next protest against the\n    object of this society, and all such efforts in the Anglican\n    Church, as absurd.\u201d\n\n\nWe now have before us a period of seven years in the life of Montalembert,\nthe record of which may be said to be the history of the great public\nquestions which then agitated France; so intimately was his entire\nparliamentary career bound up with their development. The first and most\nimportant of these questions was that of education. Then, as now, the\nexamination for the degree of A.B. (_baccalaureat_) was the key to all\npublic occupations.\n\nBut at that time, from 1830 to 1848, no one had a right to present himself\nfor this examination unless he had been educated in one of the public\n_lyc\u00e9es_, or some school licensed by the university, into whose hands the\ngovernment had placed the monopoly of education. A wealthy parent might\neducate a boy under his own supervision in the best universities of\nEngland or Germany, or by private tutors, yet the youth would not be\npermitted to present himself for examination, although able to pass it\nwith ease. And the degree resulting from this examination was the\nessential condition upon which the possibility of a public career was\nopened to every young Frenchman. Without it he could by no possibility be\nadmitted to any public employment, the bench or the bar. Ability,\naccomplishments, acquirements, had nothing to do with the question. The\nyoung man must pass through a state school, or he was for ever debarred\nfrom a public career in his own country. But to pass through a state\nschool, as all Christian parents, both Catholic and Protestant, then well\nknew in France, was to leave it with the loss of his religious principles.\nThe biographer may well find it \u201cequally incredible that such restrictions\nshould have been borne by any people, and that a government founded upon\nliberal principles and erected by revolution should have dared to maintain\nthem; but so it was.\u201d\n\nThe parliamentary campaign on the educational question opened in 1844.\nDiscussion soon reached a point of warmth. \u201cThere is one result given\nunder the auspices of the university,\u201d said Montalembert, \u201cwhich governs\nevery other, and which is as clear as daylight. It is that children who\nleave their family with the seed of faith in them, to enter the\nuniversity, come out of it infidels.\u201d The contradictions and _mouvement_\nincited by this statement pushed the orator to more emphatic statement. \u201cI\nappeal,\u201d he said, \u201cto the testimony of all fathers and mothers. Let us\ntake any ten children out of the schools regulated by the university, at\nthe end of their studies, and find one Christian among them if you can.\nOne in ten! and that would be a prodigy. I address myself not to such or\nsuch a religious belief, but to all. Catholics, Protestants, Jews, all who\nbelieve humbly and sincerely in the religion which they possess, it is to\nthem I appeal, whom I recognize as my brethren. And all those who have a\nsincere belief, and practise it, will confirm what I have said of the\nreligious results of the education of the university. Let us hear the\ntestimony of the young and eloquent defender of French Protestantism, the\nson of our colleague M. Agenor de Gasparin.... \u2018Religious education,\u2019 he\nsays, \u2018has no existence in the colleges.... I bethink myself with terror\nwhat I was when I issued forth from this national education. I recollect\nwhat all my companions were. Were we very good citizens? I know not, but\ncertainly we were not Christians; we did not possess even the weakest\nbeginnings of evangelical faith.\u2019 \u201d\n\nThe results of the French compulsory anti\u2010Christian education may be read\nin current history. \u201cThe men it has brought up are the men who allowed\nFrance to be bound for eighteen years in the humiliating bondage of the\nSecond Empire; who have furnished excuses to all the world for calling her\nthe most socially depraved of nations; who have filled her light\nliterature with abominations, and her graver works with blasphemy; and who\nhave finally procured for her national downfall and humiliation.\u201d\n\nMontalembert planted his little band in battle array against the compact\nand overwhelming forces of the government, under the inspiration and\ntrumpet\u2010tongued tones of his admirable _fils des crois\u00e9s_ speech in the\nChamber of Peers. Here, with its memorable termination, are a few passages\nfrom it. We regret we cannot give it entire. \u201cAllow me to tell you,\ngentlemen, a generation has arisen among you of men whom you know not. Let\nthem call us Neo\u2010Catholics, sacristans, ultramontanes, as you will; the\nname is nothing; the thing exists. We take for our motto that with which\nthe generous Poles in the last century headed their manifesto of\nresistance to the Empress Catherine: \u2018We, who love freedom more than all\nthe world, and the Catholic religion more than freedom,\u2019 ... are we to\nacknowledge ourselves so degenerated from the condition of our fathers,\nthat we must give up our reason to rationalism, deliver our conscience to\nthe university, our dignity and our freedom into the hands of law\u2010makers\nwhose hatred for the freedom of the church is equalled only by their\nprofound ignorance of her rights and her doctrines?... You are told to be\n_implacable_. Be so; do all that you will and can against us. The church\nwill answer you by the mouth of Tertullian and the gentle F\u00e9nelon. \u2018You\nhave nothing to fear from us; but we do not fear you.\u2019 And I add in the\nname of Catholic laymen like myself, Catholics of the XIXth century: We\nwill not be helots in the midst of a free people. WE ARE THE SUCCESSORS OF\nTHE MARTYRS, AND WE DO NOT TREMBLE BEFORE THE SUCCESSORS OF JULIAN THE\nAPOSTATE. WE ARE THE SONS OF THE CRUSADERS, AND WE WILL NEVER YIELD TO THE\nPROGENY OF VOLTAIRE!\u201d\n\n\u201c_Mouvements divers_\u201d might well\u2014according to the reported proceedings of\nthe day\u2014follow this burst of indignant eloquence. The words made the very\nair of France tingle; they defined at once the two sides with one of those\nhappy strokes which make the fortune of a party, and which are doubly dear\nto all who speak the language of epigram\u2014the most brilliantly clear,\nincisive, and distinct of tongues. Henceforward the _fils des crois\u00e9s_\nwere a recognized power, but they were only known and heard by and through\nMontalembert, and, so far as the public struggle was concerned, might be\nsaid to exist in him alone. Montalembert fought almost single\u2010handed. \u201cThe\nattitude of this one man between that phalanx of resolute opponents and\nthe shifty mass of irresolute followers, is as curious and interesting as\nany political position ever was. He stands before us turning from one to\nthe other, never wearied, never flagging, maintaining an endless brilliant\ndebate, now with one set of objectors, now with another, prompt with his\nanswers to every man\u2019s argument, rapid as lightning in his sweep upon\nevery man\u2019s fallacy: now proclaiming himself the representative of the\nCatholics in France, and pouring forth his claim for them as warm, as\nurgent, as vehement as though a million of men were at his back: and now\nturning upon these very Catholics with keen reproaches, with fiery\nridicule, with stinging darts of contempt for their weakness. Thus he\nfought single\u2010handed, confronting the entire world. Nothing daunted him,\nneither failure nor abuse, neither the resentment of his enemies, nor the\nlanguor of his friends, ... not always parliamentary in his language, bold\nenough to say everything, as his adversaries reproached him, yet never\nmaking a false accusation or imputing a mean motive. No one hotter in\nassault, none more tremendous in the onslaught; but he did not know what\nit was to strike a stealthy or back\u2010handed blow.\u201d\n\nTime has strange revenges. In April, 1849, came up the important question\nof the _inamovibilit\u00e9 de la magistrature_\u2014the appointment for life of\nmagistrates. His old enemies were delighted to find that Montalembert\ndeclared himself unreservedly in the affirmative, and none more than M.\nDupin, the very man who uttered the memorable \u201c_Soyez implacables_.\u201d Again\nhe had the government to contend with, for under the law magistrates were\nno longer irremovable. Montalembert proposed, as an amendment, that all\nmagistrates in office should be reappointed, and that all new appointments\nshould be made for life. He pointed out the evils of a system which made\njudgeships tenable only from one revolution to another, and made a noble\noffice the object of a \u201chunt\u201d for promotion dishonoring to all parties. He\nspoke of the magistracy as the priesthood (_sacerdoce_) of justice, and\nadded: \u201cAllow me to pause a moment upon the word priesthood, which I have\njust employed. Of all the weaknesses and follies of the times in which we\nlive, there is none more hateful to me than the conjunction of expressions\nand images borrowed from religion with the most profane facts and ideas.\nBut I acknowledge that our old and beautiful French language, the immortal\nand intelligent interpreter of the national good sense, has, by a\nmarvellous instinct, assimilated religion and justice. It has always said:\n_The temples of the law, the sanctuary of justice, the priesthood of the\nmagistracy_.\u201d The cause was won by his eloquence, and thus the first\npolitical success he ever gained was not for himself or his friends, but\nfor his enemies. Truly a fitting triumph for a son of the crusaders.\n\nThe peerage now being abolished, Montalembert was returned as deputy to\nthe National Assembly by the Department of Doubs. Here his career was, if\npossible, yet more brilliant than in the Chamber of Peers. It would\nrequire a volume fitly to record them. Soon came the presidency of Louis\nBonaparte. Himself the soul of honor, with an eye single to the welfare of\nFrance, deceived by solemn assurances which he unfortunately credited,\nunsuspicious of a depth of treachery which he could not conceive, and\nalarmed by the horrible spectre of socialism, just arising from its native\nblood and mire, Montalembert became the dupe and the victim of Louis\nNapoleon. When power had been fully secured, the new president offered him\nthe position of senator, along with the _dotation_ of 30,000 francs, which\nwas refused without hesitation. A second and a third time the offer was\nrenewed, the last offer being urged by De Morny in person. The only\nposition he held under the government of Louis Napoleon was the nominal\none of a member of the Consultative Commission, which he resigned on the\npublication of the decree for the confiscation of the property of the\nHouse of Orleans. He had already begun to suffer from the attacks of the\ndisease to which he finally succumbed; and it was from his sick\u2010bed that\nhe went to receive at the hands of the French Academy the highest and most\ndearly prized reward of French talent and genius. Montalembert was elected\nto the seat in the Academy vacated by the death of M. Droz, and his\nreception was an event. Being now freed from the absorbing engagements of\nlife, he made several journeys to England, and travelled into Hungary,\nPoland, and Spain. His work entitled _L\u2019Avenir Politique de l\u2019Angleterre_\nwas the fruit of his English visits; and was well received both in France\nand England. In October, 1858, the Paris _Correspondant_ published a\nremarkable letter from Montalembert, describing a debate in the English\nParliament. Its every paragraph was so full of a subtle and powerful\ncontrast between political liberty in England and the absence of it in\nFrance that the Imperial government and its adherents were stung to the\nquick. He speaks of leaving \u201can atmosphere foul with servile and\ncorrupting miasma (_charg\u00e9e de miasmes serviles et corrupteurs_) to\nbreathe a purer air and to take a bath of free life in England.\u201d Referring\nto a former French colony, he says: \u201cIn Canada, a noble race of Frenchmen\nand Catholics, unhappily torn from our country, but remaining French in\nheart and habits, owes to England the privilege of having retained or\nacquired, along with perfect religious freedom, all the political and\nmunicipal liberties which France herself has repudiated.\u201d A criminal\nprosecution was immediately begun against the count for this letter. Four\nseparate accusations were brought. Among them were \u201cexciting the people to\nhate and despise the government of the emperor, and of attempting to\ndisturb the public peace.\u201d The legal penalties were imprisonment from\nthree months to five years, fine from 500 to 6,000 francs, and expulsion\nfrom France. According to French custom, the prisoner on trial was\ninterrogated concerning the obnoxious passages, and, when Montalembert\nanswered, it was discovered that the emperor and his government, not the\nprisoner at the bar, was on trial. With calm gravity he acknowledged each\ndamning implication as an historical fact not to be denied, \u201cenjoying,\nthere can be no doubt,\u201d says his biographer, \u201cto the bottom of his heart,\nthis unlooked\u2010for chance of adding a double point to every arrow he had\nlaunched, and planting his darts deliberately and effectually in the\njoints of his adversaries\u2019 armor.\u201d\n\nThe foundation of Montalembert\u2019s great work, _The Monks of the West_, was\nlaid in his studies for the life of S. Elizabeth, and the remainder of his\nactive life was now devoted to its completion. It is sufficient to refer\nto it. We need not dwell upon this greatest production of his literary\ngenius. Besides this, two other remarkable productions came from his pen\ntoward the close of his career. These were the long and eloquent\naddresses, _L\u2019Eglise libre dans l\u2019Etat libre_, delivered before the\nCongress of Malines, and his _Victoire du Nord aux Etats\u2010Unis_, which,\nsays his biographer, \u201cis little else than a hymn of triumph in honor of\nthat success which to him was a pure success of right over wrong, of\nfreedom over slavery.\u201d\n\nIt is well known that Montalembert was one of those who opposed the\nproclamation of the dogma of infallibility. On this point, his biographer\ngives us this interesting information.\n\nOne of his visitors said to him, while lying on what proved to be his\ndeath\u2010bed: \u201cIf the Infallibility is proclaimed, what will you do?\u201d \u201cI will\nstruggle against it as long as I can,\u201d he said; but when the question was\nrepeated, the sufferer raised himself quickly, with something of his old\nanimation, and turned to his questioner. \u201cWhat should I do?\u201d he said. \u201cWe\nare always told that the pope is a father. _Eh bien!_\u2014there are many\nfathers who demand our adherence to things very far from our inclination,\nand contrary to our ideas. In such a case, the son struggles while he can;\nhe tries hard to persuade his father; discusses and talks the matter over\nwith him; but when all is done, when he sees no possibility of succeeding,\nbut receives a distinct refusal, he submits. I shall do the same.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will submit so far as form goes,\u201d said the visitor. \u201cYou will submit\nexternally. But how will you reconcile that submission with your ideas and\nconvictions?\u201d\n\nStill more distinctly and clearly he replied: \u201cI will make no attempt to\nreconcile them. I will submit my will, as has to be done in respect to all\nthe other questions of faith. I am not a theologian; it is not my part to\ndecide on such matters. And God does not ask me to understand. He asks me\nto submit my will and intelligence, and I will do so.\u201d \u201cAfter having made\nthis solemn though abrupt confession of faith,\u201d says the witness whom we\nhave quoted, \u201che added, with a smile, \u2018It is simple enough; there is\nnothing extraordinary in it.\u2019 \u201d\n\nThe last years of the life of this distinguished man were one long\nprotracted agony of physical suffering. The symptoms of disease that first\nmanifested themselves in 1852 had gone on increasing in severity until in\n1869, more than a year before his death, he speaks of himself as _vivens\nsepulcrum_. \u201cI am fully warranted in saying that the death of M. de\nMontalembert was part of his glory,\u201d writes M. Cochin, in describing his\nconstancy and resignation. He died on the 13th of March, 1870.\n\n\n\n\nAt The Shrine.\n\n\n\nI.\n\n\n    The sunset\u2019s dying radiance falls\n      On chancel\u2010gloom and sculptured shrine,\n    A splendor wraps the pictured walls,\n      Where painted saints in glory shine!\n    And blent with sweet\u2010tongued vesper\u2010bells,\n      Through echoing aisles and arches dim\n    The organ\u2019s solemn music swells,\n      The sweetly chanted evening hymn.\n\n\n\nII.\n\n\n    Low at Our Lady\u2019s spotless feet\n      A white\u2010robed woman kneels in prayer:\n    The _Deus Meus_ murmurs sweet,\n      While _Glorias_ throb on perfumed air;\n    Before the circling altar\u2010rail\n      She breathes her _Aves_ soft and low\u2014\n    The golden hair beneath her veil\n      Wreathed like a glory on her brow.\n\n\n\nIII.\n\n\n    The sunset\u2019s purple splendors fade,\n      The dark\u2019ning shades of twilight fall,\n    The moonbeam\u2019s silver touch is laid\n      On sculptur\u2019d saint and pictur\u2019d wall;\n    And while the weeping watcher kneels,\n      And silence weaves her magic spells,\n    The gray dawn thro\u2019 the oriel steals,\n      And morning wakes the matin\u2010bells.\n\n\nADVENT, 1872.\n\n\n\n\nA Christmas Recognition.\n\n\nWe were old\u2010fashioned people at Aldred, and Christmas was our special\nholiday. The house was always filled with guests, not such as many of our\ngrander neighbors asked to their houses, but such as cared for good old\u2010\nfashioned cheer and antiquated habits. Not all were relations, for we\nnever asked relations merely on account of their kinship, according to the\nregulation mixing of a conventional Christmas party, but among our own\npeople were many whose presence at our Christmas gatherings was as certain\nas the recurrence of the festival itself. Among them was a great\u2010aunt, a\nsoft, mild old lady, always dressed in widow\u2019s weeds, but with a face as\nfresh as a girl\u2019s, and hair white as the snowy cap she wore to conceal it.\nShe had not come alone, for her adopted son was with her, the promised\nhusband of her only child, dead years ago. He had left his own home and\npeople, like Ruth, for the lonely, childless woman whom he was to have\ncalled mother, and remained her inseparable companion through her\nbeautiful and resigned old age. There were, besides these, a young girl\nwhose aspect was peculiar and attractive, and whose manner had in its\nmixture of modesty and self\u2010reliance a piquancy that added to the\nfascination of her person. She had come with a distant cousin of hers, a\nwidow of a different type from our dear old relative, and whose object in\nchaperoning Miss Houghton must have been mixed. She was small, blonde,\ncoquettish, and thirty\u2010two, though no one would have taken her for more\nthan twenty\u2010five. She looked soft, pliable, irresolute, and tender, and\nmen often found in her a repose which was a soothing contrast to her\ncousin\u2019s energetic, peculiar, somewhat eccentric ways; only it was the\nrepose yielded by a downy cushion, and people wearied of it after a while.\nThe secret of the apparent partnership between these two opposite natures\nwas perhaps this: the widow had a rich jointure, and was an excellent\n_parti_, while her cousin was portionless. Miss Houghton was thus doubly a\nfoil to Mrs. Burtleigh.\n\nI shall not speak of the other guests in detail, with the exception of one\nwhom it would be impossible to overlook. He was a man nearer forty than\nthirty\u2010five, good\u2010humored and careless to all appearance, a hard worker in\nthe battle of life, a cosmopolitan philosopher, and one of those handy,\nuseful men who can sew on a button, cook an omelet, and kiss a bride as\neasily and unconcernedly as they gallop across country or horsewhip a\nvillain. He had been in Mexico, surveying and engineering for an English\nrailroad company, and he had spent some years in the East as the land\u2010\nagent of a progress\u2010loving pacha. Europe he knew as well as we knew\nAldred, while the year he had been absent from us had been filled by new\nand stirring experiences in Upper Egypt. But I forget; we have yet to\nspeak of many little details of Christmas\u2010tide which preceded the\ngathering in of the whole party.\n\nThe kitchen department was, of course, conspicuous on this occasion. This\nincluded the village poor, who were regularly assembled every day for soup\nuntil Christmas eve, when each household received a joint of beef and a\nfine plum\u2010pudding. Some of us went round the village in a sleigh, and\ndistributed tea and sugar as supplementary items. It was a traditional\nYule\u2010tide, for the snow lay soft, even, and thick over the roads, as it\nbut seldom does in England; then, the school was visited and solidly\nprovisioned, the children were invited to a monster tea with accompaniment\nof a magic\u2010lantern show, after which the prizes were to be distributed, as\nwell as warm clothing for the winter season. Nothing was said of the\nChristmas\u2010tree, as that was kept as a surprise.\n\nThe decoration of house and chapel was a wonderful and prolonged business,\nand afforded great amusement. Holly grew in profusion at Aldred, and a\ncart\u2010load of the bright\u2010berried evergreen was brought to the house the day\npreceding Christmas eve. The people we have made acquaintance with were\nalready with us, and vigorously helped us on with the preparations. Such\nfun as there was when Miss Houghton insisted upon crowning the marble bust\nof the Indian grandee, Rammohun Roy, with a holly wreath, and when Mrs.\nBurtleigh gave a pretty, ladylike little cry as she pricked her fingers\nwith the glossy leaves! The children of the house and those of another\nhouse in the neighborhood (orphan children whose gloomy home made them a\nperpetual source of pity to us) were helping as unhelpfully as ever, but\nwhat of that? It was a joyous, animated scene, and, still more, a romantic\none; for the traveller, who had claimed a former acquaintance with Miss\nHoughton, now seemed to become her very shadow\u2014or knight, let us say; it\nis more appropriate to the spirit of a festival so highly honored in\nmedi\u00e6val times. The chapel, a beautiful Gothic building, small but\nperfect, was decorated with mottoes wrought in leaves, such as \u201cUnto us a\nSon is born, unto us a Child is given,\u201d and _Gloria in excelsis Deo_,\netc., while festoons of evergreens hung from pillar to pillar, and draped\nthe stone\u2010carved tribune at the western end with a living tapestry. Round\nthe altar were heaped in rows, placed one higher than another, evergreens\nof every size and kind, mingled with islands of bright camellias, the\npride of the renowned hothouses of Aldred. White, red, and streaked, the\nflowers seemed like stars among dark masses of clouds; and, when we lit a\nfew of the tall candles to see the effect, it was so solemn that we longed\nfor the time to pass quickly, till the midnight Mass should call forth all\nthe beauty of which we had seen but a part.\n\nThese decorations had been mainly the work of the traveller (whom, in our\ntraditional familiarity, we called \u201cCousin Jim\u201d) and of our other friend,\nthe adopted son of our old aunt; but, though their brains had conceived,\nit was Miss Houghton\u2019s deft fingers that executed the work best. The last\ntouch had just been put to an immense cross of holly which was to be swung\nfrom the ceiling, to supply the place of the rood that in old times\nguarded the choir\u2010screen. A star of snow\u2010white camellias was to be poised\njust above it, and a tall ladder had been put in readiness to facilitate\nthe delicate task. Miss Houghton stood at the foot, one arm leaning on the\nladder, the other holding aloft the white star. Her friend was halfway up,\nbearing the great cross, when he suddenly heard a low voice, swelling\ngradually, intoning the words of the Christmas hymn:\n\n\n    Adeste fideles,\n    L\u00e6ti triumphantes;\n    Venite, venite in Bethlehem:\n    Natum videte\n    Regem angelorum:\n    Venite adoremus,\n    Venite adoremus,\n    Venite adoremus Dominum.\n\n\nStartled and touched, he began the repeating words of the chorus, pausing\nwith his green cross held high in his arms. The others who, scattered\nabout the chapel, heard his deep tones, answering, took up the chorus, and\nchanted it slowly to the end, Miss Houghton looking round with tears in\nher eyes, at this unexpected response to the suppressed and undefinable\nfeelings of her heart. It was an impressive scene, the guests, servants,\ngardeners, and a few of the choir\u2010boys, all mingling in the impromptu\nworship so well befitting the beautiful work they had in hand. At the end\nof the verse, the traveller hastily gained the top of the ladder, and,\nhaving fastened the holly cross in its place, intoned a second verse, in\nwhich Miss Houghton immediately joined, and the harmonious blending of\ntheir voices had, if possible, a still more beautiful effect than the\nunaccompanied chant of the first verse. Again the chorus chimed in,\n\n\n    Venite adoremus,\n    Venite adoremus,\n    Venite adoremus Dominum.\n\n\nin full, solemn tones, and all sang from their places, their festoons in\ntheir hands, so that at the end of the hymn the traveller said\nthoughtfully to his companion: \u201c_Laborare est orare_ should be our motto\nhenceforth. I wish all our work were as holy as this.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why not?\u201d she answered quickly; \u201conly _will_ it so, and so it shall\nbe. We are our own creators.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a rash saying!\u201d he exclaimed, with a smile; \u201cbut I know what you\nmean. God gives us the tools and the marble; it is ours to carve it _into_\nan angel or a fiend.\u201d\n\nAt last the chapel decoration was over, and a few of the more venturesome\namong us went out in the snow for a walk.\n\nMeanwhile, in the corridor (so we called our favorite sitting\u2010room), the\nYule\u2010logs were crackling cheerfully on the wide hearth, and the fitful\ntongues of flame shot a red glimmer over the old\u2010fashioned furniture. One\nof the chairs was said to have belonged to Cardinal Wolsey, and there was\nanother, a circular arm\u2010chair, that looked as if it also should have had a\nhistory connected with the great and learned. Full\u2010length portraits of the\nold possessors of Aldred covered the walls, and on the stained\u2010glass upper\ncompartments of the deep bay\u2010window at one end were depicted the arms and\nquarterings of the family. The Yule\u2010logs were oak, cut from our own trees,\nand perforated all over with large holes through which the flames shot up\nlike fire\u2010sprites.\n\nThe Christmas\u2010tree and magic\u2010lantern also had to be put in order to save\ntime and trouble, and a stage for tableaux occupied the rapt attention of\nthe amateur mechanician (our great\u2010aunt\u2019s son) and of \u201cJim,\u201d the traveller\nand practised factotum. Miss Houghton was never very far from the scene of\nthese proceedings, and, when she was not quite so near, \u201cCousin Jim\u201d was\nnot quite so eager. Almost all our guests had brought contributions for\nthe Christmas\u2010tree, of which our children had the nominal charge, and with\nthese gifts and our own it turned out quite a royal success. Presents of\nuseful garments, flannels, boots, mittens, woollen shirts, petticoats, and\ncomforters, were stowed away beneath the lower branches, while all visible\nparts were hung with the toys and fruits, lights and ribbons, that so\ndelight children. Gilt walnut\u2010shells were a prominent decoration, and\nright at the apex of the tree was fixed a \u201cChrist\u2010child,\u201d that thoroughly\nGerman development, an image of the Infant Saviour, holding a starred\nglobe in one hand and a standard in the other. A _cr\u00e8che_ had also been\nprepared in the Lady\u2010chapel, a lifelike representation of those beautiful\nChristmas pictures seen to such perfection in the large churches of Italy.\nMunich figures supplied the place of wax models, however, and were a\ndecided improvement.\n\nMany people from the village had asked leave to come in and look at these\npeculiar decorations; but, as few of them were Catholics, it had been\nthought better to wait till the third Mass on Christmas day to open the\nchapel to the public. Christmas eve was a very busy day, and towards five\no\u2019clock began the great task of welcoming the rest of the expected guests.\nThis was done in no modern and languid fashion; the servants, clad in fur\ncaps and frieze greatcoats, stood near the door with resinous torches\nflaring in the still night air\u2014it was quite dark at that early hour\u2014and\nthe host and hostess welcomed them at the very threshold. The children\nhelped them to take off their wraps, and held mistletoe sprigs over their\nbended heads as they reached up to kiss them. Indeed, mistletoe was so\nplentifully strewn about the house that it was impossible to avoid it, but\nwe had so far eschewed the freedom of the past as to consider this custom\nmore honored in the breach than in the observance. The children and the\nservants, however, made up for our carelessness.\n\nVery little toilet was expected for a seven o\u2019clock dinner (we were not\nfashionable people), but we found that our well\u2010meant injunctions had\nhardly been obeyed. For the sake of the picturesque, so much the better, I\nthought. One of our friends had actually donned a claret\u2010colored velvet\nsuit, with slippers to match, embroidered with gold; and, when we looked\nat each other in silent amusement, the wearer himself smiled round the\ncircle, saying pleasantly:\n\n\u201cOh! I do not mind being noticed. In fact, I rather like it\u2014this was a\nlady\u2019s fancy, you see.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow, how?\u201d we asked eagerly.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d answered the Londoner, a regular drawing\u2010room pet, and a very\nclever society jester, \u201cI was challenged to a game of billiards by a fair\nlady, the Duchess of \u2014\u2014. She said to me, \u2018And pray _do_ wear something\npicturesque.\u2019 I bowed and said, \u2018Your grace shall be obeyed.\u2019 I happened\nto have some loose cash about me. I could not wear uniform, because I did\nnot belong even to the most insignificant of volunteer regiments, and I\nwent to my tailor. His genius was equal to the occasion, and this was the\nresult. I played with the duchess, and she won,\u201d\u2014the hero of the velvet\ncoat was an invincible billiard champion.\u2014\u201cAs I have the dress by me, I\ntake the liberty of wearing it occasionally in the country. It is too good\nto be hidden, isn\u2019t it?\u201d\n\nSo he rattled on till dinner was announced. It was a merry but frugal\nmeal. The mince\u2010pies and plum\u2010pudding crowned with blue flame, the holly\u2010\nwreathed boar\u2019s head of romance, were not there; they were reserved for\nto\u2010morrow. So with the \u201cwassail\u2010bowl,\u201d the fragrant, spirituous beverage\nof which each one was to partake, his two neighbors standing up on each\nside of him, according to the old custom intended as a defence against\ntreachery; for once it had happened that a guest whose hands were engaged\nholding the two\u2010handled bowl to his lips was stabbed from behind by a\nlurking enemy, and ever after it became _de rigueur_ that protection\nshould be afforded to the drinker by his neighbor on either side.\n\nThe fare to\u2010night was still Advent fare, but, after dinner, Christmas\ninsisted upon beginning. We were told that the \u201cmummers\u201d from the village\nwere come, and waited for leave to begin their play. They were brought\ninto the hall, and the whole company stood on the steps leading up to the\ndrawing\u2010rooms. The scenery was not characteristic\u2014a broad oaken staircase,\na Chinese gong, the polished oak flooring, the massive hall\u2010door. The\nactors themselves, seven or eight in number, dressed in the most fantastic\nand extemporized costume, now began the performance; and but for the\nvenerable antiquity of the farce, it was absurd and obscure enough to\nexcite laughter rather than interest. The children were wild with delight,\nand were with difficulty restrained from leaping the \u201cpit\u201d and mingling\nwith the actors on the \u201cstage.\u201d Indeed, for many days after nothing was\nheard among them but imitations of the \u201cmummers.\u201d There was a grave\ndialogue about \u201cKing George,\u201d then a scuffle ensued, and one man fell down\neither wounded or in a fit. The doctor is called; the people believe the\nman dead, the doctor denies this, and says, \u201cI will give him a cordial,\nmark the effect.\u201d The resuscitated man afterwards has a tooth drawn by the\nsame quack, who then holds up the tooth (a huge, unshapely equine one\nprovided for the occasion), and exclaims: \u201cWhy, this is more like a\nhorse\u2019s tooth than a man\u2019s!\u201d I never could make out the full meaning of\nthe \u201cmummers\u2019\u201d play; but, whether it was a corruption of some older and\nmore complete dramatic form, or the crude beginning of an undeveloped one,\nit certainly was the characteristic feature of our Christmas at Aldred. It\ntook place regularly every year, without the slightest deviation in\ndetail, and always ended in a mournful chorus, \u201cThe Old Folks at Home.\u201d\nAfter the actors had been heartily cheered, and the host had addressed to\nthem a few kind words of thanks and recognition, they were dismissed to\nthe kitchen, to their much coveted entertainment of unlimited beer. There\nthey enacted their performance once more for the servants, who then\nfraternized with them on the most amiable terms.\n\nMeanwhile, our party were gradually collecting round the wood\u2010fire in the\ncorridor. It was a bitter cold night, the snow was falling noiselessly and\nfast, and the wind howled weirdly through the bare branches of the distant\ntrees. Our old aunt remarked, in her gentle way:\n\n\u201cOne almost feels as if those poor owls were human beings crying with\ncold.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe look like a picture, mother,\u201d somewhat irrelevantly answered her son\nafter a slight pause; \u201cthe antique dresses of many of us are quite worth\nan artist\u2019s study.\u201d\n\nMrs. Burtleigh, whose blonde beauty was coquettishly set off by a slight\ntouch of powder on the hair, and a becoming Marie Antoinette style of\n_n\u00e9glig\u00e9_, here pointedly addressed the traveller.\n\n\u201cSir Pilgrim,\u201d she said, \u201cdid you ever think of home when you had to spend\na Christmas in outlandish countries?\u201d\n\n\u201cSometimes,\u201d answered \u201cJim\u201d absently, his eyes wandering towards Miss\nHoughton, who stood resting her head against a carved griffin on the tall\nmantel\u2010piece.\n\nShe caught his glance, and said half saucily:\n\n\u201cNow, if it was not too commonplace, I should claim a story\u2014Christmas eve\nis not complete without a story, at least so the books say.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf it were required, I know one that is not quite so hackneyed as the\ngrandmothers\u2019 ghosts and wicked ancestors we are often surfeited with at\nChristmas,\u201d replied her friend quickly. The whole circle drew closer\naround the fire, and imperiously demanded an explanation.\n\n\u201cBut that will be descending to commonplace,\u201d pleaded the traveller.\n\n\u201cWho knows? It may turn out the reverse, when you have done,\u201d heedlessly\nsaid Mrs. Burtleigh.\n\n\u201cWell, if you will have it, here it is. Mind, now, I am not going to give\nyou a three\u2010volume novel, full of padding, but just tell you one incident,\nplain and unadorned. So do not look forward to anything thrilling or\nsensational.\n\n\u201cSome years ago, I was in Belgium, hastening home for Christmas, and spent\nthree or four days in Bruges. I will spare you a description of the grand\nold city, and come to facts. I was just on the point of leaving, and had\ngot to the railway station in order to catch the tidal train for Ostend,\nwhen a man suddenly and hurriedly came up to me, an old servant in faded\nlivery, who, without breathing a word, placed a note in my hand, and was\nimmediately lost to sight in the crowd. The waiting\u2010room was dimly\nlighted, but I could make out my own name, initials and all, on the\nenvelope. In my confusion, I hurried out of the station, and, stepping\ninto a small _h\u00f4tellerie_, I opened the mysterious note. It was very\nshort: \u2018Come at once to No. 20 Rue Neuve.\u2019 The signature was in initials\nonly. The handwriting was small and undecided. I could hardly tell if it\nwere a man\u2019s or a woman\u2019s. I knew my way to the Rue Neuve, not a really\nnew street, but one of Bruges\u2019 most interesting old thoroughfares. No gas,\na narrow street, great gaunt _portes\u2010coch\u00e8res_, and projecting windows on\nboth sides, the pavement uneven, and a young moon just showing her\ncrescent over the crazy\u2010looking houses\u2014such was the scene. I soon got to\nNo. 20. It was a large, dilapidated house, with every sign about it of\ndecayed grandeur and diminished wealth. Two large doors, heavily barred,\noccupied the lower part of the wall; above were oriels and dormers whose\nstone frames were tortured into weird half\u2010human faces and impossible\nfoliage. No light anywhere, and for bell a long, hanging, ponderous weight\nof iron. I pulled it, and a sepulchral sound answered the motion. I\nwaited, no one came; I thought I must have mistaken the number. Taking out\nthe letter, however, I made sure I was right. I pulled the bell again a\nlittle louder, and heard footsteps slowly echoing on the stone flags of\nthe court within. _Sabots_ evidently; they made a rattle like dead men\u2019s\nbones, I thought. A little _grille_, or tiny wicket, was opened, and an\nold dame, shading her candle with one brown hand, peered suspiciously out.\nApparently dissatisfied, she closed the opening with a bang, muttering to\nherself in Flemish. It was cold standing in the street, and, as the\nportress of this mysterious No. 20 made no sign of opening the door for\nme, I was very nearly getting angry, and going away in no amiable mood at\nthe unknown who had played me this too practical joke. Suddenly I heard\nthe _grille_ open again, very briskly this time, and a voice said in\ntolerably good French:\n\n\u201c \u2018Monsieur\u2019s name is\u2014?\u2019\n\n\u201c \u2018Yes,\u2019 I replied rather impatiently.\n\n\u201c \u2018Then will monsieur wait an instant, till I undo the bars?\u2019 A great\ndrawing of chains and bolts on the inside followed her speech, and a\nlittle gate, three\u2010quarters of a man\u2019s height, was opened in the massive\nand immovable _porte\u2010coch\u00e8re_. I stepped quickly in, nearly overturning\nthe old dame\u2019s candlestick. She wore a full short petticoat of bright yet\nnot gaudy blue, and over it a large black circular cloak which covered all\nbut her clumsy sabots. Her cap was a miracle of neatness, and her brown\nface, wrinkled but cheery, reminded me of S. Elizabeth in Raphael\u2019s\npictures. She said glibly and politely:\n\n\u201c \u2018Will monsieur give himself the trouble to wait a moment?\u2019\n\n\u201cShe disappeared with her candle, leaving me to peer round the courtyard,\nwhere the moon\u2019s feeble rays were playing at hide\u2010and\u2010seek behind the many\nprojections. Almost as soon as she had left, she was with me again,\nbidding me follow her up\u2010stairs. \u2018My master is bed\u2010ridden,\u2019 she explained.\n\u2018Since he got a wound in the war of independence against Holland, he has\nnot been able to move. Monsieur will take care, I hope, not to excite him;\nhe is nervous and irritable since his illness,\u2019 she added apologetically.\n\n\u201cI confess I was rather disappointed. I had expected that everything would\nhappen as it does in a play\u2014it had looked so like one hitherto. I thought\nI was going to meet a woman\u2014young, beautiful, in distress, perhaps in want\nof a champion\u2014but it was only a bed\u2010ridden old man after all! Well, it\nmight lead to an act of charity, that true chivalry of the soul, higher\nfar than mere personal homage to accidental beauty. I entered a darkened\nroom, scantily and shabbily furnished, and the old woman laid the\ncandlestick on the table. The bed was in a corner near the fire; the\nuneven _parquet_ floor was covered here and there with faded rugs, and\nbooks and papers lay on a desk on the old man\u2019s bed. At first I could\nhardly distinguish his features, but, as my eyes grew accustomed to the\ngloom, I saw that he was a martial\u2010looking man, with eyes so keen that\nsickness could hardly dull them, and a bearing that indicated the stern\nwill, the clear intellect, and the lofty _bonhomie_ of an old Flemish\n_gentilhomme_. He looked at me with curious and prolonged interest, then\nsaid, in a voice full of bygone courtesy:\n\n\u201c \u2018Will monsieur be seated? I have made no mistake in the name?\u2019\n\n\u201c \u2018No,\u2019 I answered, wondering what the question meant.\n\n\u201c \u2018Then, monsieur, I have important news for you. The daughter of your\nbrother\u2014\u2019\n\n\u201cI was already bewildered, and looked up. He continued, taking my surprise\nfor interest: \u2018The daughter of your poor brother is now a great heiress,\nand I hold her fortune in trust for her\u2014do not interrupt me,\u2019 he said,\neagerly preventing me from speaking, \u2018it tires me, and I must say all this\nat once. I do not know if you knew of her being taken from her parents\nwhen a child; of course you recollect that, after her mother\u2019s marriage\nwith your brother, there was a great fracas, and poor Marie\u2019s father\ndisinherited her at once. When the child was born\u2014I was her god\u2010father, by\nthe bye\u2014her parents being in great poverty, I begged of the grandfather to\nhelp and forgive them, the more so as your brother was making his poor\nwife very unhappy. He refused, and, though he generally took my advice (he\nwas an an old college friend of mine), he was obstinate on this point. The\nchild grew, and the parents were on worse terms every year. Marie\u2019s father\nheld out against every inducement; your poor brother\u2014forgive me,\nmonsieur!\u2014fell into bad company, and made his home a perfect hell; his\nwife was broken\u2010hearted, but would not hear of a separation, and her only\nanxiety was for her child. I proposed to her to take the responsibility\nmyself of putting the little one out of reach of this dreadful example of\na divided household, and she consented. The father stormed and raved when\nhe found the child was gone, but for once his wife opposed him, and\nrefused to let him know her whereabouts. Every year I interceded with the\ngrandfather, who consented to support the little girl, but would never\npromise to leave her a competency at his death. One day, suddenly, your\npoor brother died.\u2019\n\n\u201cI could not help starting; he saw my surprise.\n\n\u201c \u2018Oh!\u2019 he resumed, \u2018did you not know how he died? Pardon me, monsieur, I\nremember now that none of his English kin followed him to the grave, but I\nhad heard your name before.\u2019\n\n\u201c \u2018Monsieur,\u2019 I began, fearing that he might be led on to talk of family\nsecrets such as he might not wish to share with a stranger, \u2018you have told\nme a strange tale; but allow me to undeceive you\u2014\u2019\n\n\u201c \u2018How did you deceive me?\u2019 he asked impatiently, and I, remembering the\nold dame\u2019s warning not to excite him, was puzzled how to act. In the\nmeanwhile, he went on.\n\n\u201c \u2018_Eh bien!_ The mother then went to England, to the school where her\nchild was, and saw her, but she did not long survive the wear and tear of\nher wretched life, and the grief her husband\u2019s death caused her\u2014for, poor\nwoman, she loved him, you see.\u2019\n\n\u201c \u2018Just like a woman, God bless her!\u2019 I murmured involuntarily. The old\nman bent his head in cordial assent, but immediately resumed: \u2018Her father\nblessed her before she died, and promised to care for the little girl. He\nthen drew up this will\u2019\u2014here he laid his hand on a thick packet on the\ndesk\u2014\u2018and entrusted it me. The child was nine years old then, and that was\nfifteen years ago. She was to be told nothing till her twenty\u2010first\nbirthday, and to be brought up in England, unconscious of anything save\nthat she was the child of honest parents. This went on for some years, and\nthen my old friend died. I continued to send regular remittances to the\nlittle girl\u2019s temporary guardians; the bulk of the fortune I kept in the\nhouse\u2014there in that chest; perhaps it was a foolish fancy, but I did not\ncare to have it in a common bank. The war came and passed over the flower\nof our land, and you see, monsieur, what it has left of my former self.\nWell, after a time, five or six years ago, I ceased hearing from my little\nward; I was unable to get up and search for her; all that advertisements\nand correspondence could do I did, and my chief endeavor was to find you.\nI thought, if anything were likely, this was; she would go to you, her\nfather\u2019s step\u2010brother, a different man, as I always heard her mother say,\nfrom what her own unhappy parent had been.\u2019\n\n\u201c \u2018But,\u2019 I said, \u2018allow me to correct a mistake, monsieur; I never had a\nstep\u2010brother, or a brother either.\u2019\n\n\u201c \u2018What!\u2019 the old man exclaimed nervously\u2014\u2018what do you mean? Do not joke\nabout such things. Your name is \u2014\u2014. Your hair is fair and wavy, your\nfigure tall and stalwart\u2014that was the portrait of my poor little ward\u2019s\nuncle, a different man, of different blood, as well as different name,\nfrom her father.\u2019\n\n\u201c \u2018Do not tell me any names, monsieur,\u2019 I here insisted, \u2018until I have\ntold you who I am.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe looked at me, still agitated, his brows knitted, and his lips\nquivered. I told him my name, birth, country, profession, and assured him\nthat I, an only son, had never heard of any story like his. He seemed\nthunderstruck, and could hardly take in the idea; but, recollecting\nhimself, said: \u2018Pardon me, monsieur, but I have, then, caused you great\ninconvenience.\u2019\n\n\u201cHis politeness now seemed overwhelming; he was in despair; he was\n_d\u00e9sol\u00e9_. What could he do? How could he apologize? I quieted him as best\nI could by professing the utmost indifference about the delay, and begged\nhim, though I would solicit no further confidence, to consider my lips as\nsealed, and, if he wished it, my services as entirely at his disposal.\n\n\u201cHe smiled curiously, then said: \u2018The best apology I can make is to tell\nyou the whole. Your name and initials misled me. Having heard that you\nwere in Bruges, I sent my messenger, who, it seems, only reached you as\nyou were on the point of starting for Ostend. I thought it was my ward\u2019s\nuncle I had found, and, never having seen him, I could not tell if you\nwere the wrong man. I must continue to try and find him; if I fail\u2014never\nmind, I want to tell you her name. She is Philippa Duncombe, and, when I\nsaw her last, she was a dark child, quick, peculiar, and resolute. It is\nso long ago that I could give you no idea of her exterior as she is now. I\nthink she must have suspected her dependence upon a supposed charity, and\nhave left school without the knowledge of any one. Anyhow, I must still\ntry to find your namesake; as for you, monsieur, I cannot thank you enough\nfor your forbearance.\u2019\n\n\u201cI left Bruges the next day, but, as you may suppose, the story of the\nBaron Van Muyden never ceased to haunt me, and a few months after I was\nglad and flattered to receive a letter from the old veteran saying that he\nhad now ascertained that my namesake, the child\u2019s half\u2010uncle, had been\ndead some years, and that he felt that to none other but myself would he\nnow wish to transfer the task of searching for the lost heiress. Of course\nI accepted.\u201d\n\nOur friend paused here, and looked thoughtfully at the fire. The Yule\u2010logs\nwere burning so merrily that a ruin seemed imminent, and while the silence\nwas yet unbroken a sound of distant singing came towards the house. It was\nthe gay company of Christmas carollers, singing their old, old ditties\nthrough the frosty night, in commemoration of the Angel\u2010songs heard by the\nwatching shepherds so many long centuries ago on the hills of Jud\u00e6a. But\nthe company was too much absorbed in the traveller\u2019s tale to heed the\nfaint echo. Miss Houghton sat with her dark eyes fixed on the speaker, and\nevery vestige of color gone in the intensity of her excitement; Mrs.\nBurtleigh, tapping the fender with her tiny gray satin slipper, seemed\nstrangely excited, and glanced uneasily at her cousin; the rest of us were\nclasping our hands in our unrestrainable curiosity, and the provoking\nnarrator actually had the coolness to hold his peace!\n\nAt last some one spoke, unable to control his goaded curiosity.\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d repeated the artful \u201cJim.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you find her?\u201d was the question that now broke from all lips, in a\ngamut of increasing impatience.\n\n\u201cI told you a story, as we agreed,\u201d he answered; \u201cbut, if I tell you the\n_d\u00e9no\u00fbment_, we shall fall into what we wish to avoid\u2014the commonplace.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind, go on,\u201d was shouted on all sides. Miss Houghton was silent,\nbut she seemed to hang on his words. He had calculated on this emotion,\nthe wretch, and was making the most of his points!\n\nAt last he resumed in a slow, absent way:\n\n\u201cYes, I accepted the search; I made it; I did all I could think of\u2014but I\nfailed.\u201d\n\nThe bomb had burst, but we all felt disappointed. This was _not_\ncommonplace, not even enough to our minds. \u201cHe had cheated us,\u201d we cried.\n\n\u201cI can only tell you the truth; remember this was all real, no got\u2010up\nChristmas tale, to end in a wedding, bell\u2010ringing, and carol\u2010singing.\nHark! do you hear the carollers outside?\u201d\n\nNo one spoke, and he went on, still meditatively: \u201cI do not mean to give\nit up, though.\u201d\n\nMiss Houghton, who, till now, had said nothing, opened a small locket\nattached to one of her bracelets, and, keeping her eyes fixed on \u201cCousin\nJim,\u201d passed it to him, saying:\n\n\u201cDid you ever see this face before?\u201d\n\nHe took it up, and looked puzzled. \u201cNo,\u201d he said; \u201cwhy do you ask?\u201d\n\nWe all looked at her as if she had been a young lunatic, her interest in\nthe story being apparently of no very lasting nature. She then unfastened\na companion bracelet, the hanging locket of which she opened and handed to\nher friend again.\n\n\u201cThis face you have seen?\u201d she asked confidently.\n\nHe started, and a rush of color came over his bronzed cheeks.\n\n\u201cYes, yes, that is the Baron Van Muyden\u2014younger, but the same. And here is\nhis writing, \u2018To Marie Duncombe, her sincere and faithful friend.\u2019 Miss\nHoughton?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she answered calmly, as if he had asked her a question.\n\n\u201cThen what I have been looking for for three years I have found tonight?\u201d\nhe said, looking up at her, while we were all stupefied and silent.\n\n\u201cAnd what I have never dreamt of,\u201d she answered in a low voice, \u201cI have\nsuddenly learned to\u2010night.\u201d\n\nThe carollers were now close under the windows, and the words of a simple\nchorus came clearly to our hearing\u2014\n\n\n    The snow lay on the ground,\n      The stars shone bright,\n    When Christ our Lord was born\n      On Christmas night.\n\n\nAfter a few moments\u2019 silence, our curiosity, like water that has broken\nthrough thin ice, flowed into words again. Many questions and a storm of\nexclamations rang through the room, and the concussion was such that the\nYule\u2010logs crashed in two, and broke into a race across the wide hearth,\nsplinters flying to the side, and sparks flying up the chimney. Then Miss\nHoughton spoke with the marvellous self\u2010possession of her nature.\n\n\u201cI knew my own name and my mother\u2019s from the beginning,\u201d she said, \u201cand\nMonsieur Van Muyden, and the old house, and the Flemish _bonne_ in the Rue\nNeuve. I remember them all when a child. I used often to sleep there, and\nthe night before I left Bruges I still remember playing with the baron\u2019s\nold sword. I remember my mother coming to see me at school in England, a\nconvent\u2010school, where I was very happy, and giving me these bracelets. She\ntold me never to part with them; she said she would not be with me long.\nThey told me of her death some months afterwards. The other portrait is\nthat of my grandfather, given by him to my mother on her _f\u00eate_ day, just\nbefore her marriage, with a lock of his hair hidden behind. She always\nwore it. M. Van Muyden\u2019s was done for her when I was born, and was meant\nto be mine some day, as he was my god\u2010father. The remittances he spoke of\nused to come regularly; but, when I grew older, my pride rebelled (just as\nhe guessed, you say), and I hated to be dependent on those who, kind as\nthey were, were not my blood\u2010relations. I ran away from school, and lived\nby myself for a long time in poverty, yet not in absolute need, for I\nworked for my bread, and worked hard. I had a great deal to go through\nbecause I dared not refer any one to the school where I had lived. Mrs.\nBurtleigh was very kind to me; I told her my story, as far as I knew it,\nand somehow she found out that we were cousins through my father; so she\nmade me take her maiden name, Houghton, instead of the one I had adopted\nbefore. She, of course, thought as I did, that the child of the\ndisinherited Marie Duncombe and the unhappy Englishman, my poor father,\ncould be naught but a beggar. She was kindness itself to me, and, though I\nwas too proud to accept all she offered me, I _did_ accept her\ncompanionship and her home. Many little industries of my own, pleasant now\nbecause no longer imperatively necessary, help me to support myself, as\nfar as pecuniary support can be called such; my _home_ has been a generous\ngift\u2014the gift I prize most.\u201d\n\nShe stopped, and Mrs. Burtleigh looked up in impatient confusion, perhaps\nconscious that her feelings and motives had been too mixed to warrant such\nfrank, unbounded gratitude. \u201cJim\u201d said nothing, and Miss Houghton seemed\nso calm that it was almost difficult to congratulate her. She was asked if\nshe had recognized herself from the first in the story.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she said; \u201cI knew it must be me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou took it coolly,\u201d some one ventured to observe.\n\n\u201cI have seen too much of the _revers de la m\u00e9daille_ to be much excited\nabout this,\u201d she said; but, if she was outwardly calm, her feelings were\ncertainly aroused, for her strange eyes had a far\u2010away look, and the color\ncame and went in her cheek.\n\nOur friend seemed almost crestfallen; we thought he would have been\nelated. Presently she said to him, giving him the bracelets:\n\n\u201cYou must take these to Bruges, and I think you had better take me, too.\u201d\n\nHe stared silently at her. Just then the bell began to ring for the\nmidnight Mass. What followed Miss Houghton told us herself.\n\nThe guests hurried to the chapel, rather glad to get rid of their\ninvoluntary embarrassment. Those two remained behind alone. She was the\nfirst to speak.\n\n\u201cI think you are sorry you have found me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he answered slowly, \u201csorry to find it is you: Miss Houghton was\npoor, and Miss Duncombe is an heiress.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat matter! If you like, Miss Duncombe will give up the fortune, or, if\nyou want it, she will give it to you.\u201d\n\nHe looked offended and puzzled.\n\n\u201cYou do not understand me,\u201d she said, half laughing: \u201cMiss Duncombe will\nlet you settle everything for her, and say anything you like to Miss\nHoughton.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do not mean\u2014\u201d he began excitedly.\n\n\u201cI do,\u201d she answered composedly.\n\nAnd they were engaged then and there. He wanted to be married before they\nleft England, but she refused, saying their wedding must be in a Flemish\ncathedral, and their wedding breakfast in a Flemish house. And so it was;\nand No. 20 Rue Neuve is now their headquarters, while the household of the\nBelgian heiress is under the control of the old Flemish woman who once\nshut that door in the face of the heiress\u2019 husband.\n\nM. Van Muyden is happy and contented, and a merrier Christmas day was\nnever spent at Aldred than the day of this unexpected recognition.\n\nMidnight Mass, Christmas\u2010tree, school\u2010feast, and all succeeded each other\nto our perfect satisfaction; the health of the heroine of \u201cCousin Jim\u2019s\u201d\ntale was drunk in the \u201cwassail\u2010bowl\u201d on Christmas night, and, as the\nhappy, excited, and tired Christmas party separated on the day following\nNew Year\u2019s day, every one agreed that it was a pity such things so very\nseldom happened in real life.\n\n\n\n\nFleurange.\n\n\nBy Mrs. Craven, Author Of \u201cA Sister\u2019s Story.\u201d\n\nTranslated From The French, With Permission.\n\n\n\nPart IV.\u2014The Immolation.\n\n\nL.\n\n\nWhile our travellers are completing the last stage of their journey, we\nwill precede them to St. Petersburg, and transport our readers for a short\ntime among scenes very different from those in which the incidents of our\nstory have hitherto occurred.\n\nThe sentence of condemnation has been pronounced, and for some days the\nnames of the five persons who were to suffer death have been known and\nprivately circulated; privately, for the trials which excited universal\ninterest were seldom discussed in society. At that epoch (different in\nthis respect from a subsequent one, when liberty to say anything was\nallowed in Russia before anywhere else), whether through prudence,\nservility, or a fear resulting from the reign of the Emperor Paul, rather\nthan the one just ended, every one refrained with common accord from any\npublic expression of opinion whatever respecting the acts of the\ngovernment. Flattery itself was cautious not to excite discussions that\nmight give rise to criticism. The sovereign authority did not require\napproval, but only to be obeyed, not judged. This was generally\nunderstood, and the consequence was a general silence respecting forbidden\ntopics; whereas, on every other subject, as if by way of indemnification,\nRussian wit was unrestrained, and so keen that the nation which prides\nitself on being the most _spirituelle_ in the world found a rival, and\nonly consoled itself by saying Russian wit was borrowed. It is\nincontestably certain that, though there were still some survivors of the\ntime of Catherine\u2019s reign, the French language was now so universally used\nin society at St. Petersburg, that people of the highest rank, of both\nsexes, spoke it to the exclusion of their own tongue, and wrote it with\nsuch uncommon perfection as to enrich French literature; whereas they\nwould have been very much embarrassed if required to write the most\ninsignificant note, or even a mere business letter, in the Russian\nlanguage.\n\nThere is no intention of discussing here the causes that led to this\nengrafting of foreign habits, or of examining whether the Russians at that\nperiod, in imitating the French, were always mindful that when others are\ncopied it should be from their best side. Still less would it be suitable\nto consider whether the people who possess the faculty of assimilation to\nsuch a degree are the most noble, the most energetic, and the most\nsincere. This would lead us far beyond our modest limits, to which we\nreturn by observing that, in spite of a splendor and magnificence almost\nbeyond conception, in spite of a tone of good taste and a courtesy now\nalmost extinct in France, in spite of hospitality on a grand scale,\ncharacteristic of Slavonic countries, an indefinable restraint, felt by\nall, prevailed in this attractive and brilliant circle, insinuating itself\neverywhere like an invisible spectre, modifying and directing the current\nof conversation\u2014even the most trifling\u2014and affecting not only the\nintercourse of fashionable life, but the freedom of friendly converse and\nthe very outpourings of affectionate confidence.\n\nThe Marquis Adelardi had had several opportunities of mingling in this\nsociety, and found it congenial. It was a society in which he was\nspecially adapted to shine, for he, too, as we are aware, had passed his\nlife in a school of enforced silence; and, if he was formerly numbered\namong those who revolt under such restrictions, he had now renounced all\nefforts to break through them, and learned to turn his attention\nelsewhere. He understood, better than any other foreigner at St.\nPetersburg, how to navigate amid the shoals of conversation; to be\nentertaining, agreeable, interesting, and even apparently bold without\never causing embarrassment by an inadvertent remark; and if, in the ardor\nof discourse, he approached a dangerous limit, the promptness with which\nhe read an unexpressed thought sufficed to make him change, with easy\nnonchalance, the direction of a conversation in which he seemed to be the\nmost interested.\n\nHe was not, however, disposed to talk with any one the day, or rather the\nevening, we meet him again\u2014this time at the Countess de G\u2014\u2014\u2019s, a woman of\nsuperior intellect, already advanced in years, whose salon was one of the\nmost brilliant and most justly popular in St. Petersburg. Everything,\nindeed, was calculated to facilitate social intercourse of every degree,\nand, if there was a place where the bounds we have just referred to were\ninvisible, though never forgotten, it was here. What could not be said\naloud here, more than elsewhere, had a thousand facilities for private\nutterance. On the other hand, for the benefit of prudent people who\npreferred to say nothing at all, there were tables where they could play\nwhist or a game of chess. A piano at one end of the spacious salon was\nalways open to attract amateur performers, then more numerous than now,\nwhen no one ventures, even in the family circle, to play without unusual\nability.\n\nIn this friendly atmosphere, our marquis, generally so social, was silent\nand preoccupied. Seated in a corner on a sofa where no one else was\nsitting, he took no part in the general conversation. And yet, as the room\nfilled, and various groups were formed, here and there foreigners, and\nespecially the members of the diplomatic corps who frequented the house,\nbroached the great topic, and by degrees were heard on various sides the\nnames of Mouravieff, Ryleieff, Pestel, and two others likewise condemned\nto death, as well as the names of those who were to be exiled\u2014a punishment\nalmost as terrible.\n\nA young German attach\u00e9, perceiving Adelardi, approached, and took a seat\nbeside him. \u201cAnd Walden,\u201d said he in a low voice, \u201chave you not had\npermission to see him twice?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you seen him since he was informed of his fate?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; but I have reason to hope I shall obtain that favor.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is not sorry, I imagine, to escape the gibbet.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot the gibbet; but as to death, I am sure he thinks it preferable to the\nfate that awaits him.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor fellow! but then, _qu\u2019allait\u2010il faire_?\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201c_Dans cette gal\u00e8re?_\u201d interrupted the marquis with displeasure. \u201cThe\nquestion is certainly apropos, and I would ask him if I could obtain a\nreply that would avail him anything.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy the way,\u201d said the other, \u201cI suppose you know who has just arrived at\nSt. Petersburg?\u201d\n\nThe marquis questioned him with a look of uncertainty, for he was\nexpecting more than one arrival that day.\n\n\u201cWhy, the fair Vera, who has returned to her post.\u201d\n\n\u201cReally!\u201d exclaimed Adelardi eagerly. \u201cIn that case perhaps we shall see\nher here, for I am told she comes every evening when in the city.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but not till the empress dispenses with her services. It is nearly\nten o\u2019clock. She will probably be here soon. Our agreeable hostess is one\nof her relatives.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was not aware of it. I know the Countess Vera but little. She was not\nat court when I was here three years ago. I only saw her two or three\ntimes at the Princess Lamianoff\u2019s, who was then here, but was not\npresented to her.\u201d\n\n\u201cAt the Princess Catherine\u2019s? I believe you. It is said she wished Vera to\nmarry her son, who was indeed very assiduous in his attentions. The young\ncountess did not appear wholly insensible to them at that time. Do you\nsuppose she is still attached to him?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not know.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor girl! I pity her, in that case, but it is not very probable she will\nlong be infatuated about a convict. Besides, she will find others to\nconsole her, if she makes the effort.\u201d\n\nAt that moment the piano was heard. The young diplomatist was requested to\ntake a part in a trio, and the music put an end to the conversation that\nwas becoming too ardent on every side, through the interest caused, not by\nthe offence, but by the misfortunes of the criminals. Every one knew them,\nand several of them belonged to the same coterie which now scarcely dared\nutter their names aloud.\n\nAdelardi remained in the same place, his head resting on his hand, more\nabsorbed than ever. He pretended to be listening to the music, and was\nmechanically beating time. But he was thinking of something very\ndifferent, and only started from his reverie whenever the bell announced a\nnew arrival. Then he eagerly raised his head and looked towards the door,\nbut only to resume his former position at the entrance of each new\nvisitor\u2014as if not the one whom he desired to see.\n\n\nLI.\n\n\nAt the beginning of the same evening a different scene was occurring, not\nfar distant, in a salon still more elegant and magnificent than the one we\nhave just visited. It was not, however, intended, like that, for the\nreception of visitors, but solely for the pleasure and comfort of her who\noccupied it\u2014a lady, as was evident, though there was no profusion of\nuseless trifles or superfluous ornaments. But it seemed as if her hands\ncould only touch what was rare and costly. Gold, silver, and precious\nstones gleamed from every object destined to her constant use, from the\nopen _cassette_ that contained her work to the sumptuous bindings of the\nbooks scattered over the embroidered covering of the table, or lying on a\nsmall _\u00e9tag\u00e8re_ of malachite near a large arm\u2010chair. This chair, intended\nfor reading, was also adapted to repose by the soft cushion covered with\nthe finest lace for the head of the reader to rest upon in an attitude at\nonce convenient and graceful. On all sides were flowers of every season in\nas great abundance as if they grew in the open air at the usual time. They\ngave out an exquisite odor, which, with perfumes more artificial but not\nless sweet, embalmed the apartment.\n\nIf, as some think, and we have already remarked, places resemble those who\ninhabit them, the reader may be eager to know the owner of this. We will\nendeavor to describe her as she appeared to those who knew her at the time\nof our story: a woman of that age when beauty is in all its freshness; who\nwas truly said to have the dignity of a goddess and the form of a nymph; a\nface sweet and pale, but with noble, delicate features; a complexion of\ncharming purity; a look and smile that were captivating; and the whole\npicture was framed by hair floating in long curls over graceful white\nshoulders.\n\nSuch was the person who, at the sound of a manly and sonorous voice,\nentered the salon just described, and threw herself into the arms of him\nwho had called her by name. Their first words were expressive of joy at\nseeing each other again after a long separation of some hours, and for a\ntime they seemed only to think of each other. Their glances, their smiles\nmet, and it might have been supposed they had nothing in the world to do\nbut love each other and tell each other so.\n\nBut the tone of conversation gradually changed. She grew earnest and he\nbecame uneasy. He made an effort to reply to the questions she addressed\nhim and sometimes persistently repeated, but he appeared to do so\nunwillingly, as if he yielded out of condescension, and with difficulty\nresisted a desire of imposing silence on her. Once he rose and left her,\nbut she followed him, softly placed her arm within his, and, drawing\nherself up to her utmost height (for, though she was quite tall, he was a\nwhole head taller) whispered in his ear. He bent down to listen, but while\nshe was talking a frightful change suddenly came over his face. She\nperceived it, and looked at him with surprise and an anxiety she had never\nfelt before, as he leaned against the mantel\u2010piece and remained there\ngrave and silent with folded arms.\n\nHe was then twenty\u2010nine years old, and in the brilliancy of that manly\nbeauty which suffering, care, the violent passions of a later age, and\ntime itself, scarcely altered. Besides his lofty, noble stature, and\nfeatures so regular that no sculptor could idealize them, there was a\ncharm in the expression of his face and the tone of his voice which\ninspired attachment as well as admiration. Hitherto resentment or anger\nhad seldom been known to flash from his eyes or cause his voice to\ntremble, and perhaps this was the first time she had ever seen his blue\neyes light up with so threatening a gleam. She did not dare persist in her\nrequest, but waited for him to break the silence. By degrees his ominous\naspect gave place to profound and bitter melancholy. \u201cAh!\u201d said he at\nlength, \u201cthis is a sad beginning!\u201d Then after a short silence, he looked\naround as he continued: \u201cCherished home! we shall perhaps often regret the\nhappy days passed here!\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cWe will not leave it,\u201d replied she with a quickness that betrayed how\nunused she was to contradiction. \u201cWe will keep it as it is, and always\ncome back to it. Our _grand_ days shall be passed, if need be, in the\ngloomy Winter Palace, but our _happiest_ days shall be spent here, and\nthey shall be in the future what they have been in the past.\u201d\n\nHe shook his head: \u201cThe past was ours: the future does not belong to us.\nWe must henceforth devote ourselves to our great country, and sacrifice\nall\u2014all! God requires it of us.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll!\u201d repeated she with alarm. \u201cWhat! even happiness and mutual\nconfidence? Oh! no, that portion of the past nothing shall infringe upon!\nAnd there is still another right I shall never renounce\u2014that of imploring\nfavor and pardon for the guilty.\u201d She hesitated, and then went on,\nclasping her hands and fixing her eyes on him with a supplicating\nexpression: \u201cWill you no longer listen to me?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlways in favor of the unfortunate, but never for the ungrateful!\u201d\n\nHe frowned as he said these words, and turned towards the door, but she\nstopped him.\n\nShe felt it would not do to persist, and with the _adresse_ which is the\nlawful diplomacy of love, she at once changed the subject, and obliged him\nto listen while she discussed projects she knew he had at heart. She spoke\nof herself, of him, of the happy past, their brilliant future, of a\nthousand things, and indeed of everything except her whispered petition\nwhich she now wished him to forget.\n\nThe reader has already discovered himself to be in the presence of the\nyoung emperor and empress, whose unexpected accession took place in the\nmidst of a storm. They were in the habit of meeting thus in the palace\nwhere they lived during the happy days of their early married life, when\nno thought of the throne disturbed their youthful love!(188) Both\nhesitated a long time about leaving this charming palace for the sovereign\nresidence, and, when constrained to do so by the necessity of their\nposition, they kept it as it was, without allowing anything to be changed,\nas a witness of the days that, in spite of the imperial purple, they\ncontinued to call the happiest of their life.\n\nAfter the empress was left alone, she remained thoughtful a moment, then,\napproaching the malachite _\u00e9tag\u00e8re_, hastily rang a small gold bell. A\ndoor concealed beneath the hangings instantly opened, and a young girl\nappeared. She stopped without speaking, awaiting an order or some\nobservation. But there was nothing in her attitude to indicate the\ntimidity that might have been expected in a maid of honor answering the\nbell of her sovereign. On the contrary, there was a majestic beauty and an\nair about her which might have seemed haughty had it not been modified\nwhen she spoke. Then, there was a caressing glance in her eyes, though\nthey sometimes sparkled as if betraying more passion than tenderness; but\nher fine form, her black eyes, her thick fair hair, and the delicacy of\nher complexion, rendered her at once striking and imposing. She waited\nsome moments in silence\u2014then, seeing her mistress did not address her, she\nadvanced and spoke first: \u201cDid your majesty venture to plead his cause?\u201d\nsaid she.\n\nThe empress started from her reverie and sadly shook her head. \u201cMy poor\nVera,\u201d she replied, \u201cyou must renounce all hope.\u201d\n\nThe young girl turned pale. \u201cRenounce all hope!\u201d exclaimed she. \u201cO madame!\ncan that be your advice? Can it be there is no hope?\u201d\n\nThe empress, without replying, seated herself in her arm\u2010chair, took a\nbook from the _\u00e9tag\u00e8re_, and began turning over the leaves as if she\nwished to put an end to the conversation. Vera\u2019s eyes flashed for an\ninstant, and it was with difficulty she repressed an explosion of grief or\nirritation. She remained silent, however, and stood beside the table\nabsently plucking the petals from the flowers in a crystal vase before\nher.\n\nThe empress meanwhile kept her eyes fastened on her book, but presently\nshe raised them and looked at the clock. \u201cI do not need you any longer,\nVera. It is ten o\u2019clock. You are going to the Countess G\u2014\u2014\u2019s this evening,\nI think.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, madame, if your majesty has no further orders to give me.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I have nothing more.\u2014Ah! I forgot. Open that drawer,\u201d pointing to the\nother end of the apartment. \u201cYou will find a letter there.\u201d\n\nVera obeyed, and brought the letter to her mistress.\n\n\u201cBe sure to forward it to the address,\u201d said the latter. \u201cIt is the\npermission for the Princess \u2014\u2014 to accompany her husband to Siberia. I am\nhappy to be able to render that heroic woman this sad service. But she is\nnot the only one.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a fate those women are bringing on themselves!\u201d said Vera,\nshuddering with horror.\n\n\u201cYes, it is indeed fearful,\u201d said the empress; \u201cbut I admire them, and\nwill serve them every way in my power.\u201d\n\nVera was silent, and after a moment, seeing the empress had nothing more\nto say, she gravely approached to take leave of her. As she bent down to\nkiss her hand, the empress pressed her lips to her forehead.\n\n\u201cCome, Vera,\u201d said she, \u201clook a little more cheerful, I beg you. To\nsatisfy you, I promise to make one more effort. But I think, my dear, you\nare very generous to express so much anxiety about him, for it is not the\nemperor alone who has reason to call him ungrateful!\u201d\n\nAt this, Vera\u2019s face crimsoned, and she drew herself up at once. \u201cYour\nmajesty has a right to say anything to me,\u201d said she in a trembling voice,\n\u201cbut this right has generally been used with kindness.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhereas you now find me cruel. Well, be it so; we will let the subject\ndrop. Good\u2010night, and without any ill\u2010feeling, my dear.\u201d\n\nShe dismissed her maid of honor with a motion of the head. Vera bowed, and\nwithout another word left the room.\n\n\nLII.\n\n\n\u201cThe Countess Vera de Liningen!\u201d\n\nAt this name the Marquis Adelardi looked up, but this time he did not\nresume his former attitude, for the person he had so impatiently awaited\nat last appeared. It was she! The cause of this impatience, if we would\nknow it, was a resolution to make an effort that evening in behalf of his\nfriend through the Countess Vera, but it was first indispensable to be\nsure of her feelings towards him. He wondered if he should discover any\ntraces of the ill\u2010concealed passion she once manifested for George, or if\ntime and indignation, aided by the influence of the court, had done their\nwork? Or had his inconstancy inspired an indifference which had not been\ndisarmed by his misfortunes? All this Adelardi flattered himself he should\ndiscover in a single conversation, provided she consented to an interview.\nAs to any fear of her eluding his penetration, he had too good an opinion\nof himself in that respect.\n\nAs soon as she appeared, he looked at her with lively interest, and an\nattention which he indulged in without scruple. Having seen her only twice\nsome years before, without speaking to her, he thought she would not\nrecognize him till he was formally presented.\n\nVera crossed the salon without embarrassment, and with the ease and grace\nof a person accustomed to high life and the sensation she produced. She\nwas dressed in black, the court, and even the citizens, still wearing\nmourning for the Emperor Alexander. This made the dazzling whiteness of\nher complexion and her golden hair the more striking, and suited her form\nof perfect symmetry, though noble rather than slender. The only ornament\nshe wore was a knot of blue ribbon on her left shoulder, to which was\nattached the _chiffre_ of diamonds (her badge as maid of honor), in which\nwere woven together the initials of the three empresses: Alexandrine, then\nreigning; Mary, the empress\u2010mother; and Elizabeth, Alexander\u2019s\ninconsolable widow, who was so soon to follow him to the tomb.\n\nRecent emotion still flushed the young girl\u2019s cheeks, and the tears of\nwounded pride, hastily wiped away, gave her a mingled expression of\nmelancholy and haughtiness which at once inspired a desire to pity and a\nfear of offending her.\n\nShe first approached the table where the lady of the house was playing\nwhist. The latter raised her eyes, and merely smiled as she gave her a\nfriendly nod of the head. Vera, without offering her hand, bowed, and made\na salutation at once graceful and respectful, which was customary in that\ncountry when one lady is much younger than the other; she pressed her lips\nto the edge of the black lace shawl which the elderly lady wore; then she\nremained standing a moment near the card\u2010table, looking around the room.\nThere was in this look neither eagerness, nor curiosity, nor coquetry: it\nwas a mere survey of the room and its occupants, and it was easy to see\nshe was seeking no one and expecting no one. She only replied to the\nsalutations addressed her by a slight inclination of the head, sometimes\nby a smile.\n\nPresently, seeing a vacant seat, she went to take possession of it, and\nthus found herself near the _canap\u00e9_ occupied by the Marquis Adelardi. She\nwas scarcely seated when the young diplomatist who had so recently spoken\nof her approached with lively eagerness, to which she only responded by a\nlook of indifference and giving him two fingers of her gloved hand.\n\nThe Marquis Adelardi took advantage of this favorable opportunity to\napproach the young German and beg to be presented to the Countess Vera.\nAdelardi\u2019s name was no sooner pronounced than it awoke a remembrance, at\nfirst vague, then distinct enough to make her blush. This lively\nembarrassment was quite evident for a moment. She bowed without speaking\nas he was presented, and, turning her face immediately away, continued for\nsome moments to converse with the other, but only long enough to recover\nfrom her confusion. She speedily put an end to this trifling conversation,\nand, suddenly turning towards Adelardi, she said, without any trace of her\nrecent embarrassment: \u201cI remember very well, Monsieur le Marquis, your\nvisit at St. Petersburg three years ago, but I was so young then you had\nprobably forgotten me.\u201d\n\nAdelardi replied, as he would have done in any case, but in this instance\nwith truth, that such a supposition was inadmissible.\n\n\u201cAnd as for me,\u201d he continued, \u201cnever having had the honor of a personal\nacquaintance, I necessarily thought myself wholly unknown to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour friends have so often spoken of you that your name was familiar, but\nyour features, I acknowledge, were somewhat effaced from my memory.\u201d\n\n\u201cYours naturally clung to mine. Besides, I also heard you constantly\nspoken of.\u201d\n\nThere was a moment\u2019s silence.\n\n\u201cHave you seen the Princess Catherine lately?\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cNo, I left Florence at the beginning of December.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor St. Petersburg?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd have you been here ever since?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. You were absent at my arrival, otherwise I should not have waited\ntill the present time to solicit the favor I have just obtained.\u201d\n\nThere was another momentary pause. The young girl looked around, and\ncontinued, in a lower tone: \u201cYou were here, then, the twenty\u2010fourth of\nDecember?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was.\u201d\n\nShe hesitated an instant, then, lowering her voice still more, said: \u201cAnd\nhave you seen your friend since that fatal day?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and I hope to see him once more\u2014alas! for the last time.\u201d\n\nVera bit her lips, quivering with agitation, but soon resumed, with a\ncoolness that surprised and, for a moment, disconcerted the marquis:\n\n\u201cI formerly knew Count George de Walden, but for some time had lost sight\nof him. Nevertheless, his sentence fills me with horror, and I would do\nanything in the world to deliver him from it\u2014him and the rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cHim and the rest? One as soon as the other?\u201d\n\n\u201cOne as soon as the other; they all excite my pity. I wish the emperor\nwould pardon them all.\u201d Her voice by no means accorded with her words; but\nAdelardi continued as if he did not perceive it:\n\n\u201cPardon them all! That would be chimerical. But there are some who are\ndeserving of clemency.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe emperor is more lenient towards inferior criminals than to those who,\nafter being loaded with favors, forget his kindness.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet there may be extenuating circumstances even in some cases of that\nnumber.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you know of any that would be of any avail to Count George?\u201d said she\neagerly.\n\n\u201cNot quite so loud; we may be overheard.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; you are right,\u201d she said, resuming her former tone. \u201cLet us change\nour seats; we look as if we were plotting something here, and should avoid\nattracting attention. Let us examine the albums on yonder table. There we\ncan continue our conversation with less restraint.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d continued she, as soon as they had effected the change proposed,\nand were seated before the albums, which they pretended to be examining\ncarefully.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d replied Adelardi, \u201cwhat I mean is that many things of no avail in\nthe eye of the law might not be without influence over him who is head of\nthe law.\u201d\n\nAnd while she was listening with interest, unintentionally betrayed by her\neager, agitated expression, her glowing cheeks, and parted lips, Adelardi\npleaded his friend\u2019s cause, relating what we have already learned\nrespecting his apparent, rather than real, complicity, his ignorance of\nthe actual designs of the conspirators, and the circumstances that led to\nhis presence among the insurgents on the twenty\u2010fourth of December. In\nshort, he gave her all the details of which she had been totally ignorant,\nhaving only heard, during her absence, of George\u2019s offence and the\nsentence he had incurred.\n\n\u201cAnd the emperor,\u201d said she eagerly, \u201cdoes he know it was he who saved his\nbrother\u2019s life that dreadful day?\u201d\n\n\u201cI doubt it; there were only two witnesses who could attest it. One of\nthese did not come forward, for fear of compromising himself; the other\nwas exceptionable.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho was the other?\u201d\n\n\u201cA man named Fabiano Dini, George\u2019s secretary; but a great culprit, not\nconsidered worthy of credit. He told the truth, however, ardently hoping\nhis testimony might save his master.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is doubtless condemned to the same fate?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but to a more severe one; his sentence is for life, whereas George\u2019s\nis only for twenty\u2010five years.\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly twenty\u2010five years!\u201d repeated she, with a shudder.\n\n\u201cYes, it is horrible; it is worse than death! And George will envy the\nwretch who was the prime cause of his misfortune, for Dini, seriously\nwounded on the twenty\u2010fourth of December, will probably die before the sad\nday fixed for their departure.\u201d\n\nThey were now interrupted by something not foreign to the subject of their\ndiscourse. A lady, unpretendingly clad, who till now had remained aloof,\napproached the young maid of honor, and, with a faltering, respectful\ntone, asked if the petition addressed his imperial majesty had been\ngranted.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Vera eagerly. \u201cPermission has been accorded. The Princess \u2014\u2014\nreceived it this very hour. I left it myself at her door, on my way here.\u201d\n\nShe kindly extended her hand to the person who addressed her. The latter\nbent down as if to kiss it, but Vera prevented it by cordially embracing\nher.\n\n\u201cBehold a true, faithful friend in misfortune,\u201d said she, as the other\nleft them. \u201cShe herself is capable of going to Siberia with her whose\n_dame de compagnie_ she was in happier days. But then, the Princess \u2014\u2014 has\nin her misfortunes the happiness of feeling herself beloved and respected\nby all.\u201d\n\n\u201cAssuredly,\u201d said Adelardi. \u201cShe is really an admirable woman.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo admirable that she is beyond my comprehension.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow so?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not understand how a person can resolve on the course she wishes to\npursue\u2014she and the others.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d said Adelardi, looking at her with surprise. \u201cYou do not\nunderstand how a woman can thus wholly devote herself to the man\u2014the\nhusband whom she loves.\u201d\n\nVera shook her head. \u201cNo,\u201d said she. \u201cI do not wish to appear better than\nI am. If I were in such a position, if I had the misfortune of loving one\nof those convicts, he might rely on my exertions to obtain his pardon, and\nto use every means in my power to that end. But, as to sharing his lot and\nfollowing him to Siberia, no, my dear marquis, I frankly acknowledge that\nis a proof of devoted affection I feel wholly incapable of.\u201d\n\nAnother form at this moment passed before the marquis\u2019 mental vision,\nbeside which the beauty actually before him paled, and slightly modified\nthe lively admiration with which he regarded her.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said he, after a moment\u2019s reflection, \u201cI know one of these\nconvicts for whom a woman\u2014a young lady of about your age\u2014is ready to give\na still greater proof of devotion than the Princess \u2014\u2014, for she is not his\nwife. She is only\u2014his betrothed, and wishes to marry him on purpose to\nshare his fate.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is something entirely original,\u201d said Vera.\n\n\u201cTo do that,\u201d pursued Adelardi, \u201cshe has a double favor to obtain, and is\ncoming to St. Petersburg for that purpose. She will be here to\u2010morrow, or,\nat the latest, in a few days. I have been commissioned to solicit for her\nan audience of the empress. Can I do so through your instrumentality?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly. All these requests pass through my hands, and none have been\nrejected. But this is really the most singular case that has occurred.\u201d\nShe drew her tablets and a pencil from her pocket. \u201cThe name of your\n_prot\u00e9g\u00e9e_?\u201d said she.\n\nAdelardi hesitated an instant, then, noting a little anxiously the effect\nproduced, said:\n\n\u201cHer name is\u2014Fleurange d\u2019Yves.\u201d He was relieved to hear the maid of honor\nsay, after carefully writing down the name:\n\n\u201cFleurange! that is a very singular name, and one I never heard before.\nTo\u2010morrow,\u201d continued she, rising, and returning the tablets to her\npocket, \u201cbefore noon you shall have a reply. _Au revoir_, Monsieur le\nMarquis.\u201d\n\nAs she gave him her hand, she added in a low tone: \u201cI thank you for all\nyour information, and will endeavor to avail myself of it. If you see\nCount George, tell him\u2014but no, tell him nothing. If by the merest chance I\nsucceed, it will be time enough then to tell him what he owes to my\nefforts. If I do not\u2014it will be better for him to remain ignorant of my\nfailure.\u201d\n\nThe Marquis Adelardi returned home greatly preoccupied, and absently took\nup two letters lying on the table. But after opening them, he successively\nread them with equal interest. First, he looked at one of the signatures:\n\u201cClement Dornthal? He is the cousin who accompanies the fair traveller.\nThey have arrived, then.\u2014Well, the end of the drama is approaching: we\nmust all endeavor to play our parts with prudence. Mine is not the\neasiest!\u201d\n\nHe opened the other note, and hastily ran over it. \u201cThursday! I shall see\nhim on Thursday at two o\u2019clock. Poor George! it will be a sad meeting, in\nspite of the news I have to surprise and console him.\u201d\n\nHe had the satisfaction of learning by this note that, thanks to the\npowerful influence brought to bear on the occasion, he would be permitted\nto pass an hour with the prisoner every day during the week that yet\nremained before the sad train of exiles would set forth.\n\n\u201cPoor George!\u201d he again repeated. \u201cCan it be he has really come to\nthis?\u2014But who knows what may yet take place? If the proverb, \u2018What woman\nwills, God wills,\u2019 is true, all hope is not lost, for here are two women\nevidently with the will to aid him, and energetic enough to overrule the\nmost adverse destiny. Two\u2014doubtless one too many, and I have been rather\nbold to risk a fearful collision. But things have come to such a point\nthat they can hardly be worse. If the fair Vera succeeds, it is George\u2019s\naffair to get out of the complication of gratitude to her who has saved\nhim, and the one ready to follow him. But if she fails, as seems only too\nprobable, then the case will be very simple: our charming heroine will\nhave no rival to fear.\u201d\n\n\nLIV.\n\n\nAfter the succession of disagreeable surprises Mademoiselle Josephine had\nexperienced during her painful journey, another of a different nature, but\nthe greatest of all, awaited her at the end. Her imagination, we are\naware, never furnished her with anything beyond the strictest necessity.\nIt was only with difficulty she succeeded in comprehending that her dear\nGabrielle had decided to marry a stranger condemned to the galleys, and\nthis inconceivable idea seemed to have penetrated her mind to the\nexclusion of all others. She was going to join a prisoner, and from the\nday of her departure from Heidelberg she looked upon herself as on the way\nto a dungeon. When therefore she heard the words, \u201cWe have arrived!\u201d and\ntheir sledge passed under the arch of an immense _porte coch\u00eare_, she\nshivered with fear. It was, consequently, with a sort of stupefaction she\nfound herself in a brilliantly lighted vestibule, whence a broad staircase\nled to a fine long gallery opening into one salon after another, at the\nend of which our travellers were ushered into a dining\u2010room, where supper\nwas awaiting them of a quality to which mademoiselle was quite as\nunaccustomed as to the splendor with which it was served. She looked\naround with mute surprise, hardly daring touch the dishes before her, and\nlooking at her two companions with an interrogative expression of the\ngreatest perplexity. But they both seemed affected and preoccupied to such\na degree as not to notice what was passing around them, and mademoiselle,\nfaithful to her habits, forbore questioning them for the moment.\n\nThe repast was made in silence; after which Clement wrote a note which she\nheard him ask a valet to send to _M. le Marquis_. Then the two ladies were\nconducted to the apartments prepared for them. Fleurange embraced her\ncompanion and wished her good\u2010night, and Mademoiselle Josephine was left\nalone in a chamber surpassing any she had ever seen, with large mirrors\naround her, in which for the first time in her life she saw herself from\nhead to foot. There was also a bed _\u00e0 baldaquin_, which she scarcely dared\nthink destined for her modest person, but in which at length she extended\nherself with a respect that for a long time troubled her repose. Never had\nthe excellent Josephine found herself so completely out of her element.\nShe wondered if it was really herself beneath those curtains of silk, and,\nwhen at last she fell asleep, it was to dream that Gabrielle, splendidly\napparelled, was mounting a throne, and she, Mademoiselle Josephine,\narrayed in a similar manner, was at her side. Her disturbed slumbers were\nnot of long duration. Before day she was up, and impatiently waiting for\nthe hour when she could leave her fine chamber and sally forth to explore\nthis strange dwelling which the night before seemed so much like a fairy\npalace.\n\nThis impression was not lessened by the light of day. The rooms were\nreally splendid, and furnished with the taste the Princess Catherine\neverywhere displayed, and which was as carefully consulted in the house\nwhere she only spent three months of the year, as in her palace at\nFlorence, which she made her home. Mademoiselle went from one room to\nanother in a state of continually increasing admiration, and, while thus\nwalking about, she found everywhere the same mild temperature, which\nseemed something marvellous, for all the doors were open, and not only\nwere there no fires to be seen, but no glass or even sashes in the\nwindows. Apparently there was nothing to screen her from the frosty air\nwithout\u2014freezing indeed, for on their arrival at St. Petersburg the\nthermometer was down to fifteen or sixteen degrees, and yet\u2014what was the\nsecret of this wonderful fact? She was not cold in the least, though the\nsight of the large windows made her shiver, and she only ventured to stand\nat a distance and look at the view without.\n\nShe beheld a vast plain covered with snow, with carriage\u2010ways in every\ndirection, bordered with branches of fir. Vehicles of all kinds were\ncrossing to and fro. Yonder was a succession of vast buildings, and\nfarther off were the gloomy walls of a fortress flanked by a church whose\ngilded spire glittered in the winter sun\u2014a sun radiant, but without\nwarmth; which imparted a dazzling brilliancy to the snow, but whose\ndeceptive light, far from alleviating the severity of the season, was, on\nthe contrary, the surest sign of its merciless rigor.\n\nWhile thus admiring and wondering at everything, Mademoiselle came to the\nlast salon of the _enfilade_, where, before one of the large windows, she\nperceived Fleurange motionless and absorbed in such profound reverie that\nshe did not notice her approach.\n\n\u201cAh! Gabrielle, here you are! God be praised! I was lost, but no longer\nfeel so, now I have found you. But, for pity\u2019s sake! what are you doing at\nthat open window?\u201d\n\nAt this, Fleurange turned around with a smile. \u201cOpen! my dear\nmademoiselle? We should not be alive long, clad as we are.\u201d\n\n\u201cI really do not understand why I do not feel the cold, and yet\u2014\u201d\n\nFleurange motioned for her to approach (for the old lady still kept at a\nrespectful distance from the dangerous openings), and made her touch the\nthick glass, one pane of which composed the window\u2014a luxury at that time\npeculiar to St. Petersburg, and which often deceived eyes more experienced\nthan those of the simple Josephine. Reassured, but more and more amazed,\nshe remained beside Fleurange at the window, profiting by the occasion to\nask all the questions hitherto repressed. Everything was gradually\nexplained to her, and she comprehended that this magnificent house\nbelonged to Count George\u2019s mother.\n\n\u201cAnd he?\u201d she ventured to say when Fleurange had answered all the\nquestions,\u2014\u201che, Gabrielle, where is he?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe!\u201d repeated Fleurange, as a flush rose to her cheeks and her eyes\nfilled with tears\u2014\u201che is there: there, mademoiselle, within the walls of\nthe fortress before us!\u201d\n\nPoor Josephine started with surprise. \u201cPardon me!\u201d said she. \u201cIf I had\nknown that, I should not have mentioned him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, mademoiselle?\u2014The sight of those walls does not make me afraid! On\nthe contrary, I long to enter them. I long to leave all this splendor\nwhich separates me from him as it did before! O my dear friend! you must\nnot pity me the day I am united to him!\u201d\n\nThe language of passion always had a strange effect on this elderly\nmaiden, but she only allowed herself to reply meekly:\n\n\u201cWell, my dear child, we will not pity you! It is Clement and I who will\nneed pity when that day comes, and you must not be vexed if\u2014\u201d And in spite\nof herself, great tears filled her eyes, which she promptly wiped away.\n\nShe remained silent for some moments, then spoke of something else,\nfeeling if she resumed the subject it would speedily lead to an explosion\nof grief which she resolved to restrain that she might not afflict her\nyoung friend.\n\n\u201cWhat wide plain is that between the quay and the fortress?\u201d she soon\ncontinued.\n\n\u201cThat is the Neva,\u201d replied Fleurange, smiling.\n\n\u201cThe Neva?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, the river that runs through the city.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe river?\u201d repeated Mademoiselle Josephine. \u201cCome, Gabrielle, I know I\nam very ignorant of everything relating to foreign countries, but still,\nnot to such a degree as to believe that. A river!\u2014when I see with my own\neyes hundreds of carriages on it, sledges and chariots of all kinds, going\nin every direction, and houses and sheds!\u2014And what are those two great\nmountains I see yonder?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are ice\u2010hills, such as they have in Russia, mademoiselle, and which\nwere imitated in wood three years ago at Paris. Do you remember? I am told\nthese are only erected temporarily during the carnival.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well; but what you have said does not prove that to be the river,\nand that you are right.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt seems incredible, I know, but everything we see there now will\ndisappear in the spring, leaving only a broad stream between that fine\ngranite quay and the fortress. But I confess I can scarcely realize it\nmyself, never having seen it.\u201d\n\nClement now appeared. He looked pale and disposed to be silent, and gave\nevery indication of having passed a no less restless night than\nMademoiselle Josephine, though for a different reason. After exchanging\nsome words with his companions, his eyes glanced over the broad river,\nand, like those of Fleurange, fastened on the gloomy walls of the\nfortress. It was a strange chance that led them all there precisely\nopposite. Clement gazed at the place with despair, jealousy, and horror,\nbut still was unable to turn his eyes away.\n\n\u201cThere, then, is the end,\u201d thought he; \u201cfor her, the end desired: for me,\nthe grave of my youth! Yes, when she once enters those walls, all will be\nat an end for me, were I to live beyond the usual period. My life will be\nended at twenty years of age!\u201d\u2014\n\nThese reflections and others of the same nature were not calculated to\nmake Clement very agreeable that morning. He was not only serious, which\noften happened, but, contrary to his habit, he was gloomy and taciturn.\nTheir breakfast was despatched in silence, after which it was only by a\ngreat effort he gradually succeeded in regaining his usual manner.\n\n\u201cCousin Gabrielle,\u201d said he then, \u201cI appear morose this morning, I am\naware, and I beg your pardon. But I am only sad, I assure you\u2014sad in view\nof what is approaching. This is pardonable, I hope,\u201d continued he, taking\nMademoiselle Josephine\u2019s hand; \u201cyou will not require us, will you, to\nleave you without regret?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is what I said to her a moment ago,\u201d said poor Josephine, wiping\naway her tears. \u201cShe says she is happy; that she longs to be there,\u201d\ncasting a glance across the river. \u201cWe only desire her happiness, I am\nsure; but then for us\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Clement, with a sad smile of bitterness, \u201cfor us the few days\nto come will not be very happy, and we really have reason to be sad. As\nfor me, Gabrielle, I also regret those just ended; for in this new sphere\nmy _r\u00f4le_ is at an end. I am now to be for ever deprived of the pleasure\nof being useful to you in any way.\u201d\n\nHe was still speaking when the Marquis Adelardi was announced; and he\nhastily rose.\n\n\u201cStay, Clement,\u201d said Fleurange eagerly\u2014\u201cstay. I wish this excellent\nfriend to become acquainted with you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI also wish to make his acquaintance, but not now. Tell him that to\u2010\nmorrow, yes, to\u2010morrow morning\u2014or even this evening, if he will receive\nme, I will call at his residence. Do not detain me now.\u201d\n\nAnd before the marquis appeared he was gone. He felt he should be _de\ntrop_ at this interview of such deep import to Fleurange, for such it was.\nTo see George\u2019s friend once more, his confidential friend\u2014him who at this\nsolemn period had become the intermediary authorized by his mother!\u2014There\nwas great reason to be agitated at such a thought. Besides, Adelardi had\nalways inspired her with sympathy and confidence, and in this new sphere\nshe realized how beneficial his experience would be, for Clement was right\nin saying he could no longer be of any use. He was as ignorant as she of\nthe habits and usages of the court. And yet, to obey the Princess\nCatherine\u2019s instructions, her first object must be to obtain an audience\nof the empress\u2014a formidable prospect, which frightened her a thousand\ntimes more than all that afterwards awaited her. She therefore received\nthe marquis with such childlike confidence as to redouble the regard he\nhad always felt for her. There was the same beauty, the same simplicity\nabout her, and, above all, the charm most attractive to eyes as _blas\u00e9s_\nas his\u2014of resembling no one else in the world! The extraordinary courage\nshe showed herself capable of made him appreciate the more that which she\nmanifested in separating from George, and revealed to him the whole extent\nof the sacrifice then made with so much firmness.\n\nThe mission confided to Adelardi assumed, therefore, a graver aspect in\nhis eyes than before, and he was for an instant tempted to reproach\nhimself for having, the night previous, invoked the aid of a rival in\nGeorge\u2019s behalf, who might prove an enemy to the charming girl before him.\nOn all accounts, however, he could not regret this last effort for his\nfriend\u2019s welfare. In case Vera failed, and by chance was afterwards\ntempted to display any ill\u2010will at another\u2019s performing an act of\ndevotedness she declared herself incapable of, he had taken some\nprecautions to defeat her, and flattered himself the favor would be\nobtained before she discovered by whom it was implored.\n\nMeanwhile, the maid of honor was punctual. The marquis had already\nreceived her reply, and now placed it in his young friend\u2019s hands.\n\n\u201cYour request is granted: Mademoiselle Fleurange d\u2019Yves will be received\nby her majesty on Thursday, at two o\u2019clock.\n\nV. L.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe day after to\u2010morrow!\u201d said Fleurange with emotion. Then, blushing as\nshe continued: \u201cBut how happens it that the name which I have not borne\nfor so long occurs in this note?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is yours, is it not?\u201d replied the marquis evasively.\n\n\u201cYes, it is mine, but\u2014\u201d she stopped. A particular remembrance was now\nassociated with the name of Fleurange. No one had called her so but George\nfor more than three years. And the day for ever graven on her memory, he\ntold her he should keep that name for himself\u2014himself alone. She regretted\nto find it here written by a strange hand, and felt an involuntary\ncontraction of the heart.\n\n\u201cI should have preferred the request made in the name I generally bear.\u201d\n\n\u201cPardon me. I am to blame in this,\u201d said Adelardi. \u201cI supposed it a matter\nof indifference. I thought the name of Fleurange would particularly\nattract the attention of her whose favor you seek, and remain more surely\nin her memory.\u201d\n\nThis was merely an excuse which occurred to him in reply to a question he\nhad not anticipated. His real motive was to conceal from the maid of honor\nanother name perhaps more familiar, and which might be connected in her\nmind with some prejudice injurious to the success of the petition of which\nshe was the intermediary.\n\nTo Be Continued.\n\n\n\n\nSayings.\n\n\n\u201cWe serve God by climbing up to heaven from virtue to virtue; we serve\nSatan by descending into hell from vice to vice.\u201d\u2014_S. Bonaventura._\n\nHe who reflects upon death has already cut short the evil habit of\ntalkativeness; and he who has received the gift of inward and spiritual\ntears, shuns it as he would fire.\u2014_S. John Climacus._\n\nSpiritual blessings attained by much prayer and labor are solid and\ndurable.\u2014_Ibid._\n\nThe first degree of interior peace is to banish from us all the noise and\ncommotion created by the passions, which disturb the profound tranquillity\nof the heart. The last and most excellent degree is to stand in no fear of\nthis disturbance, and to be perfectly insensible to its\nexcitement.\u2014_Ibid._\n\nThe heart of the meek is the throne on which the Lord reposes.\u2014_Ibid._\n\nThe day will belong to him who is first in possession.\u2014_Ibid._\n\n\n\n\nPrince Von Bismarck And The Interview Of The Three Emperors.\n\n\nBy M. Adolphe Dechamps, Min. D\u2019\u00e9tat\n\nFrom La Revue G\u00e9n\u00e9rale De Bruxelles.\n\n\n\nMY DEAR FRIEND: You question me about the events which during the past two\nyears have been subverting Europe, and you in particular ask me what I\nthink of the meeting of the three emperors at Berlin, and of the policy of\nvon Bismarck.\n\nYour first inquiry is too general for me to take up in a letter which I\nwish to avoid making too long, but in a work which I am writing at present\nI will endeavor to do so to the extent of my ability. About the year 1849,\nI went to work on an _\u00c9tude sur la France_, out of which, during the\nsecond Empire, I put forth three separate publications.(189) In these I\nfollowed the course of Napoleon III., both in the successes and in the\nblunders which brought about his fall; and now in the midst of the\nobscurity of general politics which thickens more and more from day to\nday, and wherein the attentive observer perceives more sinister flashes\nthan gleams of sunshine, I am about to complete the main work which I\nbegan more than twenty years ago.\n\nIn 1859, I sent my first publication on the _Second Empire_ to the aged\nPrince von Metternich, who honored me with his friendship, and asked him\nfor his views about the condition of Europe, which was then on the eve of\nbeing profoundly changed by the war in Italy.\n\nThe following is an extract from the interesting reply which I received\nfrom him only a short time before his death: \u201cAfter having been a witness\nand spectator of the catastrophes which burst forth between the years 1789\nand 1795, in the latter one I made my first entry into the higher walks of\nthe political world, and 1801 was the first year of my diplomatic career.\nI consequently cannot be in ignorance of anything that has taken place\nsince the two remote epochs above mentioned. Now, am I thereby in advance\nof other living men? Can I consider myself capable of drawing up a\nprognostication of what will happen even so far only as regards the most\nimmediate future? Certainly not! But, nevertheless, one thing I know I can\ndo, I can venture to affirm that not during the course of the last seven\ndecades has there been a single moment when the elements which make up\n_social existence_ have found themselves plunged in so general a struggle\nas they are now.\u201d\n\nSince the prince thus wrote me, we have had the campaign of Italy against\nAustria in 1859; the war in Germany which ended in Sadowa; the civil war\nin the United States of N. A.; the colossal war of 1870; the astounding\nfall of the second French Empire; the rule of the Commune, and the\nconflagration in Paris; a Republican government in France; the setting up\nof the Empire of Germany; the Italian Revolution in Rome, which keeps the\nPope a captive in the Vatican and all the church in mourning; we have had\nSpain contended for by three dynasties and a prey to anarchy and civil\nwar; and we have a socialistic revolution stirring up everywhere the\nlaboring masses and unsettling the deepest foundations of the society of\nour day!\n\nWhat would old Prince von Metternich say if, having before him the immense\nupheaving of which we are witnesses, he could be now called upon to reply\nto the general inquiry which you have put to me? He would decline giving\nan opinion; he would refuse to make any predictions; he would confine\nhimself to the expression of deeper fears, because of the general and\nformidable struggle now raging between all the elements which make up the\nvery life of society. I will do just as he would, and for a hundredfold\nmore reasons than he could have. I feel, as do all those who have any\npolitical instinct, that decisive and dreadful events are drawing nigh;\nthough I cannot yet distinctly perceive them, I feel them, as one does the\napproach of a storm, from the heaviness of the air before seeing the\nlightning flash or hearing the thunder roll.\n\nI lay aside, then, your general inquiry, and take up the second one, which\nis more precise, and which relates to the meeting at Berlin and to the\npolicy of von Bismarck.\n\nIt is almost needless for me to mention that, retired as I have been for a\nlong time from politics, any opinions which I may express are merely\nindividual ones, that I alone am responsible for them, and that nobody can\nclaim a right to extend that responsibility to my friends, and still less\nto the political party which I have had the honor of serving. I make this\nexpress reservation.\n\nWhat is, then, the meaning, the character, and the bearing of the meeting\nof the three emperors? Is it a congress? Is it an alliance?\n\nIt is neither one nor the other, and this has been carefully proclaimed.\nIt is not an _European_ congress, since England and France were not\npresent at it, the one having been left aside, and the other naturally\nexcluded. It is not a _congress_, since no treaty will sanction its views\nand results. But, besides, Prince von Bismarck wants neither congress nor\ntreaty. He attached great importance to signing the treaty of Prague alone\nwith Austria and the treaty of Frankfort alone with France; he refused,\nwith a certain _hauteur_, to allow any interference of the other European\npowers in those treaties, although they brought about a fundamental change\nin the status and equilibrium of Europe.\n\nIn times past, after a great war, Europe has always intervened through a\nsolemn congress in which it dictated the terms of a general peace, thereby\nsecuring for it solidity and duration. Thus the treaty of Westphalia\nbrought with it its consequent peace, the treaty of Vienna the peace of\n1815, and more recently the treaty of the Congress of Paris in 1856\nfollowed upon the war in the Crimea. Heretofore Europe has been subject to\na system of equilibrium: Bismarck has done away with the latter, and\nbroken up the former.\n\nBut he perceived the danger of this attitude and this situation. Germany\nhad vanquished Austria, crushed France, and had won European supremacy,\nbut she stood alone. Austria, forced out first from Italy, afterwards from\nGermany, could not, without feeling a deep and natural jealousy, see the\nGerman Empire rise to the first rank while she sank to the second. Russia\ncannot see the German Empire extend from the Danube to the Baltic, and\novertop the Slavic Empire, without becoming also jealous. England cannot\nlook upon this state of things, which leaves her nothing to do but to keep\nquiet and silent, without feeling somewhat as Austria and Russia do. There\nis felt, then, at St. Petersburg, as at Vienna, and perhaps at London, an\ninvincible distrust of the predominance of Germany and of the rupture, for\nher benefit, of the equilibrium of Europe. There are deep and opposing\ninterests which are incompatible with a true alliance between the three\nemperors, and, albeit they have at Berlin shaken hands, toasted, and\nfraternally embraced one another and exchanged certain general ideas, they\nhave not allied themselves on settled political views.\n\nM. von Bismarck has himself pretty accurately defined the meeting at\nBerlin: \u201cIt is of importance that no one should suppose that the meeting\nof the three emperors has for its object any special political projects.\nBeyond a doubt, this meeting amounts to a signal recognition of the new\nGerman Empire, but no political design has directed it.\u201d\n\nIt amounts to this or very nearly this: M. von Bismarck wanted neither a\ncongress nor a treaty, nor did he seek an alliance which was impossible of\nattainment just now; but he was determined to put an end to his present\nisolation, and he sought in particular to cut short the dream of\nretaliation in which France might indulge from a hoped\u2010for alliance with\nRussia or with Austria.\n\nThe government of Berlin has in the meeting of the three emperors sought\ntwo and perhaps three ends: I. To bring about the recognition of the\nGerman Empire by the two great military powers of the North, and in that\nway deprive France of all hope of finding an ally, with a view to war,\neither at St. Petersburg or at Vienna. II. To discourage at the same time\nthe _particularism_(190) of Bavaria and of South Germany, which has always\nlooked for a support in the direction of Vienna. The third end may be to\ndisarm the resistance of Catholics to the absurd and odious persecutions\norganized against them, by intimating to them that their cause has been\nabandoned by the Apostolic Emperor, the head of the House of Hapsburg.\n\nThe remarkable letter published in _Der Wanderer_ of Vienna, under the\nheading of \u201cThe Order of Battle,\u201d sets forth very cleverly each of these\ntwo hopes aforesaid of the Berlin diplomats.\n\n\u201cThose diplomats,\u201d says _Der Wanderer_, \u201care rather barefacedly making\ngame of Austria\u2019s good\u2010nature. They calculate that this good\u2010nature will\nhave the effect of paralyzing two (as M. von Bismarck considers them)\nimplacable enemies of the empire, but heretofore friends of the Hapsburg\ndynasty; I mean the particularism of the minor states and the Catholic\nopposition. \u2018Thanks to the house of Austria,\u2019 say they, \u2018we are going to\ndisarm those reptiles, and pull out their venomous fangs.\u2019 At the same\ntime, those diplomats do not conceal their joy (premature, I hope) at what\nthey call the _Canossa_(191) of Berlin and the retaliation of Olmutz. \u2018We\nwill get the old seal of the empire\u2019 (I quote their words textually)\n\u2018affixed to our heritage by the House of Austria.\u2019 \u201d\n\nIt would seem, then, that the Emperor of Austria, by appearing at Berlin,\nmeant to say to particularism and perhaps to the Catholic body: You need\nno longer count on me. And the Emperor of Russia went there to offer a\ntoast to the German army and to signify to France: Do not count on any\nalliance with me for a war hereafter.\n\nThis would indeed be the crowning of M. von Bismarck\u2019s policy. Since the\ntwo great wars against Austria and against France which by their\nprodigious results assuredly far surpassed his hopes and previsions, he\nhas but one solicitude and one thought\u2014to isolate France, to secure her\nmilitary and political impotence, to file down the old lion\u2019s teeth and to\nmuzzle him.\n\nTo this end, he needed strong and impenetrable frontiers, which he got by\nthe acquisition of Alsace and Lorraine. Prince von Bismarck cannot fail to\nperceive that the annexation of these two provinces to Germany constitutes\nfor it, in a political point of view, a source of weakness rather than of\nstrength; that it is an additional embarrassment to the difficulties\nfollowing the organization of German unity; that Alsace and Lorraine will\nbe, for a long time to come, another bleeding Poland on the flanks of the\nnew empire; nevertheless, the conquest of these two provinces seemed to\nhim, in a military point of view, indispensable as a first material\nguarantee against the possibility of retaliation on the part of France. By\nthe possession of those provinces, he turns against France the formidable\ntriple line of defence of the Meuse, the Moselle, and the Vosges; at\nStrasbourg and at Metz he holds the strategical keys of France; these two\nstrongholds are, so to speak, iron gates of which the bolts are kept at\nBerlin. The other Rhenish frontiers are defended by the armed neutrality\nof Holland, Belgium, Luxemburg, and Switzerland. Seated behind its\nimpassable frontiers, and relying upon its powerful military organization\nand the remembrance of its recent triumphs, the German Empire appears\nperfectly secure from attack.\n\nBut even all this was not enough for Prince von Bismarck. He has just been\nrepeating the policy which turned out so well for him in the war of 1866\nagainst Austria. Then, through the guilty and senseless connivance of\nNapoleon III., he allied himself to Italy; he compelled Austria to divide\nher forces, to have two armies, one at Verona, the other in Bohemia\u2014which\nwas making sure beforehand of the defeat of Austria. M. von Bismarck has\njust begun a second time this skilful man\u0153uvre. He has formed an offensive\nand defensive alliance with Italy which owes its political life to France,\nand repays the boon by treachery. By means of this alliance he would\ncompel France, in the event of a war, to have an army of the Alps and an\narmy of the Rhine, which would be equivalent to certain defeat.\n\nAny war of retaliation is consequently for a long time to come rendered\nimpossible.\n\nThere would be left to France only one resource, and that a distant one,\nviz., an alliance with a great military power, such as Austria, or, in\nparticular, Russia, whose secret jealousies she would turn to her account.\n\nBut such an alliance presupposes France raised up, in a political,\nmilitary, and moral sense, from her present ruin, and in possession of a\nsettled government, stable within and influential without. Can a republic,\neven a conservative one, and even if it always had at its head as capable\na statesman as M. Thiers, so raise France? Can a republic which is a good\nenough raft to take refuge on for a while, a so to speak narrow bed, which\nwill do for France, wounded and ailing, to lie on during the period of\nconvalescence\u2014can it, in a country which lacks manly habits and historical\ninstitutions, unite enough solidity, security, wise liberty, strength, and\ngrandeur to become the ally of so great an empire as Russia? To my mind,\nthe idea of an alliance between a French republic and one of the two\nempires of the North against the German Empire is one of those\nimpossibilities which need but to be asserted, not to be argued. If France\ncould succeed in reuniting the separated links of her history, in\nreconciling her present with her past, if she were to again become a\ntraditional, representative, and free monarchy, one holding itself\nequidistant from the abuses of the old _r\u00e9gime_ and the errors of the\nRevolution\u2014oh! then her situation would indeed be changed, and great\nalliances at present impossible might become possible soon thereafter. But\nsuch alliances would not have for their object never\u2010ending retaliations\nand new wars; they would bear their fruits through social peace, through\nthe restoration of authority and order, and through that true, prudent,\nand measured liberty which, now that they have it not, they talk so much\nabout. The greatness of France depends less on the extent of her frontiers\nthan on her political, social, and religious renovation.\n\nIt is because M. von Bismarck understands perfectly that an alliance\nbetween one of the great military empires of the North and republican\nFrance is a chimerical project, that he encourages the adherents of the\nrepublic at Versailles to sustain their work.\n\nAnyhow, M. von Bismarck, having in view the nature of contingencies, has\nsought to shut France out from hopes or temptations in this direction;\nafter, having in her folly dreamt of getting a frontier on the Rhine, she\nhas wretchedly lost, through the folly of her emperor, her eastern\nfrontier; after, having sworn to tear in pieces the treaty of 1815, to\nwhich she had submitted with detestation, she has had to sign at Frankfort\nthe treaty in virtue of which she was invaded and dismembered.\n\nThe new Empire of Germany, resting on its formidable army, protected by\nimpenetrable frontiers, certain of an alliance with Italy which renders\nthe undertaking of war against it almost impossible for France, sustained\nby the official friendship of Austria and of Russia, compels France to be\nresigned and peaceful; condemns her to political and military impotence,\nor, what may sound better, to walk in the ways of prudence. M. Thiers, in\nwords which the French press has published, has recently made a resolute\nprofession of this policy of prudence, by proclaiming that he desires\npeace\u2014peace to build up and fructify; and that France, at all events, will\nnot seek to break it.\n\nWhen, from the balcony of the Imperial Palace at Berlin, it is proclaimed\nthat the object and result of the meeting of three emperors is to sanction\nthe _statu quo_ of Europe, and to consolidate a general peace, we believe\nthat they mean what they proclaim; but what is the signification of the\nproclamation? Why, that they have thereby accepted the actual state of\nthings which has grown out of the recent wars; that is to say, the\nEuropean supremacy of the German Empire, founded on the powerlessness or\nthe cautious prudence of France; and that they think to have extinguished\nthe centre of combustion from which the firebrand of war might be again\nhurled over Europe.\n\nThis is assuredly a clever policy, one in which Prince von Bismarck might\nallow himself to take a certain pride.\n\nBut in this serene sky there is one dark cloud, and we may well suppose\nthat this cloud has disturbed the optimism of the diplomats assembled at\nBerlin. This cloud is that dreaded unknown future when France will be no\nlonger governed by M. Thiers.\n\nSalvation is not to come to France from the republic; in France there is\nneither a republic nor a monarchy; the forces which tend to a monarchy are\ndisunited, and consequently powerless, and those which tend to a republic\nare still more divided; the nation is living under an administration _ad\ninterim_; there is an absence of settled government and settled\ninstitutions, and an impossibility of establishing either, because of the\nwide divisions of irreconcilable parties, of anarchy in principles and\nideas. The salvation of France for the time being is one man, a leader\nwhose hand is pliable, firm, and commanding enough to hold political\nparties in submission and keep down the rivalries which would give France\nover to another civil war. M. Thiers believes that any present attempt to\nset up a monarchy would light up a civil war; while the conviction of the\nmajority of the Assembly at Versailles is just as strong that, if the\nrepublic lasts, this civil war will break out on the morrow of the day\nwhen France will have lost M. Thiers. Probably both are right; it is\nrather to the condition itself of France than to the men that lead her\nthat this lamentable state of affairs is to be attributed which finds its\nexpression in the government of a provisional republic having nothing to\nlook forward to in the future but unfathomable darkness and mystery.\n\nM. Thiers is the embodiment of the conservative republic, which will last\njust so long as he lives, and I desire that his needed dictatorship be\nprolonged for a long while yet; but can we reasonably entertain such a\nhope? He has undertaken the admirable work of saving France; he has in\nParis fought and won the great battle against anarchy; he has carried the\nloans through, reorganized the army and finances of France; he is pushing\nforward the evacuation of her territory; he maintains order. All this is\nvery fine and grand; he is indeed acting the part of the saviour of his\ncountry; but let him not seek to do more; let him not be ambitious to\nbecome the founder of a government; let him rather be content with merely\nplaying the first part at the head of affairs.\n\nI thoroughly appreciate the work M. Thiers is engaged in; he directs his\npolicy by the light of present events, the only ones he can control; he is\ngoing through the reparative period, _but what is he preparing_? What is\nhe founding for the future? What heritage will he leave after him, and who\nwill be his heir? Such are the questions which must come up to every\nreflecting mind, and in particular to his, so remarkably clear,\nperspicacious, and penetrating.\n\nThe weak side of his policy is that it leaves France on a political _terra\nincognita_. The creation of a few additional institutions will not suffice\nto raise France out of the provisional status in which she lies since her\nfall; I mean such as a vice\u2010presidency, the establishing of a lower house,\nall which would be adding shadows to shadows. It would never amount to\nanything more than an administration _ad interim_, and a period of\nexpectation of a definite, stable, regular government having influence\nabroad, such an one as France feels that she does not but should possess.\nThe question for M. Thiers, as well as for France and for Europe, remains\nthe same: What is being prepared, what will the future bring?\n\nAs we know the tree by its fruits, so do we judge a policy by its results,\nand so will M. Thiers be judged.\n\nIf he leaves after him the heritage of a traditional and representative\nmonarchy, or if, like a second Washington, he leaves as his successor to\nFrance a second John Adams or Thomas Jefferson who will enter upon the\nwork of consolidating a republic really conservative, free, Christian, and\npowerful, he will indeed be a great man; but, if he is to be followed in\npower by a Gambetta who will be the predecessor of the socialist _commune_\nof Paris, he will, notwithstanding the immense services he has rendered,\nbe severely judged by history. No one assuredly ought to understand this\nbetter than he.\n\nIs the second President of the fourth or fifth French Republic to be a now\nunforeseen Jefferson or a Gambetta?\n\nSuch is the dreaded question now before us. These threatening\neventualities have doubtless been attentively considered at the conference\nin Berlin. M. von Bismarck may have developed thereat the political plan\nwhich I have endeavored to analyze, and which has for its object the\nfounding of the peace of Europe on France\u2019s inability to undertake another\nwar; but revolutionary and demagogical France, bearing incendiarism from\nParis to Madrid, to Rome, and perhaps elsewhere, must be opposed in some\nother way than by the establishment of impenetrable frontiers and the\nformation of alliances; and on these other means of opposition the three\nemperors must have seriously conferred at Berlin, and I doubt much whether\nwaging war against the Catholic Church has seemed to them the best way to\navert the danger aforesaid.\n\n\n\nII.\n\n\nI have sought in this letter to set forth the character and import of the\nmeeting at Berlin, and to show the policy which Prince von Bismarck has\nendeavored to inaugurate there. I have not been eaves\u2010dropping at the\ndoors of the chambers in which the three emperors and their chancellors\nheld their deliberations; but there is no difficulty in conjecturing what\nwas talked about, and, I may add, what was thought therein.\n\nWe must not overestimate the importance of these conversations; the\nmeeting at Berlin will no more bring about positive results for the\nsolution of pending questions in Europe than did the numerous interviews\nwhich Napoleon III. had with the Emperor of Austria, the ministers of\nGreat Britain, and the czar. As we have stated before, it is not a\ncongress; it forms no alliances, and no treaty determining the new\nEuropean equilibrium will come out of it. What M. von Bismarck wished\nparticularly to bring about was the presence of the two emperors with\ntheir counsellors in the capital of the new empire. Their mere presence\nsignified, in the eyes of the prince chancellor:\n\nThe recognition of the German Empire; the sanction of the treaties of\nPrague and Frankfort, which were to form the basis of the new equilibrium\nof Europe.\n\nThe impossibility for France to find a powerful ally that would enable her\nto attempt a war of retaliation.\n\nOn the part of Austria, the abandonment of all idea of returning to her\nold German policy, and the repudiation of all connivance with the\n_particularistic_ resistance of the lesser states of Germany.\n\nI will presently examine whether the presence at Berlin of the head of the\ndynasty of Hapsburg signifies also the repudiation of the Catholic\nmovement which the persecutions directed against the church have stirred\nup throughout entire Germany.\n\nAssuredly this policy of M. von Bismarck shows, I will not say grandeur,\nbut skill and audacity; and it has been crowned by wonderful success. When\nI saw Prince von Bismarck raise Prussia, that a few years ago could hardly\nrank among the great powers, to the height of the Empire of Germany\nthrough the victories of 1866 and 1871\u2014when I contemplated these\nastounding results, I was for a moment tempted to consider him as a great\nminister, as one of the rare successors of Richelieu or of Stein.\n\nI was the more inclined to this judgment because, as a Belgian, I was\ngrateful for the honest and upright policy which he had followed as\nregards Napoleon III. before the last war. There is no longer any room for\ndoubt, now that the diplomatic documents are known, that Napoleon III., in\norder to redeem the unpardonable blunder which he had committed by\nfavoring the war of 1861 between Prussia and Austria, endeavored to obtain\nin Luxemburg and in Belgium the compensations which he considered needful\nfor him in view of the aggrandizement of Prussia. We know about the rough\ndraft of the Benedetti treaty, which no amount of equivocation and timid\ndenial can do away with.\n\nI had, in my work published in 1865, clearly denounced the plot; and from\nthe Belgian tribune, because I had pointed out these perils to its\ngovernment, I have been called a political visionary and almost a traitor\nto my country. Subsequent events have justified my allegations, and now\nevery one knows that the dangers which we ran for a time were more real,\nnearer at hand, and greater than even I imagined them to be.\n\nThe war of 1870 was the consequence of the refusal of the government of\nBerlin to yield to the guilty covetousness of Napoleon III. I ascribe the\nhonor of the former to M. von Bismarck and to the integrity of William IV.\nI had proclaimed the existence of two eminent perils: a diplomatic peril,\nviz., an alliance of France with Prussia, of which Belgium would have been\nthe stakes and the victim; the chance of a war between those two nations,\nin which France might have been victorious. We have, almost by a miracle,\nescaped those two perils; through the war of 1870, Belgium has been\npreserved from diplomatic conspiracies, and as a Belgian I can never\nforget it.(192)\n\nBelgium, since the late war, finds herself in a new position which has not\nattracted the attention it deserves.\n\nBelgium, for a long time back coveted by France, particularly by France\nunder the Empire and under the Republic, had, above all, to fear an\nalliance between France and Prussia, which latter might sacrifice her to\nthe political combinations growing out of such an alliance. That is what\nNapoleon III. attempted in the Benedetti negotiation, and it was this\nperil which before the recent war alarmed my patriotism.\n\nNow this peril has vanished. An alliance between the German Empire and\nFrance is now put off for a long time. But there is another motive still\nmore powerful, and which constitutes our complete security, which is this:\nthat the existence of a _neutral_ and _strong_ Belgium has become\nhenceforward for the German Empire a necessity of the highest order. Since\nthe government of Berlin has thought it indispensable for strategic\npurposes to hold Metz and the lines of the Meuse and of the Vosges, it\ncannot allow, under any consideration, independent Belgium to disappear\nand France to occupy that territory of Belgium which is watered by the\nMeuse and the Scheldt. Our neutrality protects the Rhine on the side of\nthe gap between the Sambre and the Meuse, but can afford this protection\nonly provided our neutrality is politically and militarily strong to such\nan extent as our financial resources will warrant.\n\nOur neutrality, in order to be one of the supports of the peace of Europe,\nmust be ever an honest one; it must stand as a barrier against aggression\nwhether from the east or from the south; it must be hostile to no power.\nOn the other hand, it is plain that, in order to fill this position of\nbarrier and guarantee, Belgium must remain always armed and able to repel\nan attack at the outset; otherwise, she would become politically useless,\nand, in the event of a war, the occupation of her territory would follow\nas the fatal result of such omission.\n\nThis was true before the late war, and on this point my views have not\nchanged; but, since the new European situation created by the war, this\ntruth is twice as plain, and our duties to Europe have increased twofold.\nIt is important that all our political men, without distinction of party,\nand that the entire nation, understand well the position to which we have\nbeen brought by recent events.\n\nFar from being hostile to the German Empire, I find in it a new guarantee\nfor the independence of my country. Our neutrality now rests on all the\npowers and on all the treaties that have been made: it had become a habit,\nafter the advent of the Napoleonic Empire, to consider England as the\nspecial protector of our national independence, but now that Germany has a\nparticular and powerful interest in that independence, instead of one\nspecial support only, we now have two.\n\nIt is proper that I should make this statement, as I am about to submit M.\nvon Bismarck\u2019s policy to a severe criticism. In this page of history which\nI have been rapidly writing, I have not been wanting in praise; and, if\nthese lines are ever read by M. von Bismarck, he cannot complain of the\nappreciation which I have so far expressed of his policy. In the pages\nthat follow, I shall not spare criticism. Much as I have admired the\npolicy which prepared the war, in equal degree does my mind fail to\ncomprehend the policy followed at Berlin since the peace, and which\nappears to me to be a perfect antithesis of the former one.\n\nThis latter policy appears to me so incomprehensible that I ask myself\nwhether Prince von Bismarck, instead of being a political genius like\nStein, is not entering upon the path of error in which Napoleon III. came\nto his ruin.\n\nNapoleon III. has also been the ruler of Europe; the second Empire for\nmany years enjoyed preponderance in Europe, and might have retained it\nmuch longer but for the accumulated blunders of imperial policy. Napoleon\nIII., who had begun his reign isolated from other monarchs, and to whom\nthe appellation of _my cousin_ had been disdainfully denied, found\nhimself, immediately after the war in the Crimea and after the Congress of\nParis, at the head of a great Western alliance formed with England and\nAustria and by isolating Russia and annulling Prussia. He had reached the\nzenith of power in Europe; he had a star in which he and every one besides\nbelieved; kings and emperors came to Fontainebleau and to the Tuileries to\npay their court to the _parvenu_ sovereign who had been transformed into a\nLouis XIV., just as has happened at Berlin.\n\nWhen I saw Napoleon III., at the summit of such a situation, break with\nhis own hands, like a hot\u2010brained child, this magnificent Western alliance\nto which he was indebted for his high fortune; conspire at the Congress of\nParis with M. de Cavour to bring about that fatal war in Italy against\nAustria which was the first cause of his disasters; turn out of the\nstraight path of conservative principles which he had sworn to follow, and\nthen lose himself in the tortuous and obscure ways of revolution, my\njudgment of him was definitively made. A man who could commit such a folly\nwas neither a statesman nor a political genius; he was merely a lucky\nadventurer who had been helped on and spoiled by events, but who did not\nknow enough to turn them to account.\n\nIt was just then, in 1859, on the eve of the war in Italy, that I wrote my\nfirst work on _Le Second Empire_, in which I did not hesitate to predict\nthat this war, no matter how much glory it might make for the emperor,\nwould nevertheless amount to a political defeat which would lead to the\nfall of the Empire. \u201cThe heads of even the wisest men,\u201d I said, \u201care\nliable to turn when they have reached such an elevation as he has arrived\nat.\u201d And I selected as the epigraph of my work, the words which old Prince\nvon Metternich had uttered when speaking of the extreme good\u2010fortune of\nthe Emperor of the French: \u201cHe is successful,\u201d said the prince to me; \u201che\nhas excellent cards in his hands, and he plays his game well, but he will\nbe lost as a revolutionary emperor on the Italian reef.\u201d This remarkable\nprediction, made long before the war in Italy, has been verified to the\nletter, and my book, written in 1859, was merely a commentary upon it\nwhich subsequent events have confirmed.\n\nM. von Bismarck is also at the acme of his triumph; he is presiding at his\nCongress of Paris. Behold Prussia, which but a few years ago had hardly\nany voice in the councils of Europe, now become the German Empire, and\nbehold the Emperor of Germany getting the czar and the Emperor Francis\nJoseph to sanction at Berlin his victories, his conquests, and his\npolitical supremacy, by leaving France isolated, and making of no account\nEngland, which had kept herself aloof in her policy of forbearance.\n\nWell, I do not hesitate to select this hour of triumph, when M. von\nBismarck\u2019s policy has been crowned at Berlin, in the midst of festivities\nthe splendor of which is talked of far and wide, to predict its failure in\nthe end if he does not change it. My reason for asserting this in presence\nof a state of things so contrary to my prediction is that M. von Bismarck\nis committing one of those blunders, I dare not say one of those political\nfollies, which astonish reason, and which form the premises of a syllogism\nhaving for its conclusion an inevitable failure. The blunder is precisely\nsimilar to that perpetrated by Napoleon III., who, in consequence of\nhaving allied himself with revolutionary Italy, was led from Mexico to\nSadowa, and from Sedan to Chiselhurst. This blunder on the part of M. von\nBismarck, and of which he will yet repent, is his alliance with\nrevolutionary Italy, which drags him into a war against the Catholic\nChurch, which has always proved fatal to those who have attempted it, and\nwhich destroys the work of German unity which he had associated with his\nname. The epigraph of my work on _Le Second Empire_, borrowed from Prince\nvon Metternich, might serve for this letter as well, if applied to the\nEmperor of Germany and his chancellor; if the head of the dynasty of the\nHohenzollerns continues in the path of revolution in which M. von Bismarck\nhas led him, \u201che will also perish, like the revolutionary emperor on the\nItalian reef.\u201d\n\nIs it rashness on my part to point out to Prince von Bismarck and to the\nGerman Emperor the Tarpeian rock so nigh to the capitol to which they have\nascended? Am I unjust towards the prince chancellor?\n\nNo one had a higher opinion of his political merit than I, and in\nappreciating, as I have done in this letter, his astounding successes, I\nhave not been sparing of praise nor indeed of admiration. If, then, I am\ncompelled to draw a comparison between Napoleon III. and him, and to\nmeasure by the blunder committed by the Emperor of the French in 1859 that\nwhich he is now committing, I must ask his pardon, for I make a great\ndifference between those two contemporary personages. In the same degree\nthat Napoleon III. was irresolute, beset by somnolent indolence and\ncontinual hesitation, so does, on the other hand, Prince von Bismarck know\nhow to show a tenacious persistence and audacity in the carrying out of\nhis designs; but this very tenacity may be a source of additional danger,\nif he enters upon a road which leads to an abyss; he will go forward in it\nquicker and more irremediably than another would, because he knows neither\nhow to stop nor to draw back.\n\nLet us, then, study the policy of M. von Bismarck.\n\nAnd, in the first place, without wishing in the least to belittle the\nshare which evidently belongs to him in the triumphs of Prussia, we must,\nnevertheless, admit that another important share falls to Count von\nMoltke, the greatest warrior of our day; and an equally considerable part\nis due to the blunders of his adversaries, Austria and Imperial France.\n\nIf, for example, Napoleon III. had not betrayed Austria in 1866 by\nallowing and favoring the alliance between Prussia and Italy, a war\nagainst Austria would have been impossible, and the victory of Sadowa\nwould not have taken place; the senseless war of 1870, which grew out of\nthe victory of Sadowa, would have been without either cause or pretext;\nFrance would be now erect, Austria would have maintained its influential\nposition in Germany, and the German Empire would not have been established\nfor the profit of Prussian _unitarisme_.\n\nWith the foundation of German unity, of the German Empire, Napoleon has\nhad almost as much to do as M. von Bismarck. The great chancellor has\nfound ready for him two instruments which he did not invent: the military\ngenius of von Moltke, and the folly of Napoleon. To complete the\nexpression of my thought, I will add that the German Emperor has only\nbeen, as he himself proclaimed after his victories, a mere instrument in\nthe hands of Divine Providence for the chastisement of France. France has\nbeen unfaithful to her past history, from which she has severed herself;\nshe has been unfaithful to the monarchical form of government which has\nrendered her glorious, and to the church which has made her great; she has\nlost, by a twofold apostasy, her political faith and her Catholic faith;\nshe no longer possesses her institutions, which have been, one after the\nother, destroyed either by the old _r\u00e9gime_ or by the Revolution; she no\nlonger knows how to restore the monarchy, the elements of which have been\nscattered in the tempests of revolution; she knows not how to keep up a\nrepublic of which she has neither the habits, the historical conditions,\nnor the conditions social and political; she is in that state through\nwhich nations, condemned to perish, fall and decay, and out of which those\nnations which God wishes to save can get, only through punishment by fire\nor by the sword. M. von Bismarck has been, and may become again, that fire\nand that sword; which may perhaps be an honor, but does not justify pride.\n\nThe political work, then, which has produced the German Empire undoubtedly\ndeserves praise, and assuredly does honor to the political merits of\nPrince von Bismarck, but does not facilitate the forming of a definitive\njudgment in his regard. It is in the work of peace that the statesman\nshows himself, and I must say it, that in this respect I do not find M.\nvon Bismarck as great as events seemed to have made him out to be; just as\nhe has been seen to be intelligent, fortunate, almost great during the\nperiod of warfare, so in like degree do I incline to consider him, in the\nperiod of present organization, improvident and blind.\n\nThis work of organization is a difficult one; it requires wisdom and time.\nM. von Bismarck has recourse to precipitation, to force, and to wrath.\n\nGerman unity, inuring to the benefit of Prussia, could not, before the war\nof 1866, have been foreseen. When, in 1863, the Emperor of Austria made\nhis triumphal entry into Frankfort, bearing in his hand federal reform, he\nwas surrounded by all the princes of Germany. Prussia stood alone,\nabandoned by all Germany; and, if Napoleon had not foolishly thwarted the\nplans of the Emperor Francis Joseph, the Emperor of Germany would have\nbeen crowned, not at Berlin, but at Vienna.\n\nAfter the war of 1866, Prusso\u2010Germanic unitarism had not yet been\naccomplished. Saxony and the states of the South which had fought by the\nside of Austria were defeated; they submitted to, rather than accepted,\nthe terms which Prussia forced on them as the consequence of their defeat.\nNorthern Germany was bounded by the Main, and the minor states ever felt\nthemselves drawn towards Vienna, their old centre of attraction.\n\nIt was the war of 1870, declared by Napoleon against the whole of Germany,\nnotwithstanding the patriotic protest of M. Thiers, which all at once\ncreated this unity; this unity, which brought all the Germans together\nunder one flag, received thus the baptism of glory and of blood.\n\nBut the Prusso\u2010German unitarism, extemporized and rough\u2010cast by the war,\nwas not consolidated; many difficulties remained to be overcome.\n\nM. von Bismarck saw before him two formidable adversaries: the\nparticularism of the middle states, and socialist democracy, which claims\nto abolish unity for its own gain, by substituting the German Republic for\nthe German Empire.\n\nSeveral symptoms go to show that the particularist movement, which had\nbeen stopped by the war, is reviving, and certainly the hostile action\ndirected against the Catholics assists powerfully towards giving it new\nlife. The symptoms of the awakening of this movement are numerous; it is\nneedless that I should enumerate them; they are perfectly known at Berlin,\nand have assuredly become aggravated since the religious war undertaken by\nM. von Bismarck.\n\nThe particularism of the states, then, is not dead, and red democracy is\nfull of life. These are the two great difficulties which M. von Bismarck\u2019s\npolicy finds in its way. To these must be added a third one: the\nassimilation of the two conquered provinces, Alsace and Lorraine, so\nthoroughly French by the ties of history, of religion, of habits, and of\ninterests.\n\nTo overcome these obstacles, to organize unity, the basis of the new\nempire, to accomplish his great work, M. von Bismarck needs prudence,\ntime, and the hand of a true statesman.\n\nNow, what does the Prince von Bismarck do? To the three considerable\nexisting obstacles he adds another one, greater and more dangerous than\nthe former, a difficulty which did not exist, which he of his own accord\ncreated, which he wantonly got up, and which will crush him; I mean the\nreligious difficulty, the brutal war, the veritable persecution which he\nis organizing against the Catholics. He had to fight against particularist\nopposition and radical opposition; he himself, with deliberate purpose,\nneedlessly and without reason, raises up a third one\u2014the opposition of\nsixteen millions of Catholics united with their bishops; that is to say,\nalmost half of the new empire which he thus unsettles and, so to speak,\ndissolves with his own hand.\n\nCan anything be imagined more incomprehensible or more thoroughly\npreposterous?\n\nWhat end is M. von Bismarck pursuing? By what thought and what views is he\nguided? The prince chancellor is neither mad nor blind; he has given\nabundant evidence of this; and yet, is it not folly, is it not blindness,\nto thus throw, without any appreciable motive, and with a heart as light\nas that of M. Emile Ollivier, sixteen millions of Catholics, including all\ntheir clergy and all their bishops, into a resistance which will be all\nthe more obstinate and formidable because it will derive its strength from\nthe oppression of conscience, from the suppression of liberty, the rending\nof the constitution, from the violation of justice and of rights? I have\nput these questions to eminent Germans of all parties, but have never got\nclear and satisfactory answers.\n\nThe Catholic Germans behaved admirably during the war; the Bavarian,\nWestphalian, and Rhenish troops were everywhere foremost under fire and in\nearning honor and glory. The priests and religious, both men and women,\nhave shown a heroic devotedness on the battlefields, in the ambulances,\nand in the hospitals, so that M. Windthorst was enabled to say in the\nparliament at Berlin that many of those religious would go into exile\nwearing on their breasts the iron cross which they had earned during the\nlast campaign.(193) The old antipathies against Prussia which prevailed\nalong the Rhine and beyond the Main among Catholic populations were dying\nout; the establishment of religious liberty in Prussia on a more generous\nbasis than in the lesser states had won the Catholics over to unity under\nPrussian hegemony; and the illustrious Bishop of Mayence, Mgr. de\nKetteler, in an address which made a great noise in Germany and throughout\nEurope, raised the standard of rallying and unity.\n\nThe German Empire was consequently very near being established. M. von\nBismarck stirs up a religious war which divides it in two and breaks it\nasunder. The war had brought together under the same flag Germans of all\nnationalities and all religious beliefs. Should not, then, all manner of\npains have been taken to keep them united in the mutual work of the\norganization of the empire? Should not the first thought of a politician,\nafter having achieved such wonderful success, and having before him the\nobstacles which still remained to be overcome, have been to begin by\nestablishing peace in religious matters?\n\nBut I must repeat the question, What did M. von Bismarck do? He repulses\nthe Westphalians and people of the Rhine who had become reconciled; he\nrevives in Bavaria and in the South that particularism which was dying\nout; and on the political grievance he grafts a religious one; he doubles\nthe obstacles of all kinds which lie in the way of his plans for\nGermanizing Alsace and Lorraine, so thoroughly French and Catholic; into\ntheir bleeding wounds he, as it were, introduces gangrene, by entering\nupon an unheard\u2010of religious persecution, and without any pretext that he\ndare avow; he compromises in the most serious manner the work of unity,\ntowards the founding of which he had aided so much; he acts as would the\ngreatest adversary of that unity who could not contrive any better means\nfor its destruction than to do just what Prince von Bismarck is doing\u2014he\ndrives into the ranks of opposition nearly half of the soundest population\nof the empire; he sets against himself the two hundred million Catholics\nspread throughout the world, and who are everywhere protesting against his\noppression; he will also turn against him the old conservatives, who have\nbeen deeply hurt by the enactment of the law in regard to schools, as well\nas all sincere friends of religious and political liberty, so audaciously\nignored by him. These friends of liberty are becoming scarce; they\nmaintain, in the face of this odious violation of their principles, a\nshameful silence which they will have to break, if they wish to avoid\nmaking liberalism synonymous with hypocrisy.\n\nHave I erred in comparing the policy of M. von Bismarck with that of\nNapoleon III., and his present blunder with that committed by the ex\u2010\nemperor when, after the Congress of Paris, he broke up the splendid\nWestern alliance?\n\nWhen I endeavor to interpret M. von Bismarck\u2019s conduct, I can find but one\nmotive which can serve for its explanation, and that is his alliance with\nItaly. That alliance, which he conceived necessary in order to keep the\nforces of France divided, and to render a war of retaliation impossible,\nhas drawn him into a fatal hostility against the Catholic Church.\n\nHis ally, Victor Emanuel, has conquered the Roman States by stratagem and\nby violence; he has usurped in Rome the throne of the pontiff king, who\namong the monarchs of Europe possesses assuredly the most ancient and most\nvenerated titles to sovereignty; he holds the Pope captive in the Vatican,\nuntil such time as he can compel him to set out on the road to exile; he\ndeprives the Sovereign Pontiff of the church of that sovereignty on which\nhis independence rests, and thus throws the universal church into alarm\nand mourning.\n\nThis outrage against the church, perpetrated at Rome by the Italian\ngovernment, has had its counterpart in Berlin. No doubt the condition\nwhich Victor Emanuel set upon alliance with him has been to make the\nGerman Empire enter into the vast plot got up against the independence and\nliberty of Catholicity.\n\nWell! without being a prophet, it is not difficult to predict that the\nItalian alliance will prove as fatal to the German Empire as it has been\nto the second Napoleonic Empire, and that on the Italian rock M. von\nBismarck\u2019s work will be dashed to pieces, if he allows it to remain in the\nevil path in which it is now so deeply sunk.\n\n\n\nIII.\n\n\nPrince Bismarck considers himself to be the successor of Stein, to whom he\nhas caused a statue to be erected, and whose great policy he claims that\nhe is continuing. In this respect, he is profoundly mistaken; and, very\nfar from following that policy, he abandons and betrays it.\n\nStein and all his school have, like Burke and Pitt, combated the\nprinciples of the French Revolution. French ideas had, at the close of the\nlast century, invaded Germany, and the armies of the first Republic had no\ndifficulty in conquering by their arms a country which they had before\noverrun with their ideas.\n\nBaron von Stein, that restorer of the German _Vaterland_ and liberty, was\na mortal foe of the French Revolution. His mission and his work were to\nwithdraw Germany from the fatal path into which, following France, she had\nstrayed, and to bring her back into the path laid out for her by her\nhistory.\n\nHe could not save Prussia from the defeat at Jena, but he trained her, by\nhis thorough and excellent reforms, for revenge at Waterloo and Sedan. He\nit was who formed Scharnhorst, the organizer of military Prussia, and\nwhose system Count von Moltke perfected; he, probably, who became the soul\nof the patriotic movement in 1813; he it was who, together with\nScharnhorst, Stadion, and Gagern, gave to Germany that powerful impulse\nout of which came the great present situation; he it was who stood the\ndistinguished protector of the German historical school, that real\nantithesis of the French revolutionary school, which former had as its\ninfluential organs Niebuhr, Eichhorn, Schlegel, G\u00f6rres, the two Grimms, de\nSavigny, etc., and which M. de Sybel represents still in our day.\n\nStein was a conservative, a patriot, and a Christian. What he fought\nagainst in the French Revolution was that philosophic and abstract method\nthat France had adopted, destructive of all national tradition; that\nspirit of exclusive and narrow equality which influenced her course, and\nin the pursuit of which, according to M. de Tocqueville, she has lost\nliberty; that absolutism, whether in democracy or in C\u00e6sarism, that\nobliteration of the individual, that indifference to rights, that worship\nof brute force, that extinguishment of all local, provincial, and\nautonomous life, that exaggerated idea of the state, that oppression of\nreligious liberty, of Christian teaching, and of the Catholic Church, all\nof which characterized the French Revolution.\n\nStein wanted a Germany united, but federal, Christian, liberal,\ntraditional, and historical; he wanted her, as Burke did England, to be\nthe reverse of revolutionary France.\n\nNow, is it not Stein\u2019s work, that Germany born of his reforming genius,\nthat M. von Bismarck is destroying? The _liberal national_ party, on which\nhe leans, is merely a _doctrinaire_ French party, anti\u2010historic,\nideological, and anti\u2010religious, the harbinger of levelling and radical\ndemocracy; a party which inclines to absolutism and C\u00e6sarism, adores\ncentralization, unconditional unification, and the omnipotence of the\nstate, and which is the adversary of all proud and free consciences, and\nof any independent church. It is not the Protestant idea, but the Masonic\nand Hegelian one which this party represents.\n\nStein was a Christian, a conservative, and a German; the Prince von\nBismarck is sceptical, revolutionary, and belongs to the French school.\nStein sought to found German unity on federal liberties, in the alliance\nof the church with the school, and on peace between religious\ndenominations; M. von Bismarck overturns that basis, substitutes in its\nplace absolutist and Prussian unification, secularized teaching, and\nreligious discord.\n\nIt is surprising that, when in France the ideas which inspired the French\nRevolution have been abandoned even by the most intelligent part of the\nschool of liberalism; by such men as Tocqueville, Thierry, and Guizot, who\nare discouraged, and talk more openly of their disappointments than of\ntheir hopes; when M. Renan asserts that the French Revolution \u201cis an\nexperimental failure\u201d; when the _Revue des Deux Mondes_, through the pen\nof M. Mont\u00e9gut, proclaims \u201cthat the Revolution is politically bankrupt\u201d;\non the very morrow of the final miscarriage of that Revolution under its\ntwo forms of government, the Empire fallen at Sedan, and the social\nRepublic fallen under the ruins of the Paris Commune\u2014it is at that very\ntime that Prince von Bismarck thinks it skilful and profound to import\nthat French revolutionary system into Germany! M. Renan has cause for\nrejoicing; he has given utterance to a wish which M. von Bismarck has set\nabout to fulfil. \u201cFrance,\u201d he said, \u201cneed not be considered lost if we can\nbelieve that Germany will be in her turn drawn into that witches\u2019 dance in\nwhich all our virtue has been lost.\u201d\n\nTo sum up: German unity, the great German Empire, which such an\nextraordinary concurrence of circumstances had created, is being dissolved\nand ruined by Prince von Bismarck through the most inconceivable of\npolitical blunders. He throws sixteen millions of Catholics, once friendly\nto the Empire, into opposition to it; he gives a new food and new strength\nto the particularism of the Southern States, and to the Polonism of Posen;\nhe makes twofold the difficulties of accomplishing the assimilation of\nAlsace and Lorraine; to political grievances he superadds religious\ngrievances, far more to be dreaded than the former; he enkindles an\nimplacable religious war upon the ruins of that denominational peace which\nKing Frederic William III. had happily established, and by aid of which\nthe present emperor and the empress Augusta had, in the opening period of\ntheir reign, won the hearts of the Catholics of the Rhine. To cover this\nblunder, M. von Bismarck enters into the Italian alliance which destroyed\nthe second Napoleonic Empire, and will destroy the German Empire; and he\nabandons the historic German policy restored by Stein, to rush into the\nretinue of the _national liberal_ party, into the paths of the French\nRevolution, into that _witches\u2019 dance_ to which M. Renan refers; and he\ninoculates his own country with the poison which has killed France!\n\n\n\nIV.\n\n\nBut there is one final consequence of the policy of Prince von Bismarck to\nwhich I wish to call attention, and which is not least in gravity.\n\nAustria, after having lost Italy, had, by the treaty of Prague, been\nexcluded from Germany. Nevertheless, the German Empire, under the hegemony\nof Prussia, had not been set up; there existed only a Northern Germany,\nhaving the Main as its boundary; the Southern States, and even Saxony,\npreserved a certain autonomy; and Austria might hope by a wise policy to\ndraw little by little into the sphere of her influence and attraction\nthose countries which had been accustomed to look upon Vienna as their\npolitical pole.\n\nThe war of 1871 against France, which had united all the Germans under one\nflag, established German unity and the German Empire. The boundaries of\nthe Empire were moved from the Main to the Danube, and all hope for\nAustria to regain her old German position was gone.\n\nAustria accepted this situation; the Emperor Francis Joseph and his two\ncounsellors, Count von Beust and Count Andr\u00e0ssy, worked together to bring\nabout a sincere reconciliation between Austria and the German Empire.\n\nThey gave up the idea of bringing back the Southern States into the circle\nof Austrian influence; they feared, on the contrary, lest the German\nprovinces of Austria, detaching themselves little by little from the\nweakened rule of the Hapsburgs, might be irresistibly drawn towards\nBerlin, the powerful and glorious centre of the German _Vaterland_.\n\nThose fears may at present be entirely set at rest. There has been a\ncomplete reversal in the position of things. The people, for the most part\nso Catholic, of the Tyrol, of Lower Austria, and of Bohemia, will lose all\ninclination to draw nearer to the German Empire, where a bitter\npersecution is being waged against their religious faith. The bonds which\nunite them to Austria will be drawn the tighter. On the other hand, will\nnot the Catholics of the Rhine, of Westphalia, of Poland, of Suabia, of\nFranconia, of W\u00fcrtemberg, of Bavaria, of Alsace, and of Lorraine, driven\nfrom the bosom of the German Empire, in which they are no longer citizens,\nbut pariahs, be tempted to look again in the direction of Austria, the\ncentre of their older sympathies? All Austria has to do is not to\ninterfere; M. von Bismarck is working for her.\n\nThe prince chancellor, notwithstanding the elated confidence which he has\nin his strength, has understood the danger of the situation.\n\nIn order to change it, he had but one easy thing to do, and that was to\nmodify his policy, to give up persecuting the Catholics, to admit that he\nhad gone astray, and to return to a calmer and wiser policy; but this he\nwould not do; he has preferred to keep on, and to try to drag Austria into\nthe same road.\n\nLast year, at Gastein, he tried to induce Count von Beust to join in the\ncampaign which he wished to begin against the _internationale rouge_ and\nthe _internationale noire_, but the Emperor Francis Joseph baffled the\nattempt. The prince chancellor renewed it the same year with the emperor\nhimself at Salzburg, but he failed a second time.\n\nHas he met with more success at Berlin, upon the occasion of the meeting\nof the three emperors? Has he tried to get Russia and Austria to recognize\nnot only the German Empire, but to sanction by their adhesion to it his\nhome policy against \u201cRomanism,\u201d that is to say, against the Catholic\nChurch, or has he at least succeeded in inducing the belief that he had\nnot tried in vain? Has he sought to drag them into the war which he is\ncarrying on against the Jesuits, against the religious orders, against\ndenominational liberty, against Catholic teaching, against the clergy and\nthe bishops, until such time as he can make it break forth at Rome, by\nlaying, in the next conclave, an audacious and sacrilegious hand on the\npontifical tiara?\n\nWe shall find this out before long. If Austria follows the policy of the\ncentralist party of the German professors at Vienna and at Prague, to\nwhich Count von Beust has already yielded too much, and which is identical\nwith the policy of the _national liberal_ party of Berlin, she will have\nadvanced the interests of Prince von Bismarck, and not her own; she will\nhave labored for him and against herself; she will have turned aside the\ndanger imminent to the German Empire through M. von Bismarck\u2019s blunders,\nand of which the Austro\u2010Hungarian Empire should have profited; she will\nhave, with her _historical good\u2010nature_, served the views of Prussia to\nthe detriment of her own; and Francis Joseph, the Apostolic Emperor,\nunfaithful to his traditions and to the arms of his house, will have made\nhis policy subordinate to that of a Lutheran emperor!\n\nI positively refuse to believe that any such result can come out of the\ninterview at Berlin, albeit that our generation is accustomed to the\nrealization of political impossibilities. I would fain persuade myself\nthat, if the Prince von Bismarck has endeavored to draw Austria into his\nwar against the Catholics and against Rome, he will have failed at Berlin\nas he did at Salzburg through the good sense of the Emperor Francis\nJoseph.\n\n\n\nV.\n\n\nThe more I study M. von Bismarck\u2019s policy, the less I understand it. If he\nwere a sectarian pietist, I could account to myself for the idea of\nperfecting the political and military unity of Germany by a religious\nunity, of creating a _Protestant state_: it would indeed be a sorry\nUtopia, and to attempt it would be to make the mistake of being three\ncenturies behind his time.\n\nBut M. von Bismarck is neither a sectarian nor a fanatic; he is rather, I\nbelieve, a sceptic who has little care for religious controversies, and\nwho probably understands very little about the question of the Papal\nInfallibility which he is wielding as a warlike weapon against the church.\nM. von Bismarck is a politician; politics he aims at and should be busied\nin; his mission is to help found an empire and not a schism or a sect.\nNow, it is the Empire, the political work, which he gravely compromises by\ndisturbing so profoundly through a denominational conflict the religious\nquiet which that work needed for its consolidation. Instead of the _German\nstate_ founded on unity and general assent, it is the _Protestant state_\nfounded on the deepest and most incurable divisions that he seems to aim\nat creating. There is no difficulty in predicting that he will lose the\npolitical unity in the pursuit of a religious unity which is but a\nchimerical and impossible anachronism.\n\nThis political course which the prince chancellor has inspired the Emperor\nWilliam to follow, whose past one makes such a striking contrast with it,\nis to me an insoluble enigma, and raises doubts in my mind of M. von\nBismarck\u2019s transcendent ability.\n\nI will nevertheless try to make out this political enigma, by studying the\npretexts on which the government of Berlin relies to justify itself, the\ncircumstances by which it has been enticed, and the temptation to which it\nhas yielded.\n\nThe _pretext_ which it puts forward is the decision of the Vatican Council\nin regard to the authority of the Sovereign Pontiff in matters of\ndoctrine.\n\nThe _circumstances_ by which it was carried away are the Italian alliance\nabroad and the alliance with the _national liberal_ party at home.\n\nThe _temptation_ that misleads it is the hope, fortunately disappointed,\nwhich the stand of the _inopportunist_ bishops of Germany and of Austria\ncaused it to form, which stand the Berlin government had mistaken for a\nreal dissent from doctrine, and destined to become the foundation of a\nnational church separated from Rome by that dissent.\n\nI call the question of Papal Infallibility a pretext, and, in fact, it is\na groundless quarrel without any importance or earnest meaning.\n\nI am not called upon to enter here into a theological dissertation upon\nthe dogma of the infallibility of the church and of its sovereign\nmagistracy, etc. I refer my readers to the excellent works which have been\npublished on the subject, and I trust to be excused for mentioning in\nparticular those written by my brother the Archbishop of Mechlin.\n\nI will say but one word _en passant_ on the question. For every Catholic,\nthere is no longer any open question. Before the council, discussion was\nallowable; since the definition proclaimed by an \u0153cumenical council united\nto the Pope, all discussion is closed.\n\nEvery one knows of the conversation between a very intelligent lady of\ngreat faith and the Count de Montalembert, shortly before the death of\nthat illustrious friend, in which she asked him what he would do if the\ncouncil together with the Pope should define infallibility. \u201cWell, I will\nquietly believe it,\u201d replied the great orator, with the firm accent of the\nChristian who knows his catechism, and who recites his act of faith.\n\nIn fact, no father nor doctor of the church, from Origen and S. Cyprian\ndown to S. Thomas and Bossuet, no council, no theologian, no Catholic, has\never doubted the doctrinal infallibility of the church. The controversy\nlay with the Gallicans, who claimed that the words of the Pope addressed\nto the church _ex cathedr\u00e2_ needed the assent of a council or of the\nchurch throughout the world to acquire the character of infallibility.\n\nAll the old Catholics of all the schools, Gallican even included, were\nagreed to accord to the definitions of a council united with the Pope,\nthat is to say, the church, the divine privilege of infallibility set\nforth in Holy Scriptures and in all tradition. On this point Bossuet holds\nthe same doctrine as F\u00e9nelon and Count de Maistre.\n\nNow, in the present instance we have a council united to the Pope, and no\ncouncil, from that of Trent back to that of Nic\u00e6a, has been more\nnumerously attended, more solemn, freer, or more \u0153cumenical, than that of\nthe Vatican. To deny this is downright nonsense, in which those take\nrefuge who seek to hide their apostasy from their own eyes. If the Council\nof the Vatican has not been \u0153cumenical and free, then manifestly no\ncouncil in the past has ever been.\n\nTo reject the doctrinal definition of the Council of the Vatican, in which\nthe Sovereign Pontiff and the bishops of all the world, whether\nopportunist or inopportunist, have agreed, would undoubtedly be to abandon\nthe church of Christ, and to renounce the Catholic faith; it would be\ngoing beyond Gallicanism, which never thought of calling in question the\ndecisions of a council united to a pope; even beyond the Jansenism of Port\nRoyal, which would perhaps have accepted the Bull of Innocent X. if\nsanctioned by a council; it would be going beyond 1682, back to Luther;\nthat is to say, to open heresy, and to the entire abandonment of the\nchurch, our mother.\n\nHow can M. D\u00f6llinger not see this? He who in 1832, at Munich, where the\nencyclical of Gregory XVI. reached M. de Lamennais, insisted with the\nlatter, with all his force as a theologian, that he should submit to the\npontifical encyclical, which, in the doctor\u2019s eyes, was binding on\nconscience, although no council had adhered to it\u2014how can he now, in his\nown case, resist the decisions of Pius IX. and the Council of the Vatican?\nHe who has written so many works of grave learning, and in particular that\none on _The Church and the Churches_, how comes it that he does not see\nthat he is no longer in the church, and that he is seeking a shelter for\nhis revolt in the smallest, the poorest, and the most dilapidated of those\nchurches of a day which, in the name of history, he has so severely\ncondemned? How can he find himself at ease and his soul tranquil in those\nridiculous conventicles of Munich and of Cologne, by the side of Michelis,\nof Reinkens, Friedrich, Schulte, the ex\u2010abb\u00e9 Michaud, the ex\u2010father\nHyacinthe, and surrounded by Jansenist and Anglican bishops, by Protestant\nand schismatic ministers, by rationalists of all colors? How comes it that\nhis faith and his learning are not shocked when brought into the midst of\nthat confusion of doctrines and of tongues, and of ignorance of all kinds,\nwhich rendered the Congress of Cologne so notorious; that congress whereat\nthe question was discussed \u201cof the reunion of the old Catholics with the\nother churches having affinity of faith,\u201d which means with all the sects\nseparated from Rome, to the exclusion of the great universal church of S.\nAugustine, S. Thomas, Pascal, Descartes, Bossuet, F\u00e9nelon, de Maistre,\nLacordaire, of the eight hundred bishops of the council, and of the\nsainted Pontiff Pius IX.? How can he, a man of learning, a priest,\nadvanced in years, on the brink of eternity, prefer to put himself under\nthe pastoral crook and the jurisdiction of the Jansenist Archbishop of\nUtrecht, or of a schismatic Armenian bishop, and fraternize with the\nAnglican bishops of Lincoln, Ely, and Maryland, rather than remain an\nhumble priest, but proud of that Catholic Apostolic and Roman Church whose\nadmirable unity bursts forth in the midst of the vast persecution which is\nbeing begun and prepared for her, and of which the Provost of Munich\nconsents to be the guilty instrument?\n\nThis closes my parenthetical remarks on Dr. D\u00f6llinger and the Old\nCatholics, who are in reality merely old Jansenists and very old\nProtestants, and I come back to M. von Bismarck and to his policy.\n\nPrince von Bismarck and the governments of Germany have no occasion to\ntrouble themselves about the question of settling whether infallibility\nattaches to the Pope speaking _ex cathedr\u00e2_, or to the Pope united to the\ncouncil; these are all dogmatic theses with which they have no concern.\nThe pretext got up by politics for trespassing on the domain of religious\nfaith is the following: The politicians allege that the declaration of the\ncouncil has conferred upon the Pope a _new authority_, that this authority\nis _absolute_ and _unlimited_, and that this state of things affects the\nrelations between the church and the state, which is thereby thrown upon\nits defence against possible usurpation. The Emperor of Germany, in a\nconversation which he recently had at Ems with M. Contzen, the courageous\nBurgomaster of Aix\u2010la\u2010Chapelle, brought out this singular idea of the\npoliticians when he alleged \u201cthat the church, by proclaiming the dogma of\ninfallibility, had declared war to the state.\u201d\n\nHow can this be? In what respect does the question of the infallibility of\nthe church touch the relations between the church and the state?\n\nThe declaration of the Vatican Council is not new; it belongs almost\ntextually to the Council of Florence when it proclaimed the faith which\nhad existed for centuries; it is ancient; all, or nearly all, the bishops\nat the late council were agreed, and are now all agreed, as to the ground\nof the doctrine; they were only divided on the question of opportuneness,\nand Mgr. the Bishop of Orl\u00e9ans, in his pastoral letter of assent, declared\nthat he has always professed the doctrine which had been proclaimed.\n\nNothing, then, has been changed, and church and state remain in precisely\nthe same situation of reciprocal independence in their distinct spheres,\nand of harmony in their relations, in which they were before the council.\n\nSome either imagine, through most admirable ignorance, or hypocritically\nmake show of believing, that the pontifical infallibility is a _personal_\nprivilege, in this sense, that it is conferred _on a person who cannot err\nin anything_, that the Pope is infallible in all that he says and in\neverything; that he could lay upon the faithful the obligation of\nbelieving any decision that he might proclaim whether in the exclusive\ndomain of science or in the exclusive domain of politics, where faith is\nnot at all involved.\n\nThe object of infallibility is the doctrine of the faith and of the\nrevealed law. The church has the deposit of revelation, of the Holy\nScriptures, and of tradition; the Pope is its supreme guardian; the\nevangelical promise of infallibility is nothing else than the promise of\n_fidelity_ in the custody of this sacred deposit! When the Pope or the\ncouncil united to the Pope declares that a truth is contained in the\ndeposit of revelation, they do not invent matter, they repeat and discern;\nthey do not create a new truth, they confirm an old one, and cause new\nlight to beam from it.\n\nInfallibility is, then, not personal in the absurd sense in which the word\nis used; neither is it absolute and without limits; its domain, which is\nthat of faith and morals, is clearly marked out by the constitution of the\nVatican Council. \u201cAccording to the perfectly clear text of the decree,\u201d\nsay the Prussian bishops who met at Fulda in 1871, \u201call allusion to the\ndomain of politics is completely excluded from the definition of this\ndogma.\u201d His Eminence Cardinal Antonelli, in his despatch of the 19th of\nMarch, 1870, to the Nuncio at Paris, is even more precise. \u201cPolitical\naffairs belong,\u201d he says, \u201caccording to the order of God and the teachings\nof the church, to the province of the secular authority, _without any\ndependence whatever_ on any other.\u201d\n\nBut, as between the secular power and the church, relations are necessary,\nthese are settled by the two authorities through arrangements or\nconcordats.\n\nI allow myself to call Prince von Bismarck\u2019s attention to this point.\nPositive relations between the church and states have been settled by\nconcordats only; always, at all periods of history, the popes alone have\nnegotiated concordats with the states; pontifical infallibility has\nabsolutely no connection with concordats, and the Pope when he signs them\ndoes not speak _ex cathedr\u00e2_ and as supreme doctor of the church. How,\nthen, can the declaration of the council have changed the relations\nbetween the church and governments, and how can the church, by proclaiming\nthe dogma of infallibility, be said to have declared war to the state?\n\nIt is, then, a mere matter of pretext. In point of fact, it is the German\nEmpire which is laying claim to absolute and unlimited power in the domain\nof religion as well as in the domain of politics; it examines and judges\ndogmas, intrudes itself into ecclesiastical discipline; it closes the\npriest\u2019s mouth in his pulpit\u2014by the lex Lutziana; it closes Catholic\ncolleges and schools; it forbids religious to preach, to hear confessions,\nand even to celebrate Mass; it forbids the bishops to canonically exclude\nfrom the bosom of the church those who openly separate themselves\ntherefrom; it banishes, for no crime, without trial and in bodies, the\nreligious orders, in the same way that Louis XIV. (though he could give\nbetter reasons) drove the Huguenots from the soil of France; it favors\nschism, and aims at establishing a national church. It is, then, the\nGerman state _which is declaring war to the church_, and which is raising\nclaim to political and religious infallibility by founding a veritable\ncivil theocracy.\n\nLet us put aside the pretext, which can in no wise serve either for the\njustification or for the explanation of the conduct of the government of\nBerlin. Let us examine the real motives which governed that conduct, the\ncircumstances by which the emperor was carried away, and the fatal\ntemptations which deluded him.\n\n\n\nVI.\n\n\nForemost among these reasons and temptations has been, as I have said\nbefore, the alliance with Italy. It was the first cause, and was the\nsignal for the sudden change which took place in the interior policy of\nthe German Empire. This is evident from the fact that the political storm\nburst forth during the last session of Parliament precisely upon the\noccasion of a paragraph in the draft of the address got up by the national\nliberal party, and which was a stone hurled at the papacy. This was taking\nplace at Berlin at the very hour when the Italo\u2010German alliance had been\nconcluded at Rome; the coincidence is striking, and proves that war\nagainst the Catholic Church and her head has been made a condition of this\nalliance.\n\nThe next temptation, the second blunder of Prince von Bismarck, has been\nhis exclusive alliance with the national liberal party, whose character I\nhave defined above. This alliance with pseudo\u2010liberalism is the corollary\nof his alliance with Italy; both rest within and without on the\nrevolutionary and anti\u2010Christian principle. War on Rome and the papacy has\nbeen the condition of the alliance with Italy; war on the Catholics in\nGermany has been the condition of the alliance with the national liberal\nparty.\n\nPrince von Bismarck had, for several years, met a keen resistance to his\nplans from the national liberal party, while during the same period he\nfound a support in the conservative section of the Prussian chambers, with\nwhom were joined the few Catholics of note who happened to be members of\nthem.\n\nTo\u2010day he turns away from this weakened but still powerful conservative\nsection, and he wages the bitterest war against the centre section, which\nis made up of Catholics. These two sections watch over the deposit of old\nGerman traditions; they wish to preserve the federal and constitutional\ncharacter of the Empire, to maintain the Christian and denominational\ncharacter of the schools, and throughout the nation, religious peace.\nLatterly the conservative section has become weak; it has yielded to M.\nvon Bismarck\u2019s policy; but sooner or later its traditions will bring it to\nthe side of the section of the centre, in order that both may unite in\nsustaining the historic principles of the Germanic race against the\ncentralizing anti\u2010religious policy of the national liberal party, which\nrepresents above all else the idea of the French Revolution.\n\nThe section of the centre, which, in 1870, in point of numbers amounted in\nthe parliament to but very little, has seen its power increase\nproportionately with the development of the pseudo\u2010liberal party of\ncentralization, of omnipotence of the state, of political levelling, and\nof anti\u2010Christian reaction. The outrage committed on the papacy by the\nItalian government gave increased energy to the Catholic movement, and the\nsection of the centre, which, at the time it was first organized,\nconsisted of fifty members only, saw its numbers increase after the\nelections to more than sixty, all united together by strong convictions;\nit can count to\u2010day nearly eighty, and it is safe to predict that, unless\nthe government sends into the interior, or into exile, or puts in prison\nthe leaders of the Catholic movement, the party of the centre will, after\nthe next elections, thanks to the war begun against the church, have\ngained a force of more than one hundred votes, which will thus\ncounterbalance those of the national liberal party.\n\nIt is this growing power of the party of the centre, the fruit of M. von\nBismarck\u2019s policy, which has impelled him to his policy of violence and\nanger against the Catholic Church; he means to make the clergy, the\nJesuits, the religious orders, and the bishops pay for the political loss\nof rest occasioned to him by this phalanx which is growing into a legion,\nand at whose head stand such powerful leaders as Reichensperger,\nMallinckrodt, and Windthorst. The eloquent words of these orators, as in\nformer times those of O\u2019Connell in England, and Montalembert in France,\nspread beyond the boundaries of Germany, to arouse and stir up everywhere\nall lovers of right, justice, true liberty, and the church of Jesus\nChrist.\n\nThe third temptation of the German government has been the stand taken in\nthe Vatican Council by nearly all the bishops of Germany and of Austria.\nThese pious and learned prelates were all agreed, along with those of the\nentire world, as to the mere ground of the doctrine; all or nearly all\nwere infallibilists; Josephism, F\u00e9bronianism, had been for a long time\ndying, if not dead; but these same bishops were nearly all inopportunists.\nThis M. von Bismarck misapprehended, he believed that there was, among the\nbishops in council, a real dissent as to doctrine; he imagined that the\nmajority of the German and Austrian bishops would separate from Rome to\nfollow M. D\u00f6llinger in the path of defection or of schism, through which\nhe is moving to his ruin. The Italian alliance and the alliance with the\nnational liberal party carried M. von Bismarck into hostile action against\nRome; the difference of opinion among the bishops on the question of the\nopportuneness of the decision by the council led him to hope that he would\nfind therein the elements for a _Janist_(194) and national church.\n\nIn this he has been entirely mistaken. \u201cHe had left the Holy Spirit out of\nhis reckoning,\u201d said recently to me a learned ecclesiastic of Berlin, and\nI add that he had also not reckoned on the faith and virtue of the\nepiscopate.\n\nObserve what is going on and how the Catholic tide is rising and\nresisting. M. von Bismarck met at Sedan a splendid, courageous French\narmy, which, badly led and crushed by the fire of the German artillery,\nwas forced to capitulate; he will henceforth find in opposition to him the\nCatholic populations, with their clergy and their bishops at their head,\nwho will rise, in the name of God and of the liberty of the church, who\nwill resist and never surrender.\n\nM. von Bismarck is about to have experience of what the Catholic bishops\nare and of what they can do. They will not conspire; they will not sow\nrebellion and revolution; they will not join themselves to the red\ninternational party, but they will resist and will not yield. \u201cIn this\npresent sad condition of things,\u201d said the bishops met together at Fulda\nin April, 1872, \u201cwe will fulfil our duty by not disturbing the peace\nbetween the church and the state.\u201d \u201cAs Christians,\u201d said the learned\nBishop of Paderborn, in his touching address to the exiled Jesuits\u2014\u201cas\nChristians, we can oppose neither force nor overt resistance to the\nmeasures of governmental authority. Albeit such measures seem to us\niniquitous and unjustifiable, we may only meet them by that passive\nresistance which our divine Master Jesus Christ has taught us by his words\nand example; that silence, calm and full of dignity; that patience,\ntranquil and resigned, but abounding in hope; that loving prayer which\nheaps burning coals on the heads of our persecutors.\u201d\n\nSuch is the admirable language of the German bishops, as it fell from the\nlips of the Archbishop of Cologne, Mgr. von Droste\u2010Vischering, on the very\nday preceding that on which he was led captive by a guard of soldiers to\nthe fortress of Minden. The calm and intrepid Bishop of Ermeland is\ndeprived of his salary and injured in his authority; he is marked out for\npunishment, and he awaits the coming of the soldiers with the fetters to\nbind him.\n\nI cannot recall the venerated name of Mgr. Krementz without adding to it\nthe illustrious one of Mgr. Mermillod, whom all Europe will continue to\naddress as Bishop of Hebron and Geneva, despite that decision of the\ncouncil of state which forbids him to exercise any function whatever,\nwhether as bishop or as curate, and which cuts him off from all salary.\nHere, then, we have this _republican_ and _liberal_ Switzerland\nsuppressing the Jesuits and all cognate religious orders, the brothers of\nthe schools, the sisters of charity; closing seminaries, as at Soleure,\nbecause the moral theology of S. Liguori was taught there; unseating\nbishops, as at Geneva; and the people that do these things are yet\nshameless enough to talk of liberty, while all the speech\u2010makers of\nliberalism, whose hair stands erect at the mention of the revocation of\nthe Edict of Nantes, and who dinned the world with their clamors in the\nyoung Mortara case, cannot find a single word of liberality, not a single\nprotest, not a single expression of indignation, to stigmatize these\nunheard\u2010of outrages against all liberties at once, and against all the\nrights of human conscience.\n\nI have just been adverting to the passive resistance of the bishops in\nGermany; but the lay movement, which is kept strictly within the law, is\nless passive, less resigned, and is somewhat inflamed by politics. The\nreaction against the unwarranted persecution set on foot a year ago is\nbreaking out everywhere. A committee of direction has been formed at\nMainz, whose business is to centralize the legal resistance of German\nCatholics for the defence of religious liberty thus threatened and\nassailed. This committee, in their address dated in July last, call upon\nthe Catholics of Germany to a crusade in opposition to the aggressions of\nthe government. \u201cWe claim,\u201d says this address, \u201cfor our creed that liberty\nand independence guaranteed to it by the constitution; and under the\ndevice, _For God and our Country_, we will fight to the last for the\nmaintenance of our rights.\u201d This address is signed by some of the most\nillustrious names of Germany, foremost among which I may mention those of\nCount Felix de L\u00f6e, of Baron de Frankenberg, of Count C. de Stolberg, and\nof the Prince of Isenburg.\n\nA numerous meeting of Catholics voted to send the Archbishop of Munich an\naddress praising him for his firmness and encouraging him in the contest\nwhich he is maintaining. At Breslau, a Catholic Congress has just\nassembled with great _\u00e9clat_. All the Catholic men of note in Germany were\npresent at it. Vent was therein given to the most energetic complaints and\nthe most indignant protests, resolutions of great firmness were adopted, a\nnew impulse was given to all those associations which, like that of S.\nBoniface, of S. Charles Borromeo, and of Pius IX., have multiplied on\nGerman soil works of teaching and of charity; powerful preparations were\nin this congress made for resistance, while confiding in their rights and\nin God.\n\nWhile the Catholic laity were thus meeting and organizing at Breslau and\nat Mainz, the bishops were quietly deliberating at Fulda, presided over by\nthe Archbishop of Cologne, who is mindful of his illustrious predecessor,\nClement Augustus. There, as the apostles of old in the _cenaculum_, they\ntarry in prayer, and they will come forth with a confidence and a courage\nsuch as have overcome adversaries far more powerful than the Prince von\nBismarck.\n\n\n\nVII.\n\n\nThe old _r\u00e9gime_, before it died out, made trial of rebellion against the\nchurch. Frederick the Great was certainly as able as M. von Bismarck; he\nhad the world at his feet, and the church in Germany, infected with the\ndoctrines of F\u00e9bronius, was apparently in the pangs of death. The last act\nrecorded in history of the then three ecclesiastical electors of Mayence,\nCologne, and Tr\u00e8ves had been to meet with the Archbishop of Salzburg,\nPrimate of Germany, for the purpose of drawing up the _Punctuations of\nEms_ (1786), which were a code of rebellion against the Holy See. What a\ncontrast with the present assembling of the German bishops at Fulda! These\nservile _Punctuations of Ems_ were beginning to be carried out, when the\narmies of the French Republic came down and inflicted upon the authors of\nthem the punishment they deserved.\n\nEvery one knows about Pombal, Choiseul, and Charles III., who confined the\nJesuits within certain territorial limits, drove them away, cast them into\nprison, or sent them into exile, pretty much in the same way as M. von\nBismarck is doing.\n\nThe power which did all this was swallowed up by the French Revolution.\n\nThis revolution, _satanic_, to use M. de Maistre\u2019s term, _out and out\nanti\u2010Christian_, as M. de Tocqueville calls it, in its turn drove out,\nexiled, put to death, whether in the massacre of September, the drownings\nof the Loire, by the axe of the guillotine or the dagger of ruffians, the\npriests, Jesuits, and religious whom the old r\u00e9gime had spared.\n\nBut this sanguinary revolution went down in the slough of the Directory,\nand Napoleon put an end to it.\n\nThat extraordinary man perceived that persecution wounds the hand which\nuses it; he sought to make peace with the church; he reopened the\nchurches, recalled the priests and the bishops, and signed the concordat.\nThis was the great epoch of his reign: Ulm, Austerlitz, and Jena.\n\nBut the potent emperor, intoxicated by glory and by pride, having become\nmaster of the world, thought he would be master of the church as well; his\nrule was over bodies, he sought to extend it over souls; which is the\ndream of all founders of empire. He stretched out his hand to the States\nof the Church, and annexed them to the French Empire; for which he was\nexcommunicated by that gentle Pope Pius VII. He seized the pope, bore him\naway from Rome into exile at Savona and at Fontainebleau, and he found\nthat under the lamb\u2010like exterior of his victim there beat the heart of a\nlion. He summoned together the council of 1811, thinking that it would be\nan easy matter to form a national church of which he would be Supreme\nPontiff.\n\nThis took place in 1811. The next year brought the campaign of 1812, to be\nfollowed by the events of 1813 and 1814; Leipsic, Elba, Waterloo, and the\nrock of St. Helena last of all.\n\nThere is another example nearer to our times, upon which I have looked as\na witness, and which I submit for the meditations of the Emperor of\nGermany.\n\nKing William I. of Orange fell into precisely the same blunder which\nWilliam IV. is now repeating. He ruled over the beautiful kingdom of the\nNetherlands, so easy for him to maintain, and which through his mistakes\nwas broken up. He, too, sought to constitute national unity through unity\nof language and of religion. So he suppressed, in 1825, the Catholic\nschools and colleges in Belgium, drove out the Jesuits and the brothers of\nthe Christian schools, founded at Louvain the Philosophic College in which\nthe clergy of the future national church were to be trained, violated the\nright to teach and of association, prosecuted the Bishop of Ghent, Mgr. de\nBroglie, got him condemned, and he was pilloried, in effigy, on a public\nsquare of Ghent, between two felons. This reckless and blind policy\nexcited in Belgium a movement of resistance similar to that which we\nremark at the present moment in Germany. Five years later, in 1830, the\nCatholic liberal union was brought about, and every one knows the events\nto which it gave birth.\n\nThis much is matter of history. The German persecution is a trial for the\nchurch and for Catholics, but it will also bear with it the salvation\nwhich a trial properly borne always brings. Two results will come out of\nthis trial: the Catholic Church, which they mean to weaken or prostrate,\nwill, as always heretofore, come out of the contest more united and more\npowerful; Protestantism, in whose name the persecution is set on foot,\nwill be mortally wounded by it, and will see its dissolution hastened;\npseudo\u2010liberalism, which will have played the part of intolerance and\npersecution, will be unmasked, and all the friends of a prudent and\nsincere liberty will make their reconciliation with the persecuted, one\nwith that great Catholic Church, ever militant, ever attacked, sometimes a\nmartyr, but which ever in the end comes out triumphant over these trials\nwhich temper her anew, purify her, and add to her greatness. The world\nwill understand that in trials such as she is now going through in Germany\nshe is fighting for the liberty of the conscience of the human race.\n\nGovernments, and in particular great empires founded on force, look upon\nthe independence of the universal church with feelings of jealousy and\nimpatience; the idea of a national church has always been a favorite and a\npleasing one with despotisms, because it promises them a servile\ninstrument to carry out their designs. But when the church is subject to\nthe state, there can be no church. The high level of the consciences of\nthe people sinks as freedom disappears. The true and divine church can be\ncontained within no boundaries and in no nationality; it is the spiritual\nkingdom of consciences and of souls; from the independence of the church,\nthe independence of consciences and souls derives its life. If the church\nis under the yoke of the state, all consciences must suffer like\nsubjection. The world will at last comprehend that national churches, that\nis, churches in subjection, can have only enslaved souls as followers, and\nthat there can be no freedom for the conscience of man, except upon the\nsole condition of the independence of a church, accountable, not to any\nhuman power, but to God.\n\nWill the persecution which has been begun be kept up with the same\ntenacity and violence which the Prince von Bismarck now displays? I fear\nless from it for the church than for himself and the German emperor, whose\ngood sense, uprightness, and religious conscience must feel out of place\nin the midst of a policy so _outr\u00e9e_, revolutionary, anti\u2010Christian, and\nanti\u2010constitutional, so contrary to his instincts, his natural\ndisposition, and his antecedents. \u201cIt cannot be,\u201d said M. A.\nReichensperger, \u201cthat a monarch, crowned with the laurels of victory,\nafter having achieved external peace through the courage and the fidelity\nof the _entire_ German nation, will authorize the persecution of millions\nof Germans on account of their faith, and consent to destroy internal\npeace\u2014that peace which in particular is the work of his royal brother,\nwhose memory is still blessed by all Catholics.\u201d\n\nI add my prayer and my hope to the prayer and the hope of the great German\npatriot and orator, but I confess that his fears, which are greater than\nhis hopes, are felt by me also, and to like extent. The times are gloomy.\n\u201cThe deluge is drawing nigh; but on the waters I see the ark of the\nchurch,\u201d said Count de Montalembert. \u201cShe will ride it out, she will live,\nand will preside at the funeral of the very powers that thought to have\nprepared her own.\u201d\n\nLet Prince Bismarck not forget the words recently uttered by Pius IX. at\none of those allocutions so sublimely eloquent and touchingly holy in\nspirit, which, from his prison in the Vatican he addresses to the world.\nHe was addressing German Catholics, and he told them: \u201cBe confident, be\nunited; for a stone will fall from the mountain, and will shatter the feet\nof the Colossus. If God wills that other persecutions arise, the church\ndoes not fear them; on the contrary, she becomes stronger thereby, and she\npurifies herself, because even in the church there are things that need to\nbe purified, and nothing contributes more thereto than the persecutions\nexercised on her by the great ones of the earth.\u201d\n\nPrince von Bismarck may perhaps have smiled on reading these words fallen\nfrom the lips of the Pontiff Pius IX.; if so, he is sadly mistaken; those\nold popes who are imprisoned and exiled, but who, to use the profound\nexpression of the Count de Maistre, _always come back_, are also gifted\nwith the command of words which are \u201cas burning coals heaped upon the\nheads of their persecutors.\u201d The Emperor Napoleon I., too, smiled at the\nexcommunication hurled at him by Pope Pius VII., then weak and disarmed,\nand his complete ruin followed shortly after. I advise the prince\nchancellor to bear in mind the stone falling from the mountain and\nbreaking the feet of the Colossus. I had myself, in my book published in\n1860, ventured to refer to that same passage of Scripture: \u201cThat splendid\nfigure,\u201d I said, \u201cwhich Daniel sets before us of kingdoms WITH FEET PART\nOF IRON AND PART OF CLAY, and of the church, _that stone, cut out of a\nmountain, without hands, which broke in pieces the kingdoms_, and _became\na great mountain_, and filled _the whole earth_\u2014that figure has its\napplication in every age, and should stand for all Christians as a hope\namid trials and a teaching to all the proud.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nA Christmas Memory.\n\n\n    God did anoint thee with his odorous oil\n    To wrestle, not to reign; and he assigns\n    All thy tears over like pure crystallines\n    For younger fellow\u2010workers of the soil\n    To wear for amulets.\n\n    E. B. BROWNING.\n\n\nNo more brilliant party ever assembled for Christmas festivities in\nNorthern Vermont than that which met on such an occasion, very early in\nthis century, at the home of a young lawyer in the beautiful little\nvillage of Sheldon, since widely renowned for the efficacy of its healing\nwaters.\n\nThe host and hostess were from families who came among the first settlers\nto Vermont. The company was gathered from all parts of the new and\nsparsely settled state, with a sprinkling of students who were completing\ntheir legal course at the famous law\u2010school of Judge Reeves, in\nLitchfield, Conn.\u2014of which their host was a graduate\u2014and of young ladies\nand gentlemen from different places in Massachusetts and Connecticut.\nSeveral of these young ladies were passing the winter with acquaintances\nin Sheldon, and the whole country from the \u201cProvince Line\u201d (and even\nbeyond it) to St. Alban\u2019s was made merry with a succession of gay parties,\nsleigh\u2010rides, dinners, suppers, and dances given in their honor. Even the\nsequestered hamlets of Richford and Montgomery, nestled among their own\ngreen hills, did not escape the general hilarity, but were startled from\ntheir quiet decorum, and resounded with a merriment which awakened\nunwonted echoes in their peaceful valleys.\n\nAmong the guests at this Christmas festival was a young lady of Vermont,\nMiss Fanny A\u2014\u2014, whose fair form rises before us as we write from the dim\nmists of childhood\u2019s earliest memories\u2014a vision of gentle dignity and\nyouthful loveliness which time has no power to efface.\n\nThough some years younger than the lady of the house, she was her very\ndear and intimate friend, and was now passing a few weeks with her. Her\nqueenly manners, the silver ripple of her low, sweet voice in the flow of\na conversation which held her listeners spell\u2010bound, as it were, by its\nclear and impressive utterances, bore witness to her familiarity with the\nmost refined circles of city and country society, and the high culture of\nher splendid intellect.\n\nOther circumstances, as will be seen, combined with her personal charms at\nthis time to make her the centre of interest and attraction wherever she\nappeared.\n\nShe was the youngest daughter of a Green Mountain hero whom Vermont most\ndelights to honor. Her father died when she was too young to realize her\nloss. Some years later, her mother\u2014from whom she inherited her remarkable\nbeauty and graceful dignity\u2014married a most amiable man, who was capable of\nappreciating the rich treasure she committed to his charge in the person\nof her young daughter. Every advantage the country offered was secured to\ndevelop and polish the gem of which he was inexpressibly proud, and over\nwhich he watched with a solicitude as tender as her own father could have\nexercised.\n\nAt that time, the gay society in New England was strongly tinctured with\nthe species of infidelity introduced and fostered by the writings of\nThomas Paine and his disciples, among whom Fanny\u2019s father had been\nconspicuous. Her step\u2010father was not of that school, but he detested the\ncant and Puritanism of the only religious people he had ever\nknown\u2014regarding them as pretensions of which even those who adopted them\nwere often the unconscious dupes. He had never been drawn within reach of\nbetter influences, then exercised only by the Protestant Episcopal Church\nin Vermont, to rescue intelligent thinkers from the grasp of infidelity.\nHe conducted the education of his gifted daughter, therefore, with the\nmost scrupulous care to avoid entirely all considerations of religion in\nany form. When her active and earnest mind would peer beyond the veil he\nhad so carefully drawn between its pursuits and the interests of eternity,\nand send her to startle him with some question touching those interests\nwhich he could only answer by evasive ridicule, or an emphatic request\nthat she would refrain from troubling her head about such matters, she\nwould retire to ponder within herself, even while striving to obey her\nearthly father, the higher obligations imposed by One in heaven. Light and\nwisdom from above soon illuminated the soul that surrendered itself a\nwilling victim before the altar of eternal truth. She was led by a divine\nhand, through paths she knew not, to a temple of which she had scarcely\nheard, and, while still living among those to whom the Catholic religion\nwas entirely unknown, entered its portals to find herself\u2014scarcely less to\nher own astonishment than to the amazement and horror of her devoted\nparents\u2014a Catholic, as firmly established and steadfastly resolved as if\nshe had been born and educated in the faith!\n\nThe grief and indignation of her parents knew no bounds. They looked upon\nit as a most disgraceful infatuation. Peremptorily imposing silence upon\nher in relation to the subject, they determined to suppress it, if\npossible, until every means had been used to divert her mind from the\nfatal delusion.\n\nAll the wiles and artifices of the gayest and most fashionable circles in\nvarious American cities to which she was taken, were exhausted in vain to\ncaptivate her youthful fancy and deliver her soul from its mysterious\nthraldom. In vain the ardent addresses of devoted admirers\u2014who were\ndestined in the near future to be the brightest ornaments the bench and\nbar of their state could boast\u2014were laid at her feet. In vain were all\nthose worldly allurements, generally so irresistible to the young, spread\nbefore her. Her soul turned steadfastly away from each bewitching\nenticement, to solace itself with thoughts of the humble sanctuary in\nMontreal, where the weary bird had found a place in which she might build\nher nest, even within the tabernacle of thy house, O Lord of hosts!\n\nIn the autumn preceding the Christmas festival of which I write, the\nramblers had returned from their fruitless wanderings. Fanny\u2019s parents,\ndiscouraged and discomfited, resolved at this crisis to enlist the zeal of\na few very intimate friends in their cause, by disclosing to them the\ngreat and unaccountable calamity which had befallen their child.\n\nAmong those whom they earnestly entreated to aid them in efforts to\nextricate her from the grasp of the great deceiver, was the lady with whom\nshe was now passing the weeks of the early winter. A Connecticut\nEpiscopalian of the High\u2010Church stamp, she occupied what they playfully\ncalled a \u201chalf\u2010way house,\u201d at which they hoped she would be able to\npersuade Fanny to stop. She invited several gay young ladies to meet and\nenliven Fanny\u2019s visit, but took the greatest pains to conceal from them\nthe religious tendencies of her beautiful guest. She entered with great\nzeal upon every scheme for winter pastimes, in the hope of diverting the\nmind of her young friend from its absorbing theme. In their private\nconversations, she exhausted every argument to convince Fanny that the\nEpiscopal Church offered all the consolations for which her soul was\nyearning. In vain, in vain! She who had been called to drink from the\nfountain\u2010head could not slake her thirst with draughts from scattered\npools, which brought no refreshment to her fainting spirit. Vain also were\nthe precautions used for concealment. Suspicions soon arose among her\nyoung companions that there was something wrong with Fanny. A rosary had\nbeen partially revealed as she drew her kerchief from her pocket. Worse\nstill, a crucifix had been discovered under her pillow! Here were proofs\nof superstition indeed, of rank idolatry in unmistakable form, and no one\nknows to what unimaginable extent! Then it began to be whispered around\nthe admiring and compassionate circle that she had not only taken the\nfirst step on the downward road, but was even now contemplating the still\nmore fatal and final one of religious immolation!\n\nIt was their apprehension of this direful result which imparted a new and\nmelancholy interest in their eyes to all her words and actions. Though she\nmaintained a modest reserve upon the subjects dearest to her heart, they\nthought they could discover some mysterious connection with these in every\nexpression she uttered.\n\nOn several occasions, the most adventurous of her companions endeavored to\npenetrate the silence that sealed her lips in regard to her religious\nconvictions, by direct questions, and, when these failed, by ridicule of\nsuch \u201cabsurd superstitions\u201d; but to no purpose. Her nearest approach to\nany satisfactory remark was in reply to one of these questions: \u201cIt is\nimpossible to convey any clear idea to your mind, in its present state,\nconcerning these matters. Your opinions are founded upon prejudice, and\nyour prejudices are the result of your entire ignorance in relation to\nthem. If you really desire to be better informed, you need, first of all,\nto pray with humility for light and guidance, and then seek for knowledge.\nIf you do this with sincerity, you will surely be instructed, and \u2018know of\nthe doctrine\u2019; but, if you refuse to take this first step, all the\nteaching in the world will be of no avail. \u2018They have Moses and the\nprophets; let them hear them. If they believe not Moses and the prophets,\nneither would they believe though one should come to them from the\ndead.\u2019 \u201d\n\nShe rebuked ridicule with such calm dignity that it was soon abandoned,\none of her assailants, a very lively young lady, remarking one day: \u201cIt is\nastonishing to see how terribly in earnest Fanny is! She certainly\nbelieves in the Catholic religion with all her heart, though how a person\nwith her extensive information and splendid talents can receive such\nabsurdities is a puzzle to common sense!\u201d\n\nBut her severe trials were in her home. Her parents were unutterably\ngrieved when she persisted in accepting the Catholic faith. This further\ndetermination to forsake those who had so fondly loved and tenderly\ncherished her, and who were so justly proud of the use she had made of the\nopportunities for improvement which their solicitude had secured for her,\nwas beyond all human endurance.\n\nIf she had been the victim of adversity or of disappointed hopes, there\nmight have been some excuse; but that the idol of doting parents should\nabandon her elegant home to the desolation in which her departure would\nenshroud it, and turn from all the advantages that wealth, position, and\nthe homage of society could offer\u2014dashing to the ground on the very\nthreshold of life the brilliant prospects which were opening before\nher\u2014was worse than madness! They complained bitterly to her of her\ningratitude and heartless disregard of their feelings and wishes; poured\nunmeasured and contemptuous reproaches upon her for stifling the modest\nwomanly instincts of her refined and delicate nature, to strike out boldly\nupon a new road hitherto untrodden by any woman of New England.\nRemonstrances, pleading, reproaches, and contempt were alike unavailing.\nListening only to the persuasions of that \u201cinvisible Lover\u201d whose voice\nhad called her to relinquish the seductive charms which surrounded her\nworldly course, she turned away from them steadfastly to follow him and\ncarry his cross up the steep and thorny paths of penance and self\u2010\nabnegation, offering herself entirely to him on the Calvary made glorious\nto her by his precious blood.\n\nNot \u201cimmediately,\u201d however, like those whom he called of old, did she\n\u201cleave the ship and her father, to follow him.\u201d Weary years of waiting and\nyearning, far from the tabernacles where her soul had chosen its home, did\nshe accord in tender regard for the feelings of those, so truly and deeply\nbeloved, who could not give her up, and who had no clue by which to trace\nthe course her spirit was taking, or power even to conjecture the motives\nthat actuated her.\n\nWhen at length the time arrived to which they had consented to limit her\nstay with them, who shall describe the pangs that rent her heart in a\nparting so full of grief; in severing these nearest and dearest ties, and\nin witnessing the anguish which overwhelmed those around whom her\ntenderest earthly affections were entwined?\n\nAlone, but full of peace, \u201cleaning on the arm of her Beloved,\u201d did she\ntread the painful path. Her parents could not accompany her to witness the\nsacrifice which prostrated their fondest hopes, nor could they ever bring\nthemselves to visit her in the sanctuary she had chosen.\n\nHer Sheldon friend did so repeatedly, and was amazed to find her radiant\nwith a joy which her countenance had never before revealed\u2014happy in the\npeaceful home that offered only poverty and an unceasing round of labors\nin the service of the sick and suffering, with a happiness which the\nsplendors of her worldly one could never impart.\n\nMultitudes of New England people visiting Montreal flocked to the convent,\nbegging to see the lovely young nun of the H\u00f4tel Dieu, who was the first\ndaughter New England had given to the sacred enclosure, and whom they\nclaimed as belonging especially to them through her connection with their\nfavorite Revolutionary hero.\n\nSo continual were these interruptions that she was driven at length to\nobtain the permission of the mother\u2010superior absolutely to decline\nappearing in answer to such calls, except when they were made by the\nfriends of former days, for whom she still preserved and cherished the\nliveliest affection.\n\nBy a singular coincidence\u2014or rather, let us say, through tender memories\nof the gentle nun long since departed from the H\u00f4tel Dieu, and the\nprevailing efficacy of her prayers\u2014a large proportion of those who were\npresent at the Christmas party at Sheldon, including the mistress of the\nfeast and many of her family, were, from time to time as years flew by,\nreceived into the bosom of the Holy Catholic Church.\n\nAnd so does our gracious and mighty Mother, \u201cever ancient, ever new,\u201d win\nher triumphs, one by one, perpetually through all the ages\u2014wins them often\nin the face, nay, even perforce, of circumstances apparently the most\ndirectly opposed to her influence; accomplishes them by means so weak and\nsimple as would seem, according to all human reasoning, utterly\ninadequate. In countries far remote from her gentle influence, one is\ncalled\u2014we hardly know how or why\u2014in this place, another in that, as if the\nwords of our divine Lord found their fulfilment even in this: \u201cTwo shall\nbe in the field: one shall be taken, and one shall be left. Two women\nshall be grinding at the mill: one shall be taken, and one shall be left.\u201d\n\nAnd every soul thus called to launch its eternal interests upon the ocean\nof infinite truth must encounter much the same appalling trials, be\nhaunted by the same startling doubts and dark forebodings. Over the sunken\nrocks of heresy and unbelief along this coast the billows break with a\nforce that affrights the stoutest heart, and many a would\u2010be voyager\nshrinks back dismayed before their power; but once pluck up heart of grace\nto pass the foaming barrier, in the mid\u2010ocean all is \u201cpeace, and joy\nunspeakable, and full of glory.\u201d\n\nWe cannot more fitly conclude this little sketch of a real event than by a\nquotation from Montalembert\u2019s closing chapter on the \u201cAnglo\u2010Saxon Nuns\u201d:\n\n\u201cIs this a dream, the page of a romance? Is it only history\u2014the history of\na past for ever ended? No; once more it is what we behold and what happens\namongst us every day.... Who, then, is this invisible Lover, dead upon a\ncross eighteen hundred years ago, who thus attracts to him youth, beauty,\nand love?\u2014who appears to them clothed with a glory and a charm which they\ncannot withstand?\u2014who seizes on the living flesh of our flesh, and drains\nthe purest blood of our blood? Is it a man? No; it is God. There lies the\nsecret, there the key of this sublime and sad mystery. God alone could win\nsuch victories and deserve such sacrifices. Jesus, whose godhead is\namongst us daily insulted or denied, proves it daily, with a thousand\nother proofs, by those miracles of self\u2010denial and self\u2010devotion which are\ncalled vocations. Young and innocent hearts give themselves to him, to\nreward him for the gift he has given us of himself; and this sacrifice by\nwhich we are crucified is but the answer of human love to the love of that\nGod who was crucified for us.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nThe House That Jack Built.\n\n\nBy The Author Of \u201cThe House Of Yorke.\u201d\n\nIn Two Parts.\n\nPART II.\n\nConcluded.\n\nLate in the afternoon, Bessie went down and leaned on the bars again,\nlooking up and down the road, looking at the tracks left by Father\nConners\u2019 carriage\u2010wheels\u2014the smooth curve of their turning; looking to see\nthe shadows creep across the road as the sun went down. The sadness of a\nlonely evening was upon her, and, though she had not lost her morning\nresolution, she had lost the joyous hopefulness with which those\nresolutions were made.\n\nAt her left, and quite near, a fringe of young cedars made a screen\nbetween the ground that belonged to her house and the farmer next to it,\nwhere her uncle Dennis had lived when John Maynard had wooed and won her.\n\nPain came with that recollection, and almost the old bitterness. \u201cI must\ngo home again, and put my resolutions in practice right away, or I shall\nlose them,\u201d she said to herself. \u201cIt won\u2019t do for me to stay here and\nbrood over my troubles. I cannot bear loneliness; and how terribly lonely\nit is here! I wish I had some one to speak to besides poor Aunt Nancy.\u201d\n\nShe started, hearing a soft, clear whistling not far away. The strain was\nfamiliar, not to this region, but to her city life. While she listened,\nthe sound ceased, or rather broke off suddenly.\n\nBessie\u2019s eyes were wide open, her face flushed. Was there more than one\nperson who could whistle so marvellously clearly and sweetly?\n\nSome one began to sing then more sweetly still, and coming nearer while he\nsang words written by the most melodious of poets:\n\n\n    \u201cHark! a lover, binding sheaves,\n      To his maiden sings;\n    Flutter, flutter go the leaves,\n      Larks drop their wings.\n    Little brooks, for all their mirth,\n      Are not blithe as he!\n    \u2018Tell me what the love is worth\n      That I give thee.\u2019\n\n    \u201cSpeech that cannot be forborne\n      Tells the story through:\n    \u2018I sowed my love in with the corn,\n      And they both grew.\n    Count the world full wide of girth,\n      And hived honey sweet;\n    But count the love of more worth\n      Laid at thy feet.\n\n    \u201c \u2018Money\u2019s worth is house and land,\n      Velvet coat and vest!\n    Work\u2019s worth is bread in hand,\n      Ay, and sweet rest.\n    Wilt thou learn what love is worth?\n      Ah! she sits above,\n    Sighing, \u2019Weigh me not with earth.\n      Love\u2019s worth is love!\u2019 \u201d\n\n\nThe singer had come yet more near, and would have been visible to her had\nnot Bessie Maynard\u2019s looks been downcast and her head drooping low. When\nthe song ended, and the step paused, she lifted her eyes, and saw James\nKeene standing before her smiling and waiting for the greeting she was so\nslow to give.\n\nSurprise, and perhaps fear, deprived Bessie for a moment of her self\u2010\npossession. \u201cWhat! you here!\u201d she exclaimed, without the least sign of\ncourtesy; and with that exclamation broke down the barrier of silence that\nhad existed between them.\n\n\u201cWhy should I not be here?\u201d he asked quietly. \u201cMay not I also have\nmemories connected with this place? It was here I recovered health, after\nan illness that nearly cost me my life. It was here I shot my first bear.\nAnd it was here I first saw you.\u201d\n\nBessie perceived at once that, if the old reserve was to be maintained,\nshe must immediately assume an air of decisive politeness. For an instant\nshe wavered. Silence may be best for those who are doubtful of themselves,\nand, not willing to commit any flagrant wrong, are still not resolved to\nbe absolutely honest. But when we are strong in the determination to be\nsincere, and to let the light of day shine not only on our actions, but on\nour inmost thoughts, then, perhaps, by speech we may most nobly and\neffectually establish our position.\n\nBessie Maynard, therefore, waited for the words which would give her an\nopportunity to put an end to the tacit and vague understanding existing\nbetween them.\n\nHe read her silence rightly; it was a command for him to speak; and he\nobeyed it, though the pale face and large, downcast lids gave little hope\nof any such answer as he might wish to receive.\n\n\u201cIn those old days, so long ago, when I came here to try what a half\u2010\nsavage life would do for me, and was astonished to find a delicate human\nflower in the wilderness, I was a prophet.\u201d\n\nHe leaned on the cedar bar that separated them, and looked dreamily off\ntoward the woods. He would not surprise in her face any involuntary\nexpression she might wish to conceal from him; he would take advantage of\nno impulse. If she came to him, she must come deliberately. For, setting\naside Christianity\u2014and he did not pretend to believe in it\u2014James Keene had\nan exceptionally honorable nature. He would gladly have taken this woman\naway from a husband who, he believed, knew not how to value her, and who\nmade her miserable by his neglect, but he held that it would be no wrong\nfor him to do so.\n\n\u201cYes, I was a prophet,\u201d he continued; \u201cfor I believed then, what I am sure\nof now, that your marriage was a most unwise one. Give me credit, Bessie,\nfor having been sincerely pained to see that, as years passed away, you\nhad reason to come to the same conclusion. Whatever selfish wishes I may\nhave had, I would at any time have renounced them could I have seen you\nhappy with the man you chose to marry, knowing no other.\u201d\n\nBessie lifted her eyes, and looked at him with a steady, tearful gaze.\n\u201cPeople might say that you are wicked to speak so to me,\u201d she said; \u201cbut I\nthink that, according to your belief, you are very good; only you have no\nfaith in religion. I esteem you so highly that I am going to make a\nconfession which, perhaps, you may think I ought not to make. There have\nbeen times during these last few years when, if I had not had some little\nlingering faith, I would have welcomed from you an affection which I have\nno right to receive. There have been times when you might have spoken as\nlovingly as you could, and I should not have been angry. I tell you this\npartly because you must have at least suspected that it was so. And more\nthan this. If I had seen you here a few days ago, my impulse would have\nbeen to welcome you more ardently than I ever yet welcomed any friend. You\ncan understand how it all has been, without my explaining. I was so\nlonely, so neglected! I was so lonely!\u201d\n\nShe had spoken with a sad earnestness, and there was something touchingly\nhumble yet dignified in her manner; but, at the last words, her voice\ntrembled and failed.\n\nHe was looking at her now. Excitement and suspense showed in the sparkling\nof his clear blue eyes, in the slight flush that colored his usually pale\nface, in the lips firmly compressed.\n\n\u201cAll is changed now,\u201d she went on. \u201cI have been recalled to my religion,\nto my duty. I do not think that you should any more show me that sympathy\nwhich you have shown, and I do not think that you should see me\nfrequently. I thank you for your kindness toward me. It has often been a\ncomfort. But I am a wife\u201d\u2014she lifted herself with a stately gesture, and\nfor the first time a wave of proud color swept over her face\u2014\u201cand the\nsadness which my husband may cause me no other man may ever again soothe.\u201d\n\nThere was silence for a moment. The gentleman\u2019s face had grown pale. There\nwas a boundless tenderness in his heart for this fair and sorrowful woman,\nand he was about to lose the power to offer her even the slightest\ncomfort, while at the same time he must still retain the knowledge of her\nsuffering.\n\n\u201cI shall respect your wish and your decision,\u201d he said, with emotion.\n\u201cForgive me if I have trespassed too much in the past. It seemed to me\nvery little; for, Bessie, if I had not known that you had a religious\nfeeling which would have held you back, or would have made you miserable\nin yielding, I should long ago have held out my hand to you, and asked you\nto come to me. If I had felt sure of being able to convince you beyond the\npossibility of subsequent regret, I should not have kept silence so long.\nBut I respect your conscience. I should esteem myself a criminal if I\ncould ask you to do what you believe to be wrong.\u201d\n\nBessie Maynard\u2019s face was covered with a blush of shame. Her thought had\nnever gone consciously beyond the length of tender, brotherly kindness,\nand it was cruelly humiliating to see in its true light the position in\nwhich she had really stood. At that moment, too, she first perceived what\na gulf lay between her soul and that of the man who had seemed always so\ndangerously harmonious with her. In principle, in all that firmly\nunderlies the changeful tide of feeling, they were antagonistic; for he\ncould speak calmly and with dignity of a possibility from which she shrank\nwith a protesting tremor in every fibre of her being.\n\n\u201cI am going back to my husband,\u201d she said, \u201cand I shall never again forget\nthat his honor and dignity are mine. I have been weak and childish, and\nmore wicked than I knew or meant, and it all came because I loved my\nhusband too much and God too little. But I trust\u201d\u2014she clasped her hands,\nand lifted her eyes\u2014\u201cI trust that I shall have strength to begin now a new\nlife, and correct the mistakes of the past.\u201d\n\nShe forgot for a moment that she was not alone, and stood looking away, as\nif there stretched before her gaze the new and loftier pathway in which\nshe was to tread. Her companion gazed at her unchecked, with searching,\nmelancholy eyes, not more because she was dearer to him in her impregnable\nfortress of Christian will than she ever had been in her human weakness,\nthan because there rose from the depths of his restless soul a cry of\nlonging for that firm foundation and trust which can hold a man in the\nplace where conscience sets him, no matter how the tempests of passion may\nbeat upon his trembling heart.\n\n\u201cThere is, then, nothing left me but to say farewell.\u201d\n\nThe poignant regret his voice betrayed recalled her attention.\n\n\u201cIt has come to that,\u201d she said gently. \u201cBut if you could know all I mean\nin saying farewell to you, it would not seem an idle word; for I hope and\npray that you may fare so well as to come before long into the church. It\nis a refuge from every danger and every trouble, and I have only just\nfound it out! Good\u2010by.\u201d\n\nShe gave him her hand, and they separated without another word. But Bessie\ndid not stop to look after this visitor. Whatever regret she might\notherwise have felt was swallowed up in the one thought\u2014it had seemed to\nhim possible that she might leave, not only her husband, but her sacred,\nsainted babes, and go to him! To what a depth had she fallen!\n\nWhen she had disappeared in the house, he strolled slowly down the road.\nUnless you had looked in his face, you would have taken him for a man who\nwas calmly enjoying the contemplation of nature in that forest solitude.\nBut from his face looked forth a spirit weary and hopeless that hastened\nnot, because it beheld nowhere a place worth making haste to reach. Once\nonly the gloom of his countenance lifted, and then it was with no cheering\nbrightness, but as the cloud is momentarily illuminated by angry\nlightning.\n\nA man was coming up the road, not such a man as one usually sees in these\nwild places, but one who bore the marks of city training and habits. The\nuniform gray clothing, the wide Panama hat, even the unobtrusive necktie,\nbelonged to the city. This man was taller and broader\u2010shouldered than he\nwhose eyes flashed out so scornfully at sight of him. His face was dark,\nvivid, and clean\u2010shaven, the forehead was wide, the dark\u2010brown hair\nclosely cut, the gray eyes clear and penetrating. It was a face fitter to\ncarve in stone than to paint, for its color and expression were less\nnoticeable than its fine, strong outlines.\n\nYet now there shone a soft and eager light over that granite strength.\nThere was a look of glad surprise, mingled with a certain amused self\u2010\nchiding, as though of one who comes back from a long and gloomy\nabstraction, and finds a half\u2010forgotten delight still waiting at his side.\n\nAt sight of this man, James Keene\u2019s first emotion had been one of anger,\nhis first impulse to meet him boldly and with scorn. But scarcely had he\ntaken one quickened step before he stopped, with a revulsion of feeling as\nunsuspected as it was confounding. Reason as he might, emancipate himself\nas he might from what he considered the superstitions of religion, he\nfound himself now overwhelmed with confusion. He strove to call up to his\nmind all those arguments on which he had founded himself, but they fell\ndead. Whether it was the instinct of a noble heart that would not betray\neven an enemy, or an irradicable root of that religious faith which had\nbeen implanted in his childhood, or the strangeness of one who for the\nfirst time acts on principles long maintained in theory, or only a\nsensitive perception of the esteem in which the faithful world would hold\nhis action, he could not have told. He only knew that, instead of\nstanding, lofty and serene, in the dawn of this new light before which\nsuperstition and oppression were to pass away, he felt as if he were\nsurrounded by a baleful glare from the nether fires. Sudden and scathing,\nit caught him, and burned his courage out like chaff.\n\nIn his eagerness and preoccupation, John Maynard had scarcely observed the\nperson who approached; and, when the stranger turned aside into a wood\u2010\npath, he gave him no further thought.\n\nThere was the little crooked house squinting at him out of its two\nwindows, with the boards he had nailed, the chimney he had built, the door\nhe had hung; there was the whole wild, rude place, with everything askew,\nthat had once seemed a paradise\u2014that had been a paradise\u2014to him. With his\nhands and eyes educated, as they were now, to the utmost precision of\noutline and balance, the sight made him laugh out; and yet the laugh\nexpressed as much pleasure as mockery.\n\nHe was taking his first holiday since he had left this house, and\neverything was delightfully fresh and novel yet familiar to him. He did\nnot see the beauty that a poet or a painter would have found in that\nunpruned rusticity, for he was an artist of the exact; but the wabbly\nframe\u2010house, the reeling fences, the road that wound irregularly, the\nstraggling trees that leaned away from the northwest, made a good\nbackground against which to contemplate the trim and shining creatures of\nhis hands, regular to a hair\u2019s breadth, unvarying and direct.\n\nComing to the bars, he threw himself over instead of letting them down,\nand found that he had grown heavier and less lithe than he was when last\nhe performed that feat. He walked up the rocky path, his heart beating\nfast as he thought of the old time, and of the slim, bright\u2010faced girl he\nhad brought there as a bride. If she could stand in the doorway now, as\nshe was then, and smile at him coming home, he felt that he could be the\nold lover again. He had a vague idea that Bessie had grown older, and\nsober, and pale. Come to think of it, he hadn\u2019t known much of her lately,\nand she had been dissatisfied about something. Why had she allowed him to\nget his eyes and ears so full of machinery? Surely he had lost and\noverlooked much. He had a mind to complain of her, only that he felt so\ngood\u2010natured.\n\nAt sound of a step, Aunt Nancy went to the door; but at that sound Bessie\ntook her sewing, and bent over it. Had James Keene repented their hasty\nparting?\n\n\u201cDoes Miss Bessie Ware live here?\u201d asked the gentleman, with immense\ndignity.\n\n\u201cBessie Ware?\u201d repeated Aunt Nancy, in bewilderment; then, as the\nrecollection of Bessie\u2019s confessions flashed into her mind, she stiffened\nherself up, and answered severely: \u201cNo, sir, she does not!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe idea of his refusing to give her her husband\u2019s name!\u201d she thought\nindignantly.\n\n\u201cWhy, John!\u201d exclaimed Bessie, over the old lady\u2019s shoulder.\n\nAunt Nancy gave a cry of delight. She would at any time have welcomed John\nrapturously; but his coming now made her twice glad. Of course he and\nBessie would make it all up.\n\nThe exuberance of her welcome covered, at first, the wife\u2019s deficiency.\nBut when the excitement was over, and they had gone into the house,\nBessie\u2019s coldness and embarrassment became evident.\n\n\u201cI am very much surprised to see you here,\u201d she said, when her husband\nlooked at her. She did not pretend to be glad.\n\n\u201cAre you sorry?\u201d he asked, with a laugh.\n\n\u201cI am too much astonished to be anything else,\u201d she replied quietly. \u201cWhat\nmade you come?\u201d\n\nJohn Maynard was disappointed and mortified. That for years he had met his\nwife\u2019s affectionate advances as coldly he did not seem aware. Other things\nhad occupied his thoughts. He did not recollect, as he had not noticed at\nthe time, that her manner was now just what it had long been.\n\nSupper was over, eaten in an absent way by the husband, who glanced every\nmoment at his wife. He found her very lovely, though different enough from\nthe glad, girlish bride who had once brightened this humble room for him.\nHe could not understand her. Had she no recollection of those days?\n\nShe did not seem to have, indeed, for she made no reference to them by\nlook nor speech, but talked rapidly, and with an air of constraint, of\nthings nearer in time, and listened with affected interest while he told\nthe latest city news, and the latest news of his own work; how high the\nengine spouted; of the tiny model locomotive he had built, all silver, and\ngold, and fine steel; of the money he expected to make by his new patent;\nof an accident that had happened in his shop\u2014a German organist, with two\nor three others, had come to look at his machinery, and got his hand\ncrushed in it, which would put a stop to his playing.\n\nBessie looked up with an expression of pain. \u201cPoor man!\u201d she murmured.\n\u201cHow miserable he must be!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; I was sorry for him,\u201d the husband replied. \u201cThey say he cared for\nnothing but music. His name is Verheyden.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor man!\u201d Bessie sighed again, looking down. \u201cThose machines are always\nhurting some one.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was his own fault,\u201d the machinist said hastily. \u201cDid he suppose that\nthe engine was going to stop when he put his forefinger on it? Why, that\nmachine would grind up an elephant, and never mismake its face. But it is\nthe first time any one was ever hurt by a machine of mine.\u201d\n\nHe did not understand the glance she gave him. It was not pleasant, but\nwhat it meant he knew not. She was thinking: \u201cIt is not the first time one\nhas been hurt so.\u201d\n\nAunt Nancy found business elsewhere, and left the couple to themselves.\n\n\u201cI forgot you were coming away that day, Bessie,\u201d her husband said\nhastily, the moment they were alone. \u201cI never thought of it till I was\nfive miles off, and then I concluded that you must have changed your mind,\nor you would have told me not to go.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know I never tell you not to go anywhere,\u201d she replied coldly.\n\nHe colored. \u201cBut you know that I didn\u2019t mean to have you go to the depot\nalone. When I read what you wrote to Jamie, I felt sorry enough.\u201d\n\nIn all the long years that were past, how generously would she have met an\napology like this! How quickly would she have disclaimed all sense of\ninjury, and even have tried to find some fault in herself! But now her\nheart, with all its impulses, seemed frozen. She only gave him a glance of\nsurprise, and a quiet word. \u201cThere was no need of company, I knew the\nway.\u201d\n\nThere was silence. Gradually, through the deep unconsciousness and\nabstraction of the man, came out incident after incident of their late\nlife, slight, but significant. Each had seemed a detached trifle at the\ntime, but now as he sat there, abashed and ill at ease, they began to show\na connection and to grow in importance. It was as when, in a thick fog,\nthe sailor sees dimly a black speck that may be only a floating stick, and\nanother, and another, till, looking sharply, as the mist grows thinner, he\nfinds himself caught among rocks at low tide.\n\nJohn Maynard tried to throw off with a laugh the weight that oppressed\nhim. \u201cCome, Bessie, let the late past go, and remember only the life we\nlived here. Let\u2019s be young people again.\u201d\n\nHe went to her side, bent down, and would have kissed her, had she not\nevaded his touch, not shyly, but with a crimson blush and a quick flash of\nthe eyes.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t talk nonsense, John!\u201d she said, in a low voice that did not hide a\nhaughty aversion. \u201cLet us speak of something sensible. I have been\nthinking that some of our ways should be changed at home. I shall begin\nwith myself, and attend strictly to my religion. Besides, I am not doing\nrightly in allowing James to grow up without any discipline, and I think\nhe should be placed in a Catholic school, where he will be taught his\nduty. He is quite beyond my control.\u201d\n\nHer morbid humility and diffidence were gone. The feeling that had made\nher give up all rights rather than ask for them did not outlive the moment\nof her reconciliation with the church.\n\n\u201cI am willing he should go to any school you choose,\u201d her husband replied\ngravely, impressed by the change. \u201cI suppose the boy is going on rather\ntoo much as he likes. Do whatever you think best about it, and I will see\nthat he obeys.\u201d\n\nShe thanked him gently, and continued: \u201cI shall go to High Mass after\nthis, and I should be glad to have you go with me, if you are willing. It\nwould be a better example for James than to see you go to the shop on\nSundays. He is becoming quite lawless. We have no right to give our\nchildren a bad example. I would be glad to have you go with me, if you\nwill.\u201d\n\nJohn Maynard\u2019s face was glowing red. He felt, gently as she spoke, as if\nhe were having the law read to him. \u201cI am willing to go with you, Bessie,\u201d\nhe said. \u201cI am not a Catholic, but I am not anything else.\u201d\n\nShe thanked him again, earnestly this time, for it was a favor he had\ngranted her, and she knew that he would keep his word. \u201cYou are good to\npromise that,\u201d she said.\n\nHe laughed uneasily. \u201cHave you anything else to ask?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not think of anything,\u201d she replied, and there was silence.\n\nThe husband got up, and went to the door. The sun was sinking down the\nwest. He looked at the glow it made, and remembered how he had seen it\nthere in the days that were past, how quiet and peaceful his life had\nbeen, how much happier, had he but known it, than in the turmoil of later\nyears. Then the days had been full of healthful employment, the nights of\nrest and refreshment, untroubled by the feverish dreams that now swarmed\nin his sleeping hours. And what was it that had made his life so happy?\nWhat had been the motive, the delight of everything? Nothing but Bessie,\nalways Bessie, his help and his reward.\n\nHe turned his face, and saw her still sitting there, her head drooping,\nher hands folded in her lap. Those hands caught his glance. They were pale\nand thin. They looked as though she had suffered.\n\nHe went to her impulsively as his heart stirred, and put his arm about her\nshoulder. \u201cBessie, forget the last years, and let\u2019s be as we were in the\nhappy old time.\u201d\n\nShe did not look angry; but she withdrew herself gently from him.\n\n\u201cJohn,\u201d she said, \u201cthat is too much to expect at once. Years of pain\ncannot be forgotten in a moment. When you came to\u2010day, you asked if Bessie\nWare lived here. She does not. The Bessie Ware you married is dead. I\nscarcely know yet who or what I am. I only know that I shall try to do my\nduty by you, and repair some of the faults and mistakes of the past. But,\nJohn, I must warn you that it is harder to reconcile an estranged wife\nthan to win a bride.\u201d\n\nOne piercing glance, angry and disappointed, shot from his eyes; then he\nwent to the outer door. He stood a moment on the threshold, then stepped\non to the greensward. Another pause, and he walked slowly back through the\ngarden, seeming not to know whither he went.\n\nAunt Nancy, anxiously awaiting signs of reconciliation, saw him wander\nabout aimlessly, then go and lean on a fence next the woods, his back to\nthe house.\n\nShe went into the front room at once. She was on John\u2019s side now.\n\n\u201cBessie,\u201d she said decidedly, \u201cyou mustn\u2019t stand too much on your dignity\nwith John. Men are stupid creatures, and do a good many hard things\nwithout meaning or knowing; and, if they come round, it isn\u2019t wise to keep\nthem waiting too long for a kind word.\u201d\n\nBessie Maynard laid down the work she was pretending to do, and her hands\ntrembled. \u201cI am not acting a part, Aunt Nancy,\u201d she said, \u201cand I cannot be\na hypocrite. I feel cold toward John. And I feel displeased when he comes\nand kisses me, as if he were conferring a favor, and expects me to be\nhappy for that. I could not give up if I would, I ought not if I could.\nThere is something more required than a little sweet talk.\u201d\n\nA half hour passed, and still John Maynard stood motionless, with his\nelbows leaning on the fence, and his head bowed. If Bessie had seen his\nface, it would have reminded her of the time when he first studied\nmechanics, and became so absorbed in the one subject as to be dead to all\nelse. But there was the difference that he studied then with a vivid\ninterest, and now with gloomy intentness.\n\nAn hour passed, and still he stood there; and the sun was down, and the\nmoon beginning to show its pearly light through the fading richness of the\ngloaming. The birds had ceased singing, and there was no voice of wild\ncreatures in the woods. It was the hour for prayer and peace\u2010making.\n\nJohn Maynard started from his abstraction, hearing his name spoken by some\none. \u201cJohn!\u201d said Bessie. She had been watching him for some time from the\ndoor, and had approached slowly, step by step, unheard by him.\n\nHe turned toward her a pale, unsmiling face. \u201cHow late it is!\u201d he said. \u201cI\nmust make haste.\u201d\n\nShe spoke hesitatingly, something doubtful and wistful in her face. \u201cI\nhave been thinking that I might have received you better, when you came on\nthis long journey. Won\u2019t you come in now and rest? I didn\u2019t mean to turn\nyou out of the house that you made\u2014for me.\u201d\n\nHe turned his eyes away. \u201cAnd I\u2019ve been thinking, Bessie, that I\u2019d better\ngo right back again; I can go down to the post\u2010office to\u2010night, and take\nthe stage to\u2010morrow morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will not go!\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cI should only spoil your visit,\u201d he went on. \u201cI don\u2019t want you to begin\nto \u2018do your duty\u2019 by me just now. I know, Bessie, that you had a good deal\nto complain of; but I swear to you that I did not mean to be hard. You\nknow I had twenty\u2010five years to make up; and I was always looking for\nbetter times. I was so blind that I was fool enough to think you would be\nglad to see me here, and that we could begin over again where we began\nfirst.\u201d\n\nShe did not answer a word. There is something confounding in the sudden\nhumiliation of a man who has always been almost contemptuously dominant.\n\nHe looked at his watch. \u201cI must make haste, or they will be in bed,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cMake some sort of an excuse to Aunt Nancy for me. And when you want\nto come back, let me know, and I will meet you at the depot or come after\nyou.\u201d\n\nHe started, and she walked beside him down the path to the road. He seemed\nhardly able to hold his head up.\n\nShe walked nearer, and slipped her hand in his arm, speaking softly: \u201cI\nsaid a little while ago that the pain of years cannot be forgotten in a\nmoment. But I was wrong. I think it may.\u201d\n\nHe looked at her quickly, but said nothing, and they reached the bars.\nNeither made any motion to let down the pole. They leaned on it a minute\nin silence.\n\n\u201cThe fact is, Bessie,\u201d the husband burst forth, \u201cI\u2019ve been like a man\npossessed by an evil spirit. I\u2019m sorry, and that is all I can say.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo matter, Jack! Let it all go!\u201d his wife exclaimed, clasping her hands\non his arm, and holding it close to him. \u201cYou weren\u2019t to blame!\u201d (Oh!\nwonderful feminine consistency!) \u201cLet\u2019s forget everything unpleasant, and\nremember only the good. How you have had to work and study, poor, dear\nJack! You must rest now, and never get into the old drudging way again.\u201d\n\nAunt Nancy raked up the fire, and put down the window, looking out now and\nthen at the couple who leaned on the bar below. Each time she looked,\ntheir forms were less distinct in the twilight. \u201cThat\u2019s just the way they\nused to do fifteen years ago,\u201d she muttered contentedly.\n\nShe sat a few minutes waiting, but they did not come in. Aunt Nancy sighed\nand laughed too. \u201cIt beats all how women do change their minds,\u201d she said.\n\u201cI did think that Bessie would hold out longer. Well, I may as well go to\nbed.\u201d\n\nBy\u2010and\u2010by she heard them come into the kitchen.\n\n\u201cNow, I shut the doors and windows, and you rake up the fire,\u201d Bessie\nsaid. \u201cDo you remember it was always so, Jack?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course I do, little one,\u201d was the answer. \u201cBut Aunt Nancy has got the\nstart of us to\u2010night.\u201d\n\n\u201cAunt Nancy!\u201d repeated Bessie, in a lower voice. \u201cI declare, Jack, I\nforgot all about her.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll warrant you did!\u201d says Aunt Nancy to herself, rather grimly,\nperhaps.\n\n\u201cWe will be sure to keep all our good resolutions, won\u2019t we?\u201d Bessie said.\n\n\u201cAll right!\u201d says John.\n\nThe door shut softly behind them, and there were silence, and peace, and\nhope in the house that Jack built.\n\n\n\n\nA Retrospect.\n\n\nConcluded.\n\nNothing of interest presented itself during the reign of Philip the Bold,\nexcept the council held there in 1278. In 1383, the unfortunate Charles\nVI., wearied with state troubles that he was so ill fitted to cope with,\nfled in despair from the Louvre to Compi\u00e8gne. But he was not to find peace\nhere more than in the busy turmoil of the city. Soon after his arrival he\nwas attacked with insanity; at first it was considered of no moment, the\nnatural consequence of a violent reaction or a weak and nervous\ntemperament; great pains were taken to conceal the fact from the public,\nbut after a time the symptoms became alarming, and it was impossible to\nkeep the secret. After the festivities which followed his ill\u2010starred\nmarriage with Isabeau de Bavi\u00e8re, the disease broke through all bounds;\neverything seemed to conspire to exasperate it: the assassination of\nClisson by the Baron de Craon, the apparition of the phantom in the forest\nthat seized the king\u2019s bridle and uttered the mysterious message as it\ndisappeared, the bal masqu\u00e9 when the Duke of Orleans inadvertently set\nfire to the king\u2019s Indian costume\u2014a skin smeared with a tarry substance\nand stuck all over with feathers\u2014all these shocks, coming at short\nintervals, irritated the disordered imagination to fury, and the attacks\nbecame frequent and ungovernable. The king\u2019s illness was imputed by\npopular superstition to the malefices of Valentina of Milan, Duchess of\nOrleans, who, if she lacked the power, no doubt had strong motives for\nevoking the powers of darkness to destroy the king\u2019s reason, and thereby\nhis authority. The demon which had taken possession of Charles\u2019 brain does\nnot seem to have invaded his heart or changed the natural goodness of his\ndisposition. He was removed from Compi\u00e8gne in one of his fits of madness,\nand when some years later he re\u2010entered it, it was by force of arms; the\nBourguignons held the place. Charles laid siege to it; after a desperate\nresistance it surrendered, and he entered in triumph; nothing however\ncould induce him to punish the rebels, he said there was blood enough upon\nthe ground, and he would take no vengeance on his subjects except by\nforgiving them. Compi\u00e8gne was soon to be the theatre of a more momentous\nstruggle than these rough skirmishes between Charles and his people.\nShortly after the mock peace signed there by Bedford, it was attacked by\nthe Duc de Bourgogne and the English with Montgomery at their head. Jeanne\nd\u2019Arc on hearing of it evinced great sorrow and alarm, but she flew at\nonce to the rescue, and appeared suddenly in the midst of the king\u2019s\ntroops, with the oriflamme of S. Denis in one hand, and her \u201cgood sword of\nliege\u201d in the other. The sight of her whom they looked upon as the angel\nof victory raised the drooping spirits of the soldiers and filled them\nwith new ardor; they raised a cry of victory the moment they beheld\nJeanne. Enguerrand de Monstrelet, who was an eye\u2010witness of the siege,\ndescribes her attitude and the conduct of the troops throughout as\n\u201cpassing all heroism ever before seen in battle.\u201d But, alas! the star of\nthe maid of Orleans was destined to set in darkness at the hour of its\ngreatest splendor; her own prediction, so often repeated to Charles and\nthose around him, \u201cUn homme me vendra\u201d (A man will betray me), was about\nto be fulfilled. On the 24th of May, 1429, there was a formidable\nengagement between the two armies. Jeanne, at the head of hers, performed\nprodigies of valor; after a brilliant sortie in which the enemy were\nrepulsed, she was re\u2010entering the town by the Boulevard du Pont, and had\nalmost reached the barrier through which hundreds of her own victorious\nsoldiers had already passed, when, lo! the gates swing forward on their\nhinges, and are closed against her! The maiden\u2019s cry of despair as she\nraised her sword and stretched both arms towards the gates was echoed by a\nyell of fiendish joy from the enemy; in an instant she was surrounded,\ndisarmed, and taken captive by Montgomery. Guillaume de Flavy, governor of\nCompi\u00e8gne, was accused of having committed this act of treachery, bribed\nby Jean de Luxembourg. If the accusation be true, and it has never been\nseriously challenged, the traitor\u2019s punishment was as fitting as it was\nmerited; he was immediately destituted of his office and revenues by the\nConn\u00e9table de Richemont, and driven to hide his base head in private life,\nwhere the Nemesis who was to avenge Jeanne d\u2019Arc awaited him in the shape\nof his wife; she was jealous of her husband, who, it would seem, fully\njustified the fact; after leading him a miserable life and failing to\nconvert him by slow torture from his evil ways, she bribed the barber to\ncut his throat one morning while shaving him, and finished the operation\nherself by smothering him under a pillow. For many years de Flavy\u2019s effigy\nwas burnt regularly at Compi\u00e8gne on the 24th of May.\n\nLouis XI. was liberated from the English, and came to Compi\u00e8gne time\nenough to embitter the last days of his father, Charles VIII., who let\nhimself die of hunger there from terror of being poisoned by his son.\nComines says that his dutiful son and most amiable of men was so irritated\nby his courtiers for mocking \u201chis boorish manners, his uncouth dress, and\nhis taste for low folk,\u201d that to spite them he published an edict\nforbidding them to hunt or touch the game in the forest of Compi\u00e8gne, a\nprohibition against all precedent, nor did he ever invite them to join him\nthere in the chase. But the pretty palace open to the four winds of heaven\nsoon grew distasteful to him, and he forsook it for the more congenial\nretreat of Plessis\u2010les\u2010Tours, where, surrounded by spies and quacks and a\nmoat filled with vipers and venomous snakes, he ended in terror and\nsuffering a life which presents a strange mixture of shrewdness and\ncredulity, bonhomie and ferocity, impiety and the grossest superstition.\n\nFrancis I. took kindly to Compi\u00e8gne, which had been deserted by his two\npredecessors. His first act on coming there, as king, was to do public\nhomage to the Holy Shroud. Louis, Cardinal de Bourbon, grand\u2010uncle to the\nking, and abbot of S. Corneille, exposed it to the veneration of the king\nand the people amidst great ceremony and prayer of thanksgiving. \u201cHe took\nthe holy relic, and laid it on the grand altar with sentiments of great\ndevotion and tenderness, which he expressed by abundant tears.\u201d Francis\nadded to the shrine \u201ctwenty\u2010two rose\u2010buds of pure gold, enriched with\nprecious stones and pearls, and attached to twenty _fleurs\u2010de\u2010lys_ of\ngold,\u201d says Cambry, in his _D\u00e9scription de l\u2019Oise_. There is also a letter\nof Francis\u2019 giving a na\u00efve account of the ceremony, quoted at length in\nthe _Histoire du Saint Suaire de Compi\u00e8gne_. Francis passes from the\nscene, and we see \u201cthe noble burgesses of Compi\u00e8gne,\u201d as he was fond\nhimself of calling them, making great stir to receive his successor, Henri\nII., on his return from Rheims. Two years more, and there is the same\nmerry hubbub, and the town is in gala dress to welcome Catherine de\nMedicis on her marriage. This abnormal type of a woman fell ill not long\nafter her arrival, and vowed that if she recovered she would send a\npilgrim to Jerusalem to give thanks for her; he was to start from\nCompi\u00e8gne, and perform the journey all the way on foot, making for every\nthree steps forward one step backward. Cambry says the vicarious\npilgrimage was \u201cfaithfully executed according to the queen\u2019s vow.\u201d\n\nCharles IX. was only a flying visitor at Compi\u00e8gne. An odd story is told\nby D. Carlier and others as occurring there during his time. A man was\ndiscovered in the forest who had been brought up by the wolves, and taken\nso completely to their way of life that he had nearly turned into a wolf\nhimself. \u201cHe was hairy like a wolf, howled, outran the hounds at the hunt,\nwalked on all fours, strangled dogs, tore and devoured them.\u201d For a time\nhe made sport for the people, who hunted him like other game, but having\nshown a propensity to deal with men as he did with dogs, they laid a trap\nfor him, chained him, and took him before the king. Charles, more humane\nthan the noble burgesses, refused to have him killed, but ordered him to\nbe shorn and confined in a monastery. \u201cWhat reflections,\u201d na\u00efvely exclaims\nD. Carlier, \u201cdoes not this incident suggest on the danger of bad example,\nand the pernicious effects of evil society!\u201d It would be interesting to\nhear how the novice behaved himself in his new position, whether he\ndeveloped any latent dispositions for the mystic life, and quite left\nbehind him the habits of his early education which had corrupted his good\nmanners; but of this D. Carlier says nothing.\n\nHenri III., who lived at St. Cloud making omelets, expressed a wish to be\nburied near the Holy Shroud at Compi\u00e8gne, in the church of S. Corneille;\nand as soon as Henri IV. became master of his \u201cgood town of Paris\u201d he\nfaithfully carried out this wish. Owing, however, to the dilapidated state\nof the finances, he could not do so with the proper ceremonial. \u201cIt was\npitiful,\u201d says Cheverny, in his _Memoirs_, \u201cto see the greatest king of\nthe earth in a _chapelle ardente_ with only one lamp, one chaplain\nbelonging to the late king, named La Cesnaye, and a few shabby _\u00e9cus_ to\nkeep up a shabby service.\u201d Instead of being removed to S. Denis after a\ntemporary rest near the Holy Shroud, the body remained on in the vaults of\nS. Corneille, on account of a prophecy which said that Henri IV. would be\nburied eight days after Henri III.; a prediction which was actually\naccomplished, \u201cthough not,\u201d says Bajin, \u201cin a manner apprehended by the\nking\u201d. When Henri IV. fell by the hand of Ravaillac, the Due d\u2019Epernon\nadvised Marie de Medicis to have the obsequies of the late king performed\nbefore those of her husband. Henri IV. was therefore kept waiting till his\npredecessor\u2019s grave was filled. The first ceremony was performed quietly,\nalmost in secret; and then the \u201cgood B\u00e9arnias\u201d was taken to S. Denis, all\nFrance weeping and refusing to be comforted.\n\nLouis XIII. was attracted to Compi\u00e8gne solely by the pleasures of the\nchase. We see him watching the meet from a window giving on the Cour\nd\u2019honneur, and whispering to the Mar\u00e9chal de Praslin, \u201cYou see that man\ndown there? He wants to be one of my council, but I cannot make up my mind\nto name him.\u201d \u201cThat man\u201d was Richelieu. The words were repeated to Marie\nde Medicis, as all her son\u2019s words seem to have been, and she, counting on\nthe prelate\u2019s influence in supporting her against the king and her other\nenemies, vowed that he should be named, and so he was. A few days later we\nsee Louis, equipped in his hunting costume, stride into the room of the\nqueen\u2010mother, and proclaim in a boistering manner, meant to vindicate the\nindependence of his choice, that he \u201chad named the Bishop of Lu\u00e7on member\nof his council as secretary of state.\u201d Marie de Medicis looks coolly\nsurprised, and bows her approval. By\u2010and\u2010by we have the Earl of Carlisle\nand Lord Holland presenting themselves at Compi\u00e8gne to solicit the hand of\nHenriette of France for the Prince of Wales. They are received with every\nmark of cordial good\u2010will on the part of Louis and entertained with great\nsplendor; but Richelieu looked askance on their mission; it was his way to\nbegin always by mistrusting an offer, whether it came from friend or foe;\nin this case his piety was alarmed for Henriette\u2019s faith, and he suspected\nEngland of some sinister design in seeking alliance with France. Louis,\nhowever, overruled his fears and scruples, and the minister contented\nhimself with taking extraordinary precautions to ensure to the princess by\ncontract the free exercise of her religion, stipulating that she should\nhave in all her chateaux a chapel \u201clarge enough to hold as many people as\nshe pleased.\u201d The marriage was celebrated by proxy at Notre Dame,\nBuckingham representing the Prince of Wales, and from thence the court\nescorted the bridal party on their way as far as Compi\u00e8gne. Louis XIII.,\nthough he made but short sojourns at the palace, kept up close and\nfriendly intercourse with the inhabitants, writing to them himself when\nany important event took place. He announced to them, for instance, the\nsiege of Rochelle, the war with the Spaniards, the peace with England, and\nmany other events in which the honor and safety of the state were\ninterested.\n\nLouis XIV. was only eight years old when he paid his first visit to\nCompi\u00e8gne, accompanied by his little brother the Duc d\u2019Anjou and the Queen\nRegent; they were obliged to seek hospitality from the monks of S.\nCorneille, because the Carmelite nuns were at the palace, which had been\nlent to them while their monastery was being repaired, and Anne of Austria\nwould neither intrude upon them nor suffer them to be disturbed. What a\ncheckered space intervenes between this first appearance of the _grand\nmonarque_ at Compi\u00e8gne and his last, when we see him passing the troops in\nreview for the amusement of Madame de Maintenon! He stands uncovered\nbeside her _chaise \u00e0 porteurs_ and stoops down to explain the various\nevolutions, while she raises three fingers of the glass to catch the\nexplanation without letting in the cold; the Duchesse de Bourgogne and the\nPrincesse de Conti, and all the train of princes and princesses, are\ngrouped round the poles of the Widow Scarron\u2019s chair, listening\nrespectfully while the king speaks; but he addresses none of them.\n\nLouis XV. made his entry into Compi\u00e8gne preceded by a troop of falconers\nwith birds on their wrists, and accompanied by cannon and music of fife\nand drum, and every demonstration of popular joy. He was just eighteen\nthen; his life was like the beginning of a stream, bright and clear to its\ndepths; soon it was to grow troubled, darkening and darkening as it\nreached its middle course, till at last the waters ceased to flow and\nthere was nothing but a loathsome swamp. Compi\u00e8gne was associated with the\nbrightest and happiest incidents of his life. In 1744, after he had\ncommanded the army with the Mar\u00e9chal de Saxe, taken Ypres, Furnes, and\nMenin, and performed that series of brilliant feats of arms that raised\nhim to the rank of a demi\u2010god in the eyes of the people, Louis was\nmarching to Alsace when he was suddenly stricken down with a malignant\nfever and obliged to lay up at Metz. The news of his illness was received\nas a personal calamity all over France. Never before nor since was such a\nspectacle given to the world of a nation wrestling with its agony beside\nthe death\u2010bed of a king. The churches were filled day and night, the\npeople weeping as if every man were trembling for a wife, every woman for\na son; unable to control their grief they wept aloud, \u201cfilling the streets\nwith lamentations\u201d; public prayers were everywhere offered up; processions\nwere formed in every town and village, and a universal concert of\nsupplication was going up to the divine mercy for the life of the king.\nWhen it was known that their prayers were heard, and that he was restored\nto them from the jaws of death, the reaction was like a national frenzy.\n\u201cThe nation,\u201d says Bajin, \u201cthrilled with joy from one end to another.\u201d\nThey christened their new\u2010found prince _le bienaim\u00e9_ and henceforth he was\ncalled by no other name; he entered Paris like a conqueror bringing home\nthe spoils of half of the world; at every step his progress was impeded by\nthe people falling at his horses\u2019 feet and struggling to clasp the hand of\ntheir beloved; mothers held up their babes to kiss him, and strong men\nclung to his hands and covered them with kisses and tears. Louis, overcome\nby this great tide of love that was sweeping round him from his people\u2019s\nheart, was heard to repeat constantly while the tears streamed down his\ncheeks, \u201cO mon Dieu, qu\u2019il est doux d\u2019\u00eatre aim\u00e9 ainsi!\u201d (O my God! how\nsweet it is to be thus loved!) It was a manifestation the like of which\nhistory has never chronicled. Another not less ardent, though on a smaller\nscale, awaited the king at Compi\u00e8gne. The town, deeming itself entitled to\nmake a special family rejoicing, invited him to a _Te Deum_ to be sung in\nthe time\u2010honored abbey of S. Corneille. The king went and joined with deep\nemotion in the solemn hymn of thanksgiving. A monster bonfire was lighted\non a hill above the town, a rainbow of colored lamps, stretching over an\nenormous space, symbolized the fair promise of delight which had risen\nupon France, fountains of red and white wine flowed copiously on the great\nPlace, and a ball was given at night to which every inhabitant of the town\nwas invited, and came; gentle and simple, rich and poor, old and young,\nall welded by a common joy without distinction of class into one kindred.\nThe victor of Fontenoy responded nobly to this magnificent testimony of\nhis people\u2019s trust. Alas! that he should have outlived this glorious\nmorrow, and turned from his brave career into a slough of selfishness and\nvice to become a byword to the tongues that blessed him, and accursed of\nthe nation that had lavished such a wealth of love upon him! The title of\nBienaim\u00e9, which had been spontaneously bestowed on him by the people, and\nbeen regularly prefixed to his name in the almanac and elsewhere, became a\nbutt for squibmongers, and was applied to the king only in mockery and\nscorn. The following is a specimen:\n\n\n            \u201cLe Bien\u2010aim\u00e9 de l\u2019Almanach,\n    N\u2019est plus le Bien\u2010aim\u00e9 de France,\n    Il fait tout _ob Loc et ab Lac_.\n    Le Bien\u2010aim\u00e9 de l\u2019Almanach:\n    Il met tout dans le m\u00eame sac,\n    La justice et la finance,\n    Le bien\u2010aim\u00e9 de l\u2019Almanach\n    N\u2019est plus le bien\u2010aim\u00e9 de France,\u201d etc.(195)\n\n\nWhen Marie Antoinette came to France as the bride of the Dauphin, it was\nat Compi\u00e8gne that their first meeting took place. Louis Quinze greeted her\nwith the most paternal affection; but his great, his sole preoccupation\nwas, not how the Dauphin would like his fair young bride, or how she would\ntake to the timid and rather awkward youth who blushed to the roots of his\nhair when the king, after raising her from her knees and embracing her,\ndesired him to do the same, but how this pure young creature, who was\nentrusted to his fatherly care, would receive the Marquise du Barry. He\npresented her after all the other ladies of the court, and with a\ntrepidation of manner that he was not able to conceal; but the incident\nhad been foreseen and discussed at Vienna as well as at Compi\u00e8gne. Marie\nAntoinette, sustained by her proud but polite mother, proved equal to the\noccasion; \u201cshe showed neither _hauteur_ nor _empressement_,\u201d but met the\ndifficulty in a manner which put the king at ease, and impressed the court\nwith a high sense of her tact and discretion. Nor was this first\nimpression belied by her subsequent conduct; the Dauphine proved, on many\ntrying occasions, that her good sense and judgment were a match for the\nnobility of her spirit and the goodness of her heart; the busybodies who\nworked so diligently to embroil her in a quarrel with Madame du Barry were\nfoiled by her straightforward simplicity and the dignified reserve which\nshe maintained alike towards them and towards the favorite. An instance of\nthis occurred a few weeks after her marriage. The son of one of her women\nof the bedchamber, a Madame Thibault, killed an officer of the king\u2019s\nguard in a duel; Madame Thibault threw herself at Marie Antoinette\u2019s feet,\nand besought her to implore the king for her son\u2019s pardon; the Dauphine\npromised, and after a whole hour\u2019s supplication she obtained it. Full of\ngratitude and delight the young princess told everybody how good the king\nhad been, and how graciously he had granted her request; but one of the\nladies of the court, thinking to spoil her pleasure and excite her\njealousy, informed her that Madame Thibault had also gone on her knees to\nMadame du Barry to intercede for her, and that the marquise had done so.\nMarie Antoinette, without betraying the slightest vexation, replied very\nsweetly: \u201cThat confirms the opinion I always had of Madame Thibault, she\nis a noble woman, and a brave mother who would stop at nothing to save her\nchild\u2019s life; in her place I would have knelt to Zamore(196) if he could\nhave helped me.\u201d\n\nCharles V.\u2019s old chateau, which had been patched, and mended, and added to\ntill there was hardly a stone of the original building left, was thrown\ndown by Louis Quinze, and rebuilt as we now see it. It was just finished\nin time to receive Louis Seize on his accession to the throne. The new\nking came here often to hunt, but he seldom stayed at Compi\u00e8gne, though it\nwas dear to him as the place where he first beheld Marie Antoinette. When\nthe Revolution broke out, Compi\u00e8gne suffered like other towns; some of its\nchurches were destroyed, others pillaged; the Carmelites, whose convent\nhad been the prayerful retreat of so many queens of France, were\nimprisoned in the Conciergerie, after appearing before Fouquier Tinville\non a charge of having had arms concealed in their cellars. To this\npreposterous accusation, M\u00e8re T\u00e9r\u00e8se de S. Augustin, their superioress,\ndrawing a crucifix from her breast, answered calmly: \u201cBehold our only\narms! They have never inspired fear but to the wicked.\u201d But what did\ninnocence avail against such judges? The Carmelites were condemned to\ndeath, and executed at the Barri\u00e8re du Tr\u00f4ne. They ascended the scaffold\nsinging the _Veni Creator_, and had just reached the last verse as the\nlast victim laid her head on the guillotine. While awaiting in prison the\nday of their deliverance, those valiant daughters of S. Teresa amused\nthemselves composing a parody on the Marseillaise, of which the following\nis a couplet:\n\n\n    \u201cLivrons nos c\u0153urs \u00e0 l\u2019all\u00e9gresse!\n    Le jour de gloire est arriv\u00e9;\n    Le glaive sanglant est l\u00e9v\u00e9,\n    Pr\u00e9parons nous \u00e0 la victoire;\n    Sous les drapeaux d\u2019un Dieu mourant\n    Que chacun marche en conqu\u00e9rant;\n    Courans et volons \u00e0 la gloire!\n    Ranimons notre ardeur,\n    Nos c\u0153urs sont au Seigneur:\n        Montons, Montons,\n    A l\u2019\u00e9chafaud, et Dieu sera vainqueur!\u201d(197)\n\n\nNapoleon I. furnished Compi\u00e8gne for his young Austrian bride, Marie\nLouise; she was on her way thither when he met the carriage in the forest,\nand, jumping in, scared her considerably by the abrupt introduction.\n\nAt Compi\u00e8gne took place Alexander of Russia\u2019s famous interview with Louis\nXVIII.; the king entered the dining\u2010room first, and unceremoniously seated\nhimself; his courtiers, scared at the royal discourtesy, began to murmur\namongst themselves, which, the czar noticing, he observed with a smile:\n\u201cWhat will you? The grandson of Catherine has not quarterings enough to\nride in the king\u2019s coach!\u201d\n\nCharles X. received at Compi\u00e8gne Francis and Isabella of Naples, and gave\nfor their entertainment a hunting _f\u00eate_, at which 11 wild boars, 9 young\nboars, 7 stags, 56 hind, 10 fawns, 11 bucks, 114 deer, and 20 hares fell\nvictims to the will of the royal sportsmen. Charles, who was on the eve of\nlosing a more serious and brilliant royalty (1830), was, by common\nconsent, proclaimed king of the hunt.\n\nThe last circumstance of note connected with Compi\u00e8gne is the camps held\nthere by Louis Philippe in 1847, and commanded by the Duc de Nemours.\n\nUnder the Empire the chateau was inhabited for a short time by the court\nevery autumn, and was the centre of brilliant _f\u00eates_ and hospitalities.\n\n\n\n\nThe Cross Through Love, And Love Through The Cross.\n\n\nConcluded.\n\nThe next morning he went to the _Juden\u2010Strasse_ before the hour of the\nsynagogue service, and walked up unannounced into old Zimmermann\u2019s room.\nAs he had hoped, so it proved\u2014_she_ was there, reading the Psalms to the\nold man. He wondered if she remembered him, if she had noticed him when he\nhad stood upon the landing last Sabbath morning. Zimmermann greeted him\nwith a nod that had not much recognition in it, but said:\n\n\u201cMaheleth, give the stranger a chair. _Mein Herr_, this is my good little\nnurse.\u201d\n\nHolcombe bowed, and the girl looked at him in silence for a few seconds.\n\n\u201cI remember,\u201d she then said, \u201cyou picked up my music for me in a storm,\nnearly a month ago.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought you would not have known me again,\u201d Holcombe stammered.\n\n\u201cOh! yes, I am not forgetful. You have been very good to my patient, and I\nam very grateful, for he has eaten more this week than he has for a whole\nmonth.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think I heard your father was ill, fr\u00e4ulein?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! he has been so for many months. Is your English friend gone?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; he has gone home to be married. I wish, fr\u00e4ulein, if you could\nsuggest anything, I could be of some use, besides bringing fruit and\nflowers to this house. Do you know, since I have been in Frankfort, I have\nnever found anything to do?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you mean,\u201d she asked very gravely, \u201cyou wish to be of use to _us_?\u201d\n\n\u201cI mean, if I could come and sit with Herr L\u00f6wenberg, and read or write\nfor him, while you are away; for they tell me you are out all day, and it\nmust be lonely for him.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is very kind of you,\u201d she answered, looking at him in calm wonder;\n\u201cit is true he has no society, for the little girls hardly count.\u201d\n\n\u201cHas he any books?\u201d asked Holcombe. \u201cBecause _I_ have plenty, and they\nmight amuse him; and I have English newspapers, too, coming in regularly.\nDoes he speak English?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe understands and reads it; but you are a stranger, and why should we\nplace our burdens on your shoulders?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! you must not mind my way; this sort of thing is a mania with me, you\nknow.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a mania seldom found,\u201d croaked out the old man.\n\n\u201cI think,\u201d put in Maheleth, \u201cit is time for me to leave you. How can I\nthank you, Mr. Holcombe? Perhaps, when you leave my friend here, you will\nstop at the next landing, and go in and see my father?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will, and you must not think I am in a hurry.\u201d\n\nThe ice thus broken, many visits followed, and at night, when Maheleth was\nat home, Henry read to the family in the little plain room that was so\nbeautiful in his sight. More than once had he again seen the girl in the\ncathedral, always standing, and separated from the worshippers, always\nwith that same sad, anxious look. One night, he noticed a certain\nconstraint in the father\u2019s and daughter\u2019s manner, and L\u00f6wenberg was less\ncordial to him than usual. After that, Maheleth seemed yet more troubled,\nand grew paler and thinner. He asked old Zimmermann if he knew of any\nfresh trouble in the family, but he could learn nothing from him. Rachel,\nwho always answered the bell, detained him one evening, and said:\n\n\u201cI would not go in to\u2010night, if I were you. Don\u2019t be offended, _mein\nHerr_.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, Rachel, what is the matter?\u201d\n\n\u201cFr\u00e4ulein L\u00f6wenberg went to the Catholic Church last night, and her father\nfound it out, and he said it was your fault.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I _will_ go in all the same; I had nothing to do with it, and my\nfriend must not be angry with his daughter.\u201d\n\nL\u00f6wenberg was alone, and the room had a tossed look about it, very\ndifferent from the cosy aspect it usually wore. The invalid lay on a\ncouch, with a discontented expression on his dark, thin face.\n\n\u201cAre you worse to\u2010night?\u201d gently asked Holcombe.\n\n\u201cAy, worse indeed, and _you_ must add to my troubles after I had treated\nyou as a son!\u201d\n\n\u201c_I!_ My friend, do you think that of me? Don\u2019t you know me better?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d said the invalid irritably, \u201cdon\u2019t try to deceive me. You know I\nhave nothing left to care for but my daughter, and you have been trying to\nconvert her. I know _why_, too, but you shall not see her any more.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou wrong me, Herr L\u00f6wenberg. I have never spoken to your daughter about\nreligion, because I did not know whether it might be agreeable to her or\nnot, and she never started the subject.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know she goes to your church?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I have seen her there several times; she never saw me, however, and\nI never hinted to her that I had seen her.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou speak very fairly about it; but I know how unscrupulous you\nChristians can be in this matter. You would think it a grand thing to\nconvert her.\u201d\n\n\u201cUndoubtedly, if I could do it by sheer conviction. But you should know me\ntoo well to believe I would do it by any undue or secret influence.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do not know how dear she is to me; you do not know how her defection\nfrom our ancient faith would break my heart; how I should have to renounce\nher for my other children\u2019s sake!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how you would stain your soul with the blackest ingratitude, Herr\nL\u00f6wenberg, if you did!\u201d interrupted Henry excitedly.\n\n\u201cSo you think _that_, do you? You don\u2019t know who she is, and how such a\nthing would be so unpardonable in her that no consideration could\ninfluence me. I never told you before, but she is of another blood than\nyou are\u2014she is the descendant of martyred rabbis, and her race is as pure\nas that of the old Machabees. We are not Germans. We are Spaniards, and,\nthough ruined, our family pride is as great as it ever was\u2014as great, too,\nas our love for our faith.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow long ago was it you were ruined?\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly a year and two months, and I fell ill six months ago; my wife died\nalmost as soon as we came here, and my Maheleth has earned our daily\nbread, and taught her sisters, and managed the housekeeping, all alone. It\nis enough to make one curse God!\u201d\n\n\u201cHush, hush!\u201d said Holcombe. \u201cYou do not mean that\u2014you know you have too\nmany blessings to thank him for.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the best and only one you are seeking to take from me.\u201d\n\n\u201cI swear to you that much as I should wish and pray for it\u2014for that I will\nnot conceal from you\u2014yet I have never influenced your child in any way.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have, because you love her.\u201d\n\nHenry was staggered at the suddenness of his words.\n\n\u201cYou cannot deny it,\u201d continued the invalid.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d answered the young man; \u201cI have no desire to deny it, but your\ndaughter never heard it from my lips, and never would.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever would!\u201d echoed L\u00f6wenberg, firing up. \u201cAnd do you, too, despise her\nfor her race\u2014she that is as far above you as you are above your lowest\npeasant!\u201d\n\n\u201cGod forbid!\u201d said Henry solemnly; \u201cfor I think of her as of one of whom I\nam not worthy. But _my_ faith forbids our union, and, love her though I\nshall to my dying day, my love should never cross my lips to stir and\nwound her heart.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou shall see her no more; you have seen her too much already; if you\nlove her, as you say, desist at least now.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you mean that she knows\u2014perhaps returns\u2014my love?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have said enough, and shall not gratify your vanity. But promise me you\nwill not see her again, and I will even believe that you did not try to\nproselytize her.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; I cannot promise that. Circumstances might arise under which it would\nbe death to keep that promise, and yet I should have no hope of inducing\nyou to give it me back.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mean she might become a Christian?\u201d\n\n\u201cEven so, as I pray she may.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you will marry her then, and she feels it, and yet you pretend you\nuse no influence!\u201d\n\n\u201cI would marry her if she would not think me unworthy.\u201d\n\n\u201cI need say no more. You have been my friend, and I thank you for your\nkindness; but henceforth our paths are separate. If I lose my child, I\nshall know you robbed me of her. I only ask you now to consider what I\ntold you of our family and fortunes as a sacred confidence.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy friend,\u201d said Henry sadly, as he rose, \u201cI will obey you, and you may\nconsider your secret as sacred as if it were my own. But remember this is\nyour own act, and, if ever you wish to call on my friendship again, my\nservices will be as willingly yours as though this breach had never been.\nGod bless you and your daughter Maheleth!\u201d\n\nHe left the room as in a dream; Rachel scanned his face curiously as she\nlet him out at the crazy door.\n\n\u201cSo,\u201d he thought, \u201cthus ends my connection with that house; and yet God\nknows how true my intentions were. I dare not seek her, still I know she\nmay need me. God grant it be true that Maheleth is a Christian at heart!\u201d\n\nUnconsciously he bent his steps towards the cathedral; a few people were\ncollected about the confessionals. The stained windows were dark and\nblurred in the uncertain light; only a lamp here and there hung from the\npillars.\n\nPerhaps his prayers were more fervent in intention than full in form, and\nmechanically he watched the shrouded confessionals. Suddenly from behind\nthe green curtain of one of them issued the figure of the Jewish girl, a\ncalm look lighting up her features, and her deportment altogether unlike\nthat which he had so often and so painfully noticed.\n\nHer eye fell upon him instantly, and, far from shunning him, gave him a\nlong glance of recognition and sympathy. She knelt for some time, then\nrose and walked down the nave. He followed her, and at the entrance door\nshe paused as if to wait for him.\n\n\u201cI have seen your father, Fr\u00e4ulein,\u201d Holcombe said, \u201cand he told me a\ngreat many things.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hardly think he quite knows how far things have gone,\u201d she answered\ngently. \u201cI could give up anything for him except my soul, and for some\nmonths I have known that only by becoming a Christian could I save it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have often seen you in church.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you, indeed?\u201d\n\n\u201cYour father accuses _me_ of converting you.\u201d\n\nShe blushed, and was silent for a few minutes.\n\n\u201cYou have helped me by your prayers, I am sure,\u201d she said at last.\n\n\u201cTell me,\u201d he asked, \u201care you a Catholic yet?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; I only went into the confessional to speak to the priest; in a few\ndays I shall be baptized.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have a favor to ask you\u2014will you let me be present?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, it will make me very happy, believe me.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you know that, when your father hears of it, he will turn you out of\nyour home?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe said so\u2014did he tell you so?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe did, but he could not have meant it.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! yes,\u201d she said sadly, \u201che would do it; he would think it a duty, a\nmatter of principle.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would be very ungrateful.\u201d\n\n\u201cUngrateful! Was I not bound to work for him who gave me life? He worked\nhard for us, and in the time of trouble we owed it to him.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if he throws you off, what will become of _him_?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is the saddest part; but I know God will take care of him.\u201d\n\n\u201cRemember, Maheleth, that either for yourself or for him (for your sake)\nyou must never hesitate to call upon me. Promise me that.\u201d\n\nIt was the first time he had called her Maheleth. She blushed and looked\ndown, saying:\n\n\u201cYou have been very generous and very kind to my father; but surely now\nyou have parted friendship with him?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I have not, as I told even him; but, were it not so, for _your_ sake\nit should be.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have God to look after me, Herr Holcombe.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I want to be his instrument.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis Raphael, as you have been to us through this desert of want and\npoverty.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd will you not be my Sarah?\u201d he asked suddenly, but in a soft, low\nvoice.\n\nHer whole frame shook; then she looked up in his face, silent.\n\n\u201cI have loved you since I knew you,\u201d he went on to say; \u201cI mean since I\n_saw_ you first; but I never meant to tell my secret, for you know I could\nnot wed a Jewess. But now, thank God! the bar is gone, and I can be happy\nwithout sin.\u201d\n\nShe did not answer yet.\n\n\u201cHave I deceived myself, then?\u201d asked the young man sadly. \u201cAnd do you not\nlove me, as I hoped?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do,\u201d she answered, quickly looking up. \u201cGod knows I do, but I cannot\nmarry you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, why, Maheleth? You torture me.\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause it would break my father\u2019s heart, and because it would give him\nreason to say I had changed my faith for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how could he?\u201d\n\n\u201cI could not leave him in misery, and my little sisters alone, and go and\nlive in peace and earthly comfort which they could not share.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are most welcome to share it, Maheleth.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are too good, too noble,\u201d she said; \u201cbut it cannot be.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you love me, you say?\u201d\n\n\u201cMust we not love God better, dear, dear friend? Henry, do not be angry\nwith me. You will be my dear brother in the faith always.\u201d\n\nHolcombe was too overcome to speak. She stopped and entreated him to leave\nher.\n\n\u201cI am paining you beyond necessity,\u201d she said; \u201cyou will be happier and\ncalmer if you do not see me till the day of my baptism. All things are\nGod\u2019s will, and, bitter as the trial may be, he gives us strength to bear\nit, if we look to him. Farewell, Henry.\u201d\n\nHe wrung her hand in silence, and saw the drooping figure pass quickly out\nof sight. He felt how much harder her trial was, and how selfish his own\nwords had been, yet he did not try to see her again until the day of her\nbaptism.\n\nThe ceremony was to take place at the cathedral, at four in the morning.\nThe sun had just risen, and the quiet streets were golden with his light.\nHolcombe was watching at the door. She came very soon, wrapped in a long\nblack cloak, looking radiant and calm, as if nothing more could be of any\nconsequence to her, nor stir her heart confusedly. She held out her hand\nto her friend with a \u201cGod bless you!\u201d that left him dumb. Her cloak was\nlaid on a carved bench, and her white robe gleamed under the rainbow from\nthe great stained\u2010glass window above her. More beautiful than ever she\nseemed, and more angel\u2010like. The priest poured the saving waters upon her\nhead, and performed all the holy mystic ceremonies of the sacrament, and\nshe, as if in a heavenly trance, followed him throughout with her eyes and\nher lips. Mass was said directly after, and she and Henry knelt together\nat the altar\u2010rails to receive the Bread of Angels. A long time passed\nafter Mass, and when at length Maheleth, now Mary, rose from her knees, it\nwas only to go to the distant Lady\u2010chapel, and there offer up a golden\nbrooch of Spanish workmanship, one of the few treasures saved from the\nwreck of her father\u2019s fortune.\n\nAs she left the church, Henry followed her.\n\n\u201cAre you going _home_?\u201d he asked timidly.\n\nShe turned her dark eyes upon him very softly, but with no sadness in\nthem.\n\n\u201cI have no home now,\u201d she said slowly. \u201cLast night I bade my father\nfarewell; I am going to the convent.\u201d\n\nA look of terror came into Henry\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cTo stay there always?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cAs God wills\u2014I do not know,\u201d she replied.\n\n\u201cBut are you not sorry about your father and sisters?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was a hard trial,\u201d she answered, with radiant calmness in her eyes,\n\u201cbut God has taken the sorrow out of it now.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd shall I not see you again, now your faith is mine? I saw you often\nwhen there was a gulf between us!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is better you should forget me. But that shall be as God wills; I\nleave it to him, and will make no arrangements.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you for that, anyhow; remember all I told you, dear Maheleth; so\nfar, at least, you can make me happy.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will _remember_ it always, and bless you for it, but I do not promise\nto act up to it.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind, you cannot help God protecting you, no matter through what\ninstrument.\u201d\n\nAnd with these words he left her.\n\nFor some weeks they did not meet, but Henry was busy at correspondence\nwith his English agents and bankers. In the meanwhile, regular remittances\narrived at Herr L\u00f6wenberg\u2019s house, which he at first refused to accept,\nnot knowing whether they came from his daughter whom he had thrown off, or\nhis friend whom he had insulted, and not wishing to be beholden to either\nfor his daily pittance. But starvation was the alternative, and, had not\nRachel kindly shared her meals with his children, and sent him little\ninexpensive dishes now and then, hunger would have made him yield long\nago. As it was, he missed his daily sustenance sorely, and at last, under\nprotest, and promising himself prompt repayment of these _loans_ as soon\nas he should be well again, he began to use the money sent to him. Many a\ntime Holcombe came to the door to inquire after him from the good\u2010natured\nRachel; and every day, in the dusk of the evening, came his daughter,\nalmost always bearing a basket that held some little delicacy.\n\nOne night it happened that Henry and Maheleth met at the door. She was the\nfirst to speak.\n\n\u201cYou see I am not yet immured in my convent!\u201d she said gayly. \u201cI have to\nthank you so much for coming here to look after my dear father. I shall be\nleaving Frankfort soon, and then there will be no one to be so good to him\nas you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut _I_ shall not leave. Do you really mean you are going?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; the good nuns have got me a governess\u2019 situation somewhere in\nBohemia with Catholics. I shall go next week.\u201d\n\n\u201cMay I come and bid you good\u2010by?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes! come on a visiting day, Thursday. Have you seen my sisters? How\nare they looking?\u201d\n\n\u201cI saw them a week ago; they looked tired, I thought.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! they don\u2019t know how to nurse him, and he tires them, I am afraid. But\nGod will see to them and him too.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you be able to come back here for a vacation?\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps in a year\u2014not before.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour father may be well again by that time.\u201d\n\n\u201cGod grant it! But I must not stay any longer now.\u201d\n\nAnd having made some inquiries of Rachel, she left the house.\n\nHenry Holcombe longed for Thursday. He wanted to ask leave to write to\nMaheleth, to give her news of her father, he would say. When the time\narrived, the parlor at the convent was full, and he hardly relished making\nhis adieus in a crowd. He was relieved to find a nun come and beckon him\naway, and show him into a quiet little room, with a polished floor, a\nMunich Madonna, and a few plain chairs round a dark table.\n\nIn a few minutes, a pleasant\u2010looking old religious came in, followed by\nMaheleth.\n\nThe girl reached her hand to Henry, saying:\n\n\u201cSister Mary Ambrose knows you by name very well.\u201d\n\nThe talk was general for a short time, then the old nun got up and walked\nto the window.\n\n\u201cI wanted to ask you if I might write to you, Maheleth,\u201d said the young\nman, much relieved by the prospect of a comparative _t\u00eate\u2010\u00e0\u2010t\u00eate_.\n\n\u201cIf you wish to do so, by all means.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you don\u2019t wish it?\u201d he said, in disappointment.\n\n\u201cI meant it might be painful to you after all. What I wish is of no\nmoment.\u201d\n\n\u201cMaheleth, how can you say so, when you know I shall always feel for you\nthe same love I do now?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, my friend, let that pass. Write to me, then; you know your letters\nwill be welcome.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will always let you know about your father.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will not always stay in Frankfort?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot quite, but I shall be here again this time next year.\u201d\n\nShe smiled and said:\n\n\u201cI might not be here myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I shall see you wherever you are, and I shall ask you the same\nquestion you have answered once.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! Henry, do not trust to accidents! It may never be; forget me, as I\nalready told you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll not argue about it; we will wait and see. Look, I have brought you\nsomething,\u201d he added, taking a tiny velvet case from his breast\u2010pocket.\n\u201cIt is not an engagement\u2010ring, do not be afraid,\u201d he said, as she seemed\ntroubled; \u201cit is only a souvenir, and I want you to promise me to wear it\nfor one year, till I see you again. After that, you shall do as you like\nabout keeping it. You know what a rosary\u2010ring is?\u201d he asked, as he showed\nher the broad yellow band notched by tiny bubbles of gold. \u201cAnd here is\nthe cross laid upon it, and the cross is of pearls, the emblem of\ninnocence. You read what is inside now.\u201d\n\nShe took it and read the device on the interior rim: \u201cCrux per amore; Amor\nper cruce.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe cross through love; Love through the cross,\u201d he explained.\n\nShe replied by kissing the ring and handing it to him, as she said:\n\n\u201cPut it on my finger, Henry, and only you or God himself shall ever draw\nit off.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do not mean\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cHush! how can you question him? But I fear he will not call me in that\nway. Who knows, perhaps we shall meet next year? I leave my father to God\nand you.\u201d\n\nThe old nun came back from the window.\n\n\u201cMy child, I am afraid I cannot stay any longer,\u201d she said.\n\nThe girl rose, and took Henry\u2019s hand in both her own.\n\n\u201cGod bless and reward you, my dear, dear friend. You know all I would say\nand yet cannot.\u201d\n\nHe kissed her hand, and, with an ineffable look of holy calm, the Jewish\nconvert left the room, still glancing back at him.\n\nTwo months passed, and L\u00f6wenberg grew better. One morning, a large letter\nwas brought to him, with the Madrid post\u2010mark. He opened it hastily, and\nscanned its contents. The letter fell from his hands as he read, and a\ndizziness came over him; he lay back on his couch, deadly pale.\n\n\u201cIs it anything bad about Maheleth?\u201d timidly asked little Thamar.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d he said, momentarily roused to anger. He took up the letter again\nand muttered, \u201cA million dollars!\u201d The children thought he was worse, and\nlooked on with scared faces.\n\nThe letter was from a banker at Madrid, saying that he was authorized by a\nperson deeply in Se\u00f1or Cristalar\u2019s debt, but who wished to remain\nnameless, to apprise him of a certain sum, a million dollars, lying in\nready money at his command in Hauptmann\u2019s bank at Frankfort. The person\nhad long been wishing to make this restitution, but had not till now been\nable to ascertain his hiding\u2010place. The invalid was in a fever; he could\nnot help thinking of the young Christian he had spurned, yet he tried to\npersuade himself it was not he, but the man to whose knavery he had owed\nhis total ruin.\n\nSeveral days passed, and at last he wrote to Holcombe at the hotel he had\nbeen staying at. In ambiguous terms, he spoke of a generous service\nundeserved by him, and of his desire to see him, if only once. But the\nEnglishman was gone and had left no address. He then wrote to his Madrid\ncorrespondent, urging him to try and discover the person from whom the\nmoney had been sent; but the banker wrote word that the whole transaction\nhad been kept very secret, and that, before it had become known to him, it\nhad passed through so many hands that it was impossible to find out the\nfirst person concerned. There was a hint of some American bank connected\nwith it, and the money had been originally paid down in American gold; but\nbeyond this there was no clue. Cristalar thought the Spanish banker had\nbeen probably bribed to keep silence, and a few more weeks sped by without\nhis taking any active measures about his newly\u2010found wealth. He received\nand acknowledged a letter of advice from Hauptmann\u2019s bank, telling him of\nthe sum at his disposal, and Hauptmann himself came to call upon him and\noffer him his congratulations. The Spaniard, who still called himself by\nhis German name, received the visit of his former employer as a mere\nconventional act of courtesy, and seemed in no wise elated by the sudden\ngood\u2010fortune he was being congratulated upon. He did not change his\nlodgings, but he hired a servant, and sent his daughters to the best\nJewish school in the town. As soon as he got well, which was by rapid\ndegrees, after he had received the letter that once more made him a\nmillionaire, he left his children in charge of Rachel, and proceeded to\nLondon, where he advertised daily for information of Henry Holcombe. The\nweekly supplies in small sums had never discontinued, but he felt assured\nthat, notwithstanding all these blinds, he could not be mistaken as to the\nname of his benefactor.\n\nMeanwhile, Maheleth in her Bohemian home heard from Rachel of her father\u2019s\nfortune, his restoration to health, and his journey to England. She, too,\nwrote to Henry, and asked him to tell her if it were he that had thus\nreturned good for evil. He simply said in reply that he was free to do as\nhe liked with his money, and that he thought Se\u00f1or Cristalar knew better\nhow to use it than he did.\n\nSummer came again, and with it Henry Holcombe; the old _Juden\u2010Strasse_ was\nonce more before him, and then he learnt that Herr L\u00f6wenberg had gone\nthree months ago to Madrid. He had been travelling in Italy and Greece,\nand had never gone home to his old English country\u2010house, which now was\nlet to good and steady tenants. He went to the convent; _she_ was not\nthere, but they expected her. So there was nothing for it but to go and\nchat with Rachel and old Zimmermann about old times and old friends.\n\nA week later he called again at the convent, and the portress told him to\nwait. In the same little parlor, unchanged and clean, he waited for a\nquarter of an hour, hoping and dreading to see Maheleth. She came in this\ntime alone. He took her hand in his, and looked a hungry look into her\neyes. She said to him, smiling:\n\n\u201cDo you see I have kept my promise? I have the dear ring on my finger, and\nevery day I have said the rosary with it for you. And now, you know, I\n_must_ thank you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot bear it; don\u2019t, for my sake, Maheleth! Have you heard from your\nfather?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; he never _will_ write, I knew that; but I have heard _of_ him; he is\nin Spain. He will begin again as a banker, I feel sure, and never rest\ntill he has repaid you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want to be repaid, except _with interest_, and you know it is not\nfrom _him_ I can ask that. Do you remember that I was to ask you the same\nquestion I asked once already?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Henry, but think what you are doing.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall ask it first, and then think.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Henry, if I should say that, I will answer it as you wish, provided\nyou can gain my father\u2019s consent?\u201d\n\nThe young man looked blank.\n\n\u201cI believe that is what God would wish me to do, Henry. My father has no\nfurther need of me, and he or I owe you a debt of gratitude we can never\npay; yet I should like his distinct permission, if I could have it, and\nyou can obtain it more easily than I can.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall not rest till it be done,\u201d said Holcombe excitedly. \u201cShall I\nwrite to him? Maheleth, you have had \u2018Crux per amore\u2019; now God will give\nus \u2018Amor per cruce.\u2019 \u201d\n\nHe wrote that very day to Madrid, asking the hand of his daughter from the\nwealthy Jewish banker, and pleading as hard as though he were some poor\noutcast, with never a roof to his head, begging for the favor of a royal\nmaiden\u2019s love. Cristalar was overjoyed at knowing at last where to find\nthe man he owed health and fortune to, and, instead of a letter, he sent a\ntelegram to say he would be in Frankfort in a week.\n\nHenry took the telegram to the convent; Maheleth turned very pale as she\nread it.\n\n\u201cIt is all right, surely, darling, is it not?\u201d asked Holcombe.\n\n\u201cI have never seen him since the eve of my baptism.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd,\u201d interrupted the young man, \u201cplease God, you will see him again the\neve of our marriage.\u201d\n\nShe hid her face in her hands. \u201cGod grant it!\u201d she murmured, under her\nbreath.\n\nEphraim Cristalar, for he called himself by his own name now, went to the\nhotel where Holcombe used to live, and inquired for the young Englishman.\nHe had not long to wait.\n\n\u201cMr. Holcombe!\u201d he exclaimed, as he caught him in his arms, \u201cI cannot\nspeak to you\u2014you are master of all I am and have; can you but forgive me,\nsay?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy friend and father!\u201d replied Holcombe, \u201cyou must not give way like\nthis! I only asked you a simple question, a great favor, it is true, but\nthat is all we have to speak of.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! I know better than that, Henry. What have you to _ask_ of me, when\nall I have is yours?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is one thing I want, you know what; and my only other request is\nthat you will see your daughter.\u201d\n\nCristalar drew back. \u201cShe is yours, Henry Holcombe,\u201d he said solemnly, \u201cas\nfar as she is mine to give; but she is an alien to my faith, and to my\nhome.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, it must not, shall not be. Remember how she fed you, worked for\nyou, brought up your little ones, and sent you the little she earned, even\nthough you had cast her off.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is cruel, Holcombe, to remind me of that,\u201d said Cristalar\nreproachfully. \u201cPerhaps as your _wife_ I may see her\u2014as the wife of my\nbenefactor, not as my daughter.\u201d\n\n\u201cI want to take her from _your_ hands. And think how she has wearied for\nyou all this time!\u201d\n\n\u201cI know\u2014and do you think I have not missed _her_? I have only _half_ lived\nsince she left me; and I love her beyond description even yet, but that is\nan unhallowed love.\u201d\n\n\u201cSay, rather, an unnatural delusion; I mean your refusal to see her. You\nwill, for my sake, for your son\u2010in\u2010law\u2019s sake?\u201d\n\n\u201cLeave me now, Henry, I must think.\u201d\n\nNeed we tell the end? How his better nature triumphed; how prosperity had\nsoftened his heart, and gratitude had bent his pride; how at last his\nfather\u2019s love could stand no longer the knowledge of his child\u2019s great\nsorrow; and how Henry\u2019s prophecy that Maheleth should see her father on\nthe eve of her marriage was anticipated by many weeks? Her sisters and\nSe\u00f1or Cristalar accompanied her to the cathedral, and, after the ceremony,\nthe banker put into the hands of the officiating priest a check for\n$10,000 for the Catholic poor of Frankfort.\n\nHolcombe House was made ready soon after for the bride\u2019s reception, and\nSe\u00f1or Cristalar established a branch bank in London, of which his son\u2010in\u2010\nlaw was partner and responsible head. In a very few years, the Holcombe\nincome was the same it had been before the appalling drain the agents had\nspoken of, when the young possessor had drawn the \u00a3100,000 of ready money\nleft him by his father, and added to it an equal sum raised on the estate.\n\nThe old Spaniard could never be induced to abandon the faith that was as\nmuch a part of his family pride as of the tradition of his race; but\nThamar and Agar, Maheleth\u2019s two sisters, were baptized two years after the\nmarriage, under the names of Elizabeth and Magdalen, and, when they in\ntheir turn married into noble English houses, their father certainly\nshowed no sign of disapproval of their change of religion, in the princely\nfortunes he allotted to each.\n\n\n\n\nEurope\u2019s Angels.\n\n\nIt was night, and the old year was passing away. The angels had sung their\nanniversary strains of gladness, and had announced anew the coming of the\nPrince of Peace, only a week ago, yet there was a solemn silence now in\ntheir serried ranks, as they pressed around a group of their\nrepresentatives.\n\nI can hardly tell you _where_ this was, or whether it was \u201cin the body or\nout of the body\u201d that I fancied I saw the glorious vision; I only know\nthat it seemed as if infinite space were around them, and an amphitheatre\nof angelic faces, like living stones, were making a barrier between them\nand space, as the rainbow does between clouds.\n\nThere were many of those whom I have called representatives, and each bore\nsome strange emblem, which I understood to be the badge of the nation over\nwhich he was set. Around each stood a host similarly distinguished, the\nguardian angels of each individual soul composing the nation. There was an\nawful stillness on this the last night of the year, as the conclave of\nangels sat brooding over the events of the immediate past. A few, more\nprominent among their brethren, presently stood forward, while a figure of\nmarvellous beauty, but calm austerity of aspect, presented a book to them,\nwhich it supported as a deacon against its head. The book was closely\nwritten on one side, while the opposite page was blank.\n\nAn angel, crowned with an iron crown, and robed in a wonderful garment of\ndeep azure,(198) curiously wrought in gold with stars and signs of lore\nand art, such as only one land in Europe can boast of being able to\ninterpret, taking a pen in his hand, spoke to the assembled multitude.\n\n\u201cBrethren,\u201d he said, in a deep, musical voice whose tones indicated both\ngravity and conscious strength, \u201cbefore I write my brief record of the\nyear we have now added to our experience, let me speak to you, as fellow\u2010\nwatchers over our God\u2019s earthly treasures. My trust has been a bitter and\na heavy one, yet withal a glorious vindication of faith and truth. We have\nrisen among nations like a comet that for a moment eclipses the steadier\nand more lasting glory of the older planets, but in our course there were\nobstacles which have now become almost the monument of martyrs. Unmindful\nof the lion\u2010hearted men to whom Wilfrid, and Boniface, and Lioba preached,\nand of whom the strongest bulwark of intellectual faith was built by their\nlater and more national saints, our new rulers have sought to renew the\npersecutions of the XVIth century, and the absolutism of a State Church.\nBut our God, the \u2018dear God\u2019(199) of our people, knew how to raise up\ndefenders for himself in the fearless pastors of his flock; knew how to\ninspire them with a bravery that scorned imprisonment and laughed at\ndeath, that made them raise their voices against presumptuous and\nintrusive authority on the one hand, and barefaced heresy on the other. We\nhave triumphed in persecution; we have re\u2010echoed the _non possumus_ of our\nearthly father and Pontiff; we have shown to our God the will of martyrs\nafter having displayed before our sovereign the deeds of patriots. He\nthought to weld a mighty nation into one empire; he has riven it in twain\nin his unblest attempt, and has called up against his puny military power\nthe anger of that God who, on the shores of the Red Sea, did punish\nPharaoh and his host. \u2018Who is like to thee, among the strong, O Lord? Who\nis like to thee, glorious in holiness, terrible and worthy of praise,\ndoing wonders?\u2019 \u201d(200)\n\nThose that wore robes like that of the mighty angel who had spoken took up\nhis last triumphant words, and chanted them forth in two alternate choirs,\nand the voice that came from this host of choristers seemed like the voice\nof the sea thundering amid caves and rocks. It surged up and died away in\nlong reverberating echoes, a hymn of strength and defiance, a prophecy of\na magnificent and almost endless future.\n\nThen the angel who had spoken wrote a few words in the book, and, turning,\npresented the pen to one who stood close beside him, tall, stately, and\ncalm, in white raiment, with the historical _fleur\u2010de\u2010lis_ broidered\nthickly over his robe. On his brows shone the same emblem, wrought in gold\nand pearls, while in his left hand he held a flame\u2010colored standard, the\noriflamme of the Crusades.\n\n\u201cMy brethren,\u201d he began, \u201cthis year has been a silent one compared with\nits last two predecessors; but none the less a year of sacrifice, of\nheroic expiation, of patient humility of spirit. We have lived amid perils\nas deep as religious persecutions; amid the perils of a civilization that\nis unchristian, and of refinements worse than heathen. The worship of the\nfalse gods has come back, and we are surrounded with a corruption as\nterrible as that of imperial Rome or effeminate Byzantium. Our name is no\nlonger supreme, our escutcheon no longer unstained, our sword is broken in\nthe hands of others, our missions are unprotected, and our influence no\nlonger paramount among barbarians and plunderers, and still our corruption\nflourishes as unblushingly and undauntedly as ever, and our rivals, nay,\nour very captors, come to learn it at our feet. This is now our shameful\nsupremacy; but, in the midst of these Capuan revels, is there still a hope\nfor the nation? Yes, my brethren, the same hope that our glorious iron\u2010\ncrowned compeer has told us was his hope\u2014the church, the faith, the truth.\nIf our rulers, like those of our whilom foes, forget the Christian heroes\nwhom we call our forefathers, the men who at the field of Tolbiac vowed\nour nation to the God of armies, and in a thousand fields in Palestine,\nSyria, and Egypt redeemed that holy vow, _we_ do not and cannot forget it.\nSons and daughters of the Crusaders, heirs and heiresses of the Kings of\nJerusalem and the Knights of Rhodes and Malta, many of our nation are now\nin the holier army, the holier knighthood of religion; their habit is\ntheir coat of mail, their swift prayers and their swifter sacrifices are\ntheir battle\u2010axes, their spears, their maces; in every land they are\nfighting the battle of their own, in every breach defending the honor of\ntheir fallen country. All eyes are still upon their acts; their land, like\na magnet, compels the glance of Europe and the world. The saviours who are\nworking hiddenly at the regeneration of \u2018the eldest daughter of the\nchurch\u2019 are of no party, own no secret master, work for no wages, and seek\nno reward; they are soldiers of the cross, children of God, who, in the\nhospitals, the prisons, the galleys, the schools, the Chinese stations,\nthe Canadian missions, the cloistered monasteries, under the names of\nSisters of Charity, Order of Preachers, _Missions Etrang\u00e8res_, Christian\nBrothers, Benedictines of Solesmes, Jesuits, and _Sulpiciens_, work for\nGod, in God, with God. \u2018Seek ye therefore first the kingdom of God, and\nhis justice, and all these things shall be added unto you.\u2019 \u201d(201)\n\nThe choir of white\u2010robed angels that clustered round the one who had\nceased speaking took up the grave refrain, and chanted it as their\nbrethren had done before, and the song swelled majestically as it seemed\nto reach the uttermost bounds of the living barrier of angel faces round\nthe central groups. Ere yet it had subsided, the last of the heavenly\nspeakers wrote his record in the book, and gave the pen into the hand of a\nthird angel who stood in grave expectancy by his side.\n\nThis one was tall and stalwart\u2010looking, a warrior\u2010angel, one would\ninvoluntarily be sure to think, yet his long trailing robe of crimson was\nwoven not with dragons or golden leopards, but with miniature cathedrals,\nabbeys, and priories. The heaviness of this golden embroidery seemed to\ndrag the garment into yet more statuesque folds, as the mighty wearer drew\nhimself slowly up and took the pen, letting go, as he did so, his hold\nupon a silver shield bearing a blood\u2010red cross. His fair waving locks were\nuncrowned, and he bent his head towards the two who had spoken before.\n\n\u201cMy brethren,\u201d he began, and his voice sounded clear and clarionlike, \u201cyou\nhave each of you sought in the continuation of the traditions of the past\na pledge of the regeneration and safety of the future. I, too, looked to\nthe early past for the golden age I would fain see revived among us, but,\nunlike you, it is neither persecution nor bloodshed that I have to record.\nOur nation is not eclipsed in power or in influence; and although our\nrulers are hardly worthy of their chivalric forerunners, yet there are yet\namong them some who are heirs to their fathers\u2019 greatness of soul, though\nnot to the integrity of their faith. Still, our race has kept more\nunblemished than others that reverence for authority without which no\nfaith is sure, no empire stable. Our life flows more calmly on in our\nisland\u2010home than does the troubled stream of our brethren\u2019s days beyond\nthe sea. Still, amid benefits without number, amid the march of science\nand the progress of art, things that in exchange for the ancient gift of\nfaith our second fatherland every day gives us in return, we have one\nfruitful source of dread and danger\u2014the sordid love of gain which makes\nour people restless during life, and leaves them hopeless in death. To\nstrive against this demon of the air\u2014for we seem to breathe his spirit in\nthe very atmosphere\u2014is the constant endeavor of my being. To knit art to\nGod as it was joined to him in the olden days, to put honor before wealth,\nand conscience before success, to raise principle triumphant over\ninterest, is my daily, necessary, but most wearisome task. Many voices\nerstwhile charmed our nation\u2014that of the warrior, the bard, the monk; the\nvoice of glory, the voice of learning, the voice of holy love. Now one cry\nalone harshly calls our children together\u2014the cry of gain. Our country has\nforgotten its ancient fanes of learning, its island monasteries, its\ntownlike abbeys, its glorious cathedrals, colleges, libraries, and halls,\nit has forgotten its tournaments of science, its chants, its liturgies,\neven its earthly pageants, and has run after the abject golden calf of\nthese latter days. Not the poor alone, but the noble and great have with\nless excuse come down into the new arena, and lowered themselves to the\nlevel of money\u2010seekers, till the chivalry of our race has become a\nforgotten dream, a talisman that has lost its charm, a thing as out of\ndate as a crowded abbey with its holy pomps of daily service would be\namong the darkened, busy streets of a modern gold\u2010coining city. And yet in\nmany a nook, in many an obscure street of a little town, in many a shady,\npeaceful country home, are rising the fair progeny of our statelier fanes\nof old, and beneath groined roofs and before carved altars rise prayers as\nbeautiful and as divers as the trefoils and roses on capital and pillar.\nIn prayer, whether petrified into fair churches standing for ever, or\nmoulded into golden altar\u2010plate rich with chasing and with gems, or flying\nstraight to God\u2019s feet in ardent, winged words of love, we place our last\nhope, the hope of the only true conversion our land can ever know; for\n\u2018there is a success in evil things to a man without discipline, and there\nis a finding that turneth to loss.\u2019 \u201d(202)\n\nHere a countless host of angels, as gravely radiant, yet with the same\nsolemn shade of sadness in their aspect, as the last speaker, took up his\nparting words, and chanted them slowly. I thought they caught\nunconsciously the ring of the holy words chanted so often through the ages\nof faith, in that land of cathedrals and cloisters. Indeed, the angel\nchoir and their stately leader seemed none other than monastic champions\nturned into bright heavenly spirits, so akin is everything in that isle to\nthe claustral ideal from which sprang its life\u2014civil, collegiate,\necclesiastical, feudal, and social.\n\nAs the chanted dirge grew less and less distinct, another angel advanced\nto take the pen his predecessor had just laid in the folds of the book,\nafter having written his year\u2019s record within. This one had stood so far\nin the background as to have escaped my awed notice until now. He wore a\nlong, loosely\u2010falling robe of black, and bowed his head as if in grief;\nhis hands were clasped, and a golden and a silver key were held between\nhis fingers; in his step there was no elasticity, and in his eye no\ngladness. All those who followed him seemed equally sorrowful, but soon I\nheard why it was, and no longer marvelled at it.\n\n\u201cBrethren,\u201d he said, in mournful tones, \u201cbrethren of all climes, who once\nenvied me my proud position of warden over the land which holds the father\nof all Christians, envy me no longer the sad honors I must yet bear. When\nI look at my nation, I can see nothing through my tears. Once I saw\ntreasures of art and beauty; I can take pride in them no longer. I saw\nfair landscapes, the envy of the world, the garden of Europe, the\nbeautiful God\u2019s\u2010acre of a past of heroic deeds, buried in honorable\noblivion as the seedlings of a more glorious crop of Christian heroism\u2014I\ncan take pleasure in these no more. I saw a people mild, inoffensive,\nbelieving, loving; now I see them corrupted, deluded, led away, and turned\ninto furies. I saw churches gorgeous with the many gifts of fervent piety\nand grateful wealth; I see ruins now, sacrilegiously used for godless\npurposes, in derision and contempt of their lofty dedication. I saw one\ncity, the jewel of the universe, the city of sanctuary and refuge, where\nfaith reigned, and grief was comforted, and weakness was made strength; a\n\u2018city of the soul,\u2019 where God held court mid thousands of earthly angels,\nand where he found again the mingled worship of the mysterious Hebrew\ntemple and of the holy, silent house of Nazareth. But now, brethren, rude\nmen have scattered our treasures, profaned our churches, seized our\ncloisters, driven away learning and charity to put lewdness and brutality\nin their place, and have renewed, with far more blasphemous intention, the\nhorrors of the barbaric invasions. I see the father of the faithful with\nthe crown of martyrdom surmounting his tiara, waiting, like the _Ecce\nHomo_ eighteen hundred years ago, the final verdict of an infuriate mob,\nwhile other nations, Pilate\u2010like, wash their hands of the sacred, helpless\ncharge it were their first duty to defend. My brethren, weep with me, weep\nfor me, and yet rejoice; \u2018for the Lord will not cast off for ever.\u2019(203)\n\u2018And in that day the deaf shall hear the words of the book, and out of\ndarkness and obscurity the eyes of the blind shall see.\u2019 \u201d(204)\n\nMany were the eager voices that took up the words of hope and sang them\nwith a fervor which only guardian spirits can know. As the strain swelled\nand spread, then fell into a gentle murmur, as if the singers were loth to\nleave off the prayer of faith and hope, the angel had written his short\nrecord for the passing year, and looked around to welcome his next\nsuccessor. There was a pause, and among the angelic conclave a swaying to\nand fro denoted that some suppressed feeling was at work. Those who had\nspoken stood apart in a conspicuous group, conferring among themselves;\nbut I looked with awe and interest at those who had hitherto been silent.\n\nThe old year\u2019s span was very short now. On earth the snow was falling,\npreparing a fitting shroud for the departing guest, and a fitting cradle\nfor the coming stranger; there were revellers in many houses, heedless\nsleepers in more, and watchers in only a few; there were monastic choirs\nfiling into silent churches for the coming office of matins; and there\nwere also miserable outcasts, some voluntary slaves of the world, others\nunwilling watchers, poverty\u2010stricken, hunger\u2010smitten, desperately tempted\ncreatures who might murmur at and even curse their fate, yet would not\nbegin the year by breaking God\u2019s commandments; there were many sinners\ndoing penance, many happy death\u2010beds, many freed souls rushing on the\nwings of long\u2010repressed desire towards the goal that weary years of\npurgatory had hardly hidden from their longing gaze; and well might the\nangelic host thrill with holy delight as all these sights and sounds\nstruck upon their consciousness. The good surely outweighed the bad!\n\nJust then an angel stepped from among the hitherto silent throng\u2014an angel\nwith a face full of suffering, sweetness, and patience, yet withal a look\nof something deeper and stronger than mere patience; and his black robe\nwas sown with silver stars, while a star glittered also on his forehead.\nIn quick accents, full of strength, he addressed his companions, holding\nthe pen in his hand.\n\n\u201cBrethren!\u201d he said, \u201cthe march of events, as the world calls it, has\npassed over and by our nation, but in God\u2019s eyes we are not so soon\nforgotten. The civilizer of Eastern Europe, the bulwark of Christianity\nagainst the Moslem faith, we have nevertheless suffered by the hands of\nChristian princess and been annihilated in the name of civilization. A\nmartyr\u2010nation, a victim to false diplomacy, we stand in Europe with the\nchains still about our feet, while empires change hands and dynasties come\nand go; exiled and dispersed like the Hebrews of old, we are known, like\nthem, by our indomitable faith and ever hopeful patriotism. Within this\nyear, a gigantic empire has manacled us more cruelly, gagged us more\nclosely, than before, but we are steadfast yet, for \u2018blessed are they that\nsuffer persecution for justice\u2019 sake, for theirs is the kingdom of\nheaven.\u2019 \u201d(205)\n\nThe words were caught up and re\u2010echoed by the angel throng around their\nstar\u2010crowned leader, while he wrote the brief record of another year\u2019s\nbitter wrongs still so heroically and silently borne. He passed the pen to\nanother clothed in purple, who looked at him with angelic sympathy before\nhe spoke. His voice was still and low, but clear as a silver bell.\n\n\u201cMy brethren,\u201d he said, \u201cmy task is hard and dreary; a mist of prejudice\nhangs over those vast steppes which form my dominions; a false\ncivilization educates our nobles to a pitch of unnatural and seeming\npolish in which all truth is killed, and all natural kindness crushed;\nlike the apples of the Dead Sea, our country is fair to the eye of the\nworld, but ashes to the taste of God. We have all to hope, it is true, but\nmuch to fear; and, while the desolate semblance of the true faith spreads\nits outward and deceptive gorgeousness before the barren and fettered\nnation, the souls of our brethren perish of thirst, as it were, within\nsight of the Fountain of Life. Brethren, pray for my unhappy charge, and\nthou, O God! enlighten my people! \u2018How incomprehensible are thy judgments,\nand how unsearchable thy ways!\u2019 \u201d(206)\n\nThe purple\u2010robed choir around him took up the angel\u2019s last words, and\nslowly chanted them, as if in awe and expectation, while their leader\nwrote a few brief words in the book.\n\nAnother came forward, gathering his golden robe together, the hem of which\nwas broidered with figures of ships and charts, somewhat faded now, but\nthis was redeemed by the effulgent brightness of the scroll he held on his\noutstretched hand a scroll bearing the divine motto, _Ad majorem Dei\ngloriam_. Looking swiftly around, he began thus:\n\n\u201cMy brethren, my provinces are narrowed and my nation lessened since her\nships explored the ocean, her fleet sent forth armadas, and her leaders\nconquered new continents, but the spirit of the missionary and the martyr\nhas not followed that of the less successful and less lasting\ninvestigator. Chivalry still lives in the land of the Cid, and fires the\nhearts in whose veins flows the blood of the Crusaders of Granada. Saints\ntook up the warrior\u2019s shield, and won their spurs in distant, dangerous\nservices, till the names of Xavier, Loyola, Gaudia, and Teresa became the\nhousehold words of a whole universe. Unbelief has poisoned our present\nposition, and for our sins we have suffered dire misfortune and perennial\ndisturbance. Still, our people are unchanged; faithfully the sons of the\nVisigoth martyrs keep the trust of their fathers, and, secure amid their\nmountain fastnesses, within the last year have raised the standard of the\ncross wreathed with the golden lilies of a national and well\u2010beloved\ndynasty. We have had triumphs of the soul and heroic deeds of patriotic\ndaring mingled together in the annals of our peasant soldiers; the spirit\nof another Vend\u00e9e has spoken to our nation; and God has rejoiced to find\nat last a human bulwark against human unbelief. \u2018Judge me, O God, and\ndistinguish my cause from the nation that is not holy; deliver me from the\nunjust and deceitful man.\u2019 \u201d(207)\n\nAnd while the angel wrote his record in the book, his followers echoed his\nlast words in tones of mingled triumph and supplication, chanting them, as\nall the others had done before them, in two alternate choirs. And now\nthere was again a pause, while the first groups of angels who had spoken\ndrew closer to the book, and gazed at the last records written in it. One\nmore representative came forward, an angel robed in softest green, and\nbearing a harp in his hand. Turning to the west, he spoke in a voice full\nof deep emotion: \u201cMy brethren, I look towards the sea, and gaze at the\nland of the setting sun. I see my people spreading over the earth, so that\nI have more children in far\u2010away lands than on my own soil. I see them,\nthe pioneer nation of whom Brendan was the first leader, planting the\ncross and the shamrock in unfailing union, wherever they go. Long ages of\nsuffering have not reft them of the gift of faith, the treasure of art, or\nthe strength of enterprise; their arm hath upreared every throne and\nstayed every altar; their women make a Nazareth of every home and a\ntabernacle of every hovel; their race links two worlds, that of the past\nand that of the future, that of culture and civilization, to that of\nenterprise and freedom. I look with pride on the ocean darkened by the\nbarks of my people, and forget, as I look, to sigh over the ruined fanes\nand dismantled castles of old. Children of impulse, they carry their home\nin their hearts, and make another Erin round every cross they plant. Sea\nkings, but Christians, they take from the Norsemen their daring, and from\ntheir own isle its poetry, and, blending the two, bear the highest gifts\nof the Old World to be the heirlooms of the New. To my nation may it well\nand fittingly be said, \u2018They went out from thee on foot, and were led by\nthe enemies: but the Lord will bring them to thee exalted with honor as\nchildren of the kingdom.\u2019 \u201d(208)\n\nThese prophetic words were caught up by the numerous followers of the\ngreen\u2010robed angel, and rang now in grand and now in softened cadence\nthrough the boundless field of space that encircled the heavenly throng.\nAs the tones died away, the angel wrote his record in the book, and the\nbells of earth sounded faintly in the still air.\n\nThe old year was passing away, and the angels in silence gathered round\nthe book. As the last stroke of midnight was heard, the bearer of it\nturned the leaf, presenting a surface fair and smooth as the petal of a\nlily, and the whole company of blessed spirits intoned the _Veni Creator_.\n\nI heard as it were in a dream, and saw forms of light and beauty disperse\nlike the fleecy clouds of morning, till the singing died away in faraway\ncorners of our old, prosaic, yet blessed earth. The songs of heaven were\ncarried into the uttermost recesses where earthly misery was keenest and\nearthly revelry loudest on that fateful night; and, as its echoes passed\nover them, the misery grew strangely bearable, the revelry was\nunaccountably hushed. Everywhere the new\u2010born year came in with a blessing\nand a promise, reverently gathering its predecessor\u2019s lessons even while\nmourning its inevitable shortcomings; and so once more, according to the\npatience of God, his ministers went forth to clear for every man a new\nfield where, past errors being forgotten, he might renew his struggle in\nthe battle of life, and retrieve himself in the eyes of infinite purity\nand infinite justice.\n\nSuch was the beautiful death of the old year 1872.\n\n\n\n\nThe Nativity Of Christe.\n\n\n    Behould the Father is His daughter\u2019s Sonne,\n      The bird that built the nest is hatched therein,\n    The Old of Yeares an hower hath not outrunne,\n      Eternall life to live doth now beginnn,\n    The Word is dumm, the Mirth of heaven doth weepe,\n    Mighte feeble is, and Force doth fayntely creepe.\n\n    O dyinge soules! behould your living Spring!\n      O dazeled eyes! behould your Sunne of grace!\n    Dull eares, attend what word this Word doth bringe!\n      Upp, heavy hartes, with joye your joy embrace!\n    From death, from darke, from deaphnesse, from despayres,\n    This Life, this Light, this Worde, this Joy repaires.\n\n    Gift better than Himself God doth not knowe,\n      Gift better than his God no man can see;\n    This gift doth here the giver given bestowe,\n      Gift to this gift lett ech receiver bee:\n    God is my gift, Himself He freely gave me,\n      God\u2019s gift am I, and none but God shall have me.\n\n    Man altred was by synne from man to best;\n      Beste\u2019s food is haye, haye is all mortal fleshe;\n    Now God is fleshe, and lyes in maunger prest,\n      As haye the brutest synner to refreshe:\n    O happy fielde wherein this foder grewe,\n    Whose taste doth us from beastes to men renewe!\n\n    SOUTHWELL.\n\n\n\n\nThe Progressionists.\n\n\nFrom The German Of Conrad Von Bolanden.\n\n\n\nChapter VIII. Continued.\n\n\nOnce more the bell of the chairman was heard amid the tumult.\n\n\u201cMr. Seicht, officer of the crown, will now address the meeting,\u201d Schwefel\nannounced.\n\nThe audience were seized with amazement, and not without a cause. A\ndignitary of a higher order, a member of the administration, ascended the\npulpit for the purpose of making an assault upon Christian education. He\nwas about to make war upon morals and faith, the true supports of every\nsolid government, the sources of the moral sentiment and of the prosperity\nof human society. A remnant of honesty and a lingering sense of justice\nmay have raised a protest in Seicht\u2019s mind against his undertaking; for\nhis bearing was anything but self\u2010possessed, and he had the appearance of\na wretch that was being goaded on by an evil spirit. Besides, he had the\nhabit peculiar to bureaucrats of speaking in harsh, snarling tones. Seicht\nwas conscious of these peculiarities of his bureaucratic nature, and\nlabored to overcome them. The effort imparted to his delivery an air of\nconstraint and a sickening sweetness which were climaxed by the fearfully\ninvolved style in which his speech was clothed.\n\n\u201cGentlemen,\u201d said Seicht, \u201cin view of present circumstances, and in\nconsideration of the requirements of culture whose spirit is incompatible\nwith antiquated conditions, popular education, which in connection with\ndomestic training is the foundation of the future citizen, must also\nundergo such changes as will bring it into harmony with modern enlightened\nsentiment; and this is the more necessary as the provisions of the law,\nwhich progress in its enlightenment and clearness of perception cannot\nrefuse to recognize as a fit model for the imitation of a party dangerous\nto the state\u2014I mean the party of Jesuitism and ultramontanism\u2014allow\nuntrammelled scope for the reformation of the school system, provided the\nproper clauses of the law and the ordinances relating to this matter are\nnot left out of consideration. Accordingly, it is my duty to refer this\nhonorable meeting especially to the ministerial decree referring to common\nschools, in accordance with which said common schools may be established,\nafter a vote of the citizens entitled to the elective franchise, as soon\nas the need of this is felt; which in the present instance cannot be\ncontested, since public opinion has taken a decided stand against\ndenominational schools, in which youth is trained after unbending forms of\nreligion, and in doctrines that evidently conflict with the triumph of the\npresent, and with those exact sciences which make up the only true\ngospel\u2014the gospel of progress, which scarcely in any respect resembles the\nnarrow gospel of dubious dogmas\u2014dubious for the reason that they lack the\nspirit of advancement, and are prejudicial to the investigation of the\nproblems of a God, of material nature, and of man.\u201d\n\nHere leader Sand thrust his fingers in his ears.\n\n\u201cThunder and lightning!\u201d exclaimed he wrathfully, \u201cwhat a shallow babbler!\nWhat is he driving at? His periods are a yard long; and when he has done,\na man is no wiser than when he began. Gospel\u2014gospel of\nprogress\u2014fool\u2014numskull\u2014down! down!\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite a remarkable instance, this!\u201d said Gerlach to the banker.\n\u201cEvidently this man is trying might and main to please, yet he only\nsucceeds in torturing his hearers.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will explain this man to you,\u201d replied the banker. \u201cHeretofore Mr.\nSeicht has been a most complete exemplar of absolute bureaucracy. The only\ndivinity he knew were the statutes, the only heaven the bureau, and the\nonly safe way of reaching supreme felicity was, in his opinion, to render\nunquestioning obedience to ministerial rescripts. Suddenly Mr. Seicht\nheard the card\u2010house of bureaucracy start in all its joints. His divinity\nlost its worshippers, and his heaven lost all charms for those who were\nseeking salvation. He felt the ground moving under him, he realized the\ncolossal might of progress, and hastened to commend himself to this party\nby adopting liberal ideas. He is now aiming to secure a seat in the house\nof delegates, which is subsequently to serve him as a stepping\u2010stone to a\nplace in the cabinet. Just listen how the man is agonizing! He is wasting\nhis strength, however, and the attitude of the audience is beginning to\nget alarming.\u201d\n\nFor some time past, the chieftains in the chancel had been shaking their\nheads at the efforts of this official advocate of progress. To avoid being\ntortured by hearing, they had engaged in conversation. The auditors in the\nnave of the church were also growing restive. The speaker, however,\ncontinued blind to every hint and insinuation. At last a tall fellow in\nthe crowd swung his hat and cried, \u201cThree cheers for Mr. Seicht!\u201d The\nwhole nave joined in a deafening cheer. Seicht, imagining the cheering to\nbe a tribute to the excellence of his effort, stopped for a moment to\npermit the uproar to subside, intending then to go on with his speech; but\nno sooner had he resumed than the cheering burst forth anew, and was so\nvigorously sustained that the man, at length perceiving the meaning of the\naudience, came down amid peals of derisive laughter.\n\n\u201cServes the gabbler right!\u201d said Sand. \u201cHe\u2019s a precious kind of a fellow!\nThe booby thinks he can hoist himself into the chamber of deputies by\nmeans of the shoulders of progress, and thence to climb up higher. But it\nhappens that we know whom we have to deal with, and we are not going to\nserve as stirrups for a turn\u2010coat official.\u201d\n\nThe chairman wound up with a speech in which he announced that the vote on\nthe question of common schools would soon come off, and then adjourned the\nmeeting.\n\nThe millionaires drew back to allow the crowd to disperse. Near them stood\nMr. Seicht, alone and dejected. The countenances of the chieftains had\nyielded him no evidence on which to base a hope that his speech had told,\nand that he might expect to occupy a seat in the assembly. Moreover, Sand\nhad rudely insulted the ambitious official to his face. This he took\nexceedingly hard. All of a sudden, he spied the banker in the chancel, and\nwent over to greet him. Greifmann introduced Gerlach.\n\n\u201cI am proud,\u201d Mr. Seicht asseverated, \u201cof the acquaintance of the\nwealthiest proprietor of the country.\u201d\n\n\u201cPardon the correction, sir; my father is the proprietor.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo matter, you are his only son,\u201d rejoined Seicht. \u201cYour presence proves\nthat you take an interest in the great questions of the day. This is very\nlaudable.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy presence, however, by no means proves that I concur in the object of\nthis meeting. Curiosity has led me hither.\u201d\n\nThe official directed a look of inquiry at the banker.\n\n\u201cSheer curiosity,\u201d repeated this gentleman coldly.\n\n\u201cCan you not, then, become reconciled to the spirit of progress?\u201d asked\nSeicht, with a smile revealing astonishment.\n\n\u201cThe value of my convictions consists in this, that I worship genuine\nprogress,\u201d replied the millionaire gravely. \u201cThe progress of this\ncommunity, in particular, looks to me like retrogression.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am astonished at what you say,\u201d returned the official; \u201cfor surely\nShund\u2019s masterly speech has demonstrated that we are keeping pace with the\nage.\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot see, sir, how fiendish hatred of religion can be taken for\nprogress. This horrible, bloodthirsty monster existed even in the days of\nNero and Tiberius, as we all know. Can the resurrection of it, now that it\nhas been mouldering for centuries, be seriously looked upon as a step in\nadvance? Rather a step backward, I should think, of eighteen hundred\nyears. Especially horrible and revolting is this latest instance of\ntyranny, forcing parents who entertain religious sentiments to send their\nchildren to irreligious schools. Not even Nero and Tiberius went so far.\nOn this point, I agree, there has been progress, but it consists in\nputting a most unnatural constraint upon conscience.\u201d\n\nGerlach\u2019s language aroused the official. He was face to face with an\nultramontane. The mere sight of such an one caused a nervous twitching in\nhis person. He resorted at once to bureaucratic weapons in making his\nonslaught.\n\n\u201cYou are mistaken, my dear sir\u2014you are very much mistaken. The spirit of\nthe modern state demands that the schools of the multitude, particularly\npublic institutions, should be accessible to the children of every class\nof citizens, without distinction of religious profession. Consequently,\nthe schools must be taken from under the authority, direction, and\ninfluence of the church, and put entirely under civil and political\ncontrol. Such, too, is now the mind of our rulers, besides that public\nsentiment calls for the change.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, Mr. Seicht, in making such a change, the state despotically\ninfringes on the province of religion.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot despotically, Mr. Gerlach, but legally; for the state is the\nfountain\u2010head of all right, and consequently possessed of unlimited\nright.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou enunciate principles, sir, which differ vastly from what morality and\nreligion teach.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat signify morals\u2014what signifies religion? Mere antiquated forms, sir,\nwith no living significance,\u201d explained Seicht, lavishly displaying the\ntreasures of the storehouse of progressionist wisdom. \u201cThe past submitted\nquietly to the authority of religion, because there existed then a low\ndegree of intellectual culture. At present there is only one authority\u2014it\nis the preponderance of numbers and of material forces. Consequently, the\nonly real authority is the majority in power. On the other hand,\nauthorities based upon the supposed existence of a supersensible world\nhave lost their cause of being, for the reason that exact science plainly\ndemonstrates the nonexistence of an immaterial world. _Cessante causa,\ncessat effectus_, the supersensible world, the basis of religious\nauthority, being gone, it logically results that religious authority\nitself is gone. Hence the only real authority existing in a state is the\nmajority, and to this every citizen is obliged to submit. You marvel, Mr.\nGerlach. What I have said is not my own personal view, but the expression\nof the principles which alone pass current at the present day.\u201d\n\n\u201cI agree in what you say,\u201d said the banker. \u201cYou have spoken from the\nstandpoint of the times. The controlling power is the majority.\u201d\n\n\u201cShund, then, accurately summed up the creed of the present age when he\nsaid, \u2018Progress conquers death, destroys hell, rejects heaven, and finds\nits god in the sweet enjoyment of life.\u2019 It is to be hoped that all\u2010\npowerful progress will next decree that there are no death and no\nsuffering upon earth, that all the hostile forces of nature have ceased,\nthat want and misery are no more, and that earth is a paradise of sweet\nenjoyment for all.\u201d\n\nMr. Seicht was rather taken aback by this satire.\n\n\u201cBesides, gentlemen,\u201d proceeded Gerlach, \u201cyou will please observe that the\ndoctrine of state supremacy is a step backward of nearly two thousand\nyears. In Nero\u2019s day, but one source of right, namely, the state, was\nrecognized. In the head of the state, the emperor, were centred all power,\nall authority, and all right. In his person, the state was exalted into a\ndivinity. Temples and altars were reared to the emperor; sacrifices were\noffered to him; he was worshipped as a deity. Even human sacrifices were\nnot denied him if the imperial divinity thought proper to demand them.\nAnd, now, to what condition did these monstrous errors bring the world of\nthat period? It became one vast theatre of crime, immorality, and\ndespotism. Slavery coiled itself about men and things, and strangled their\nliberty. Matrimonial life sank into the most loathsome corruption.\nInfanticide was permitted to pass unpunished. The licentiousness of women\nwas even greater than that of men. Life and property became mere\nplaythings for the whims of the emperor and of his courtiers. Did the\ndivine Caesar wish to amuse his deeply sunken subjects, he had only to\norder the gladiators to butcher one another, or some prisoners or slaves\nor Christians to be thrown to tigers and panthers; this made a Roman\nholiday. Such, gentlemen, was human society when it recognized no\nsupersensible world, no God above, no moral law. If our own progress\nproceeds much further in the path on which it is marching, it will soon\nreach a similar fearful stage. We already see in our midst the\ncommencement of social corruption. We have the only source of right\nproclaimed to be the divine state. Conscience is being tyrannized over by\na majority that rejects God and denies future rewards and punishments. All\nthe rest, even to the divine despot, has already followed, or inevitably\nwill follow. Therefore, Mr. Seicht, the progress you so loudly boast of is\nmere stupid retrogression, blind superstition, which falls prostrate\nbefore the majority of a mob, and worships the omnipotence of the state.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you think my friend has been uttering some very bitter truths?\u201d\nasked the banker, with a smile.\n\n\u201cPretty nearly so,\u201d replied the official demurely. \u201cHowever, one can\ndetect the design, and cannot help getting out of humor.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat design?\u201d asked Seraphin.\n\n\u201cOf creating alarm against progress.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, sir, you are mistaken. I, too, am enthusiastic about progress,\nbut genuine progress. And because I am an advocate of real progress I\ncannot help detesting the monstrosity which the age would wish to palm off\non men instead.\u201d\n\nThe church was now cleared. Greifmann\u2019s carriage was at the door. The\nmillionaires drove off.\n\n\u201cPity for this Gerlach!\u201d thought the official, as he strode through the\nstreet. \u201cHe is lost to progress, for he is too solidly rooted in\nsuperstition to be reclaimed. War against nature\u2019s claims; deny healthy\nphysical nature its rights; re\u2010establish the reign of terror of the seven\ncapital sins; permit the priesthood to tyrannize over conscience; restore\nthe worship of an unmathematical triune God\u2014no! no!\u201d cried he fiercely,\n\u201csooner shall all go to the devil!\u201d\n\nA carriage whirled past him. He cast a glance into the vehicle, and raised\nhis hat to Mr. Hans Shund.\n\nThe chief magistrate was on his way home from the town\u2010hall. He could not\nrest under the weight of his laurels; the inebriation of his triumph drove\nhim into the room where sat his lonely and careworn wife.\n\n\u201cMy election to the assembly is assured, wife.\u201d And he went on with a\nminute account of the proceedings of the day.\n\nThe pale, emaciated lady sat bowed in silence over her work, and did not\nlook up.\n\n\u201cWell, wife, don\u2019t you take any interest in the honors won by your\nhusband? I should think you ought to feel pleased.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll my joys are swallowed up in an abyss of unutterable wretchedness,\u201d\nreplied she. \u201cAnd my husband is daily deepening the gulf. Yesterday you\nwere again at a disreputable house. Your abominable deeds are heaped\nmountain high\u2014and am I to rejoice?\u201d\n\n\u201cA thousand demons, wife, I\u2019m beginning to believe you have spies on\nfoot!\u201d\n\n\u201cI have not. But you are at the head of this city\u2014your steps cannot\npossibly remain unobserved.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well!\u201d cried he, \u201cit shall be my effort in the assembly to bring\nabout such a change that there shall no longer be any houses of disrepute.\nNarrow\u2010minded moralists shall not be allowed to howl any longer. The time\nis at hand, old lady\u2014so\u2010called disreputable houses are to become places of\namusement authorized by law.\u201d\n\nHe spoke and disappeared.\n\n\n\nChapter IX. Progress Grows Jolly.\n\n\nThe agitators of progress were again hurrying through the streets and\nalleys of the town. They knocked at every door and entered every house to\nsolicit votes in favor of common schools. Thanks to the overwhelming might\nof the party in power, they again carried their measure. Dependent,\nutterly enslaved, many yielded up their votes without opposition. It is\ntrue conscience tortured many a parent for voting against his convictions,\nfor sacrificing his children to a system with which he could not\nsympathize; but not a man in a dependent position had the courage to\nvindicate for his child the religious training which was being so\nruthlessly swept away. Even men in high office gave way before the\nencroaching despotism, for in the very uppermost ranks of society also\nprogress domineered.\n\nOne man only, fearless and firm, dared to put himself in the path of the\ndominant power\u2014the Rev. F. Morgenroth. From the pulpit, he unmasked and\nscathed the unchristian design of debarring youth from religious\ninstruction, and of rearing a generation ignorant of God and of his\ncommandments. He warned parents against the evil, entreated them to stand\nup conscientiously for the spiritual welfare of their children, to reject\nthe common schools, and to rescue the little ones for the maternal\nguardianship of the church.\n\nHis sermon roused the entire progressionist camp. The local press fiercely\nassailed the intrepid clergyman. Lies, calumnies, and scurrility were\nvomited against him and his profession. Hans Shund seized the pen, and\nindited newspaper articles of such a character as one would naturally look\nfor from a thief, usurer, and debauchee. Morgenroth paid no attention to\ntheir disgraceful clamor, but continued his opposition undismayed. By\nmeans of placards, he invited the Catholic citizens to assemble at his own\nresidence, for the purpose of consulting about the best mode of thwarting\nthe designs of the liberals. This unexpected fearlessness put the men of\nculture, humanity, and freedom beside themselves with rage. They at once\ndecided upon making a public demonstration. The chieftains issued orders\nto their bands, and these at the hour appointed for the meeting mustered\nbefore the residence of the priest. A noisy multitude, uttering threats,\ntook possession of the churchyard. If a citizen attempted to make his way\nthrough the mob to the house, he was loaded with vile epithets, at times\neven with kicks and blows. But a small number had gathered around the\npriest, and these showed much alarm; for outside the billows of progress\nwere surging and every moment rising higher. Stones were thrown at the\nhouse, and the windows were broken. Parteiling, the commissary of police,\ncame to remonstrate with the clergyman.\n\n\u201cDismiss the meeting,\u201d said he. \u201cThe excitement is assuming alarming\nproportions.\u201d\n\n\u201cCommissary, we are under the protection of the law and of civil rule,\u201d\nreplied Morgenroth. \u201cWe are not slaves and helots of progress. Are we to\nbe denied the liberty of discussing subjects of great importance in our\nown houses?\u201d\n\nA boulder coming through the window crushed the inkstand on the table, and\nrolled on over the floor. The men pressed to one side in terror.\n\n\u201cYour calling upon the law to protect you is utterly unreasonable under\npresent circumstances,\u201d said Parteiling. \u201cListen to the howling. Do you\nwant your house demolished? Do you wish to be maltreated? Will you have\nopen revolution? This all will surely follow if you persist in refusing to\ndismiss the meeting. I will not answer for results.\u201d\n\nStones began to rain more densely, and the howling grew louder and more\nmenacing.\n\n\u201cGentlemen,\u201d said Morgenroth to the men assembled, \u201csince we are not\npermitted to proceed with our deliberations, we will separate, with a\nprotest against this brutal terrorism.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, commissary,\u201d said a much frightened man, \u201chow are we to get away?\nThese people are infuriated; they will tear us in pieces.\u201d\n\n\u201cFear nothing, gentlemen; follow me,\u201d spoke the commissary, leading the\nway.\n\nThe ultramontanes were hailed with a loud burst of scornful laughter. The\ncommissary, advancing to the gate, beckoned silence.\n\n\u201cIn the name of the law, clear the place!\u201d cried he.\n\nThe mob scoffed and yelled.\n\n\u201cFetch out the slaves of the priest\u2014make them run the gauntlet\u2014down with\nthe Jesuits!\u201d\n\nAt this moment, a man was noticed elbowing his way through the crowd;\npresently Hans Shund stepped before the embarrassed guardian of public\norder.\n\n\u201cThree cheers for the magistrate!\u201d vociferated the mob.\n\nShund made a signal. Profound silence followed.\n\n\u201cGentlemen,\u201d spoke the chief magistrate, in a tone of entreaty, \u201chave the\ngoodness to disperse.\u201d\n\nRepeated cheers were raised, then the accumulation of corrupt elements\nbegan to dissolve and flow off in every direction.\n\n\u201cI deeply regret this commotion of which I but a moment ago received\nintelligence,\u201d said Shund. \u201cThe excitement of the people is attributable\nsolely to the imprudent conduct of Morgenroth.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo be sure\u2014to be sure!\u201d assented Parteiling.\n\nThe place was cleared. The Catholics hurried home pursued and hooted by\nstraggling groups of rioters.\n\nThe signs of the approaching celebration began to be noticeable on the\ntown\u2010common. Booths were being erected, tables were being disposed in rows\nwhich reached further than the eye could see, wagon\u2010loads of chairs and\nbenches were being brought from all parts of town, men were busy sinking\nholes for climbing\u2010poles and treacherous turnstiles; but the most\nattractive feature of all the festival was yet invisible\u2014free beer and\nsausages furnished at public cost. The rumor alone, however, of such cheer\ngladdened the heart of every thirsty voter, and contributed greatly to the\nestablishment of the system of common schools. Bands of music paraded the\ntown, gathered up voters, and escorted them to the polls. As often as they\npassed before the residence of a progressionist chieftain, the bands\nstruck up an air, and the crowd cheered lustily. They halted in front of\nthe priest\u2019s residence also. The band played, \u201cTo\u2010day we\u2019ll taste the\nparson\u2019s cheer,\u201d the mob roaring the words, and then winding up with\nwhistling and guffaws of laughter. This sort of disorderly work was kept\nup during three days. Then was announced in the papers in huge type: \u201cAn\noverwhelming majority of the enlightened citizens of this city have\ndecided in favor of common schools. Herewith the existence of these\nschools is secured and legalized.\u201d\n\nOn the fourth day, the celebration came off. The same morning Gerlach\nsenior arrived at the Palais Greifmann on his way home from the\nExposition.\n\n\u201cI am so glad!\u201d cried Louise. \u201cI was beginning to fear you would not come,\nand getting provoked at your indifference to the interests of our people.\nWe have been having stirring times, but we have come off victorious. The\nnarrow\u2010minded enemies of enlightenment are defeated. Modern views now\nprevail, and education is to be remodelled and put in harmony with the\nwants of our century.\u201d\n\n\u201cTimes must have been stirring, for you seem almost frenzied, Louise,\u201d\nsaid Conrad.\n\n\u201cHad you witnessed the struggle and read the newspapers, you, too, would\nhave grown enthusiastic,\u201d declared the young lady.\n\n\u201cEven quotations advanced,\u201d said the banker. \u201cIt astonished me, and I can\naccount for it only by assuming that the triumph of the common\u2010school\nsystem is of general significance and an imperative desideratum of the\ntimes.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow can you have any doubt about it?\u201d cried his sister. \u201cOur town has\npioneered the way: the rest of Germany will soon adopt the same system.\u201d\n\nSeraphin greeted his father.\n\n\u201cWell, my son, you very likely have heard nothing whatever of this hubbub\nabout schools?\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, I have, father. Carl and I were in the midst of the commotion at\nthe desecrated church of S. Peter. We saw and heard what it would have\nbeen difficult to imagine.\u201d He then proceeded to give his father a minute\naccount of the meeting. His powerful memory enabled him to repeat Shund\u2019s\nspeech almost verbatim. The father listened attentively, and occasionally\ndirected a glance of observation at the young lady. When Shund\u2019s coarse\nridicule of Christian morals and dogmas was rehearsed, Mr. Conrad lowered\nhis eyes, and a frown flitted over his brow. For the rest, his countenance\nwas, as usual, cold and stern.\n\n\u201cThis Mr. Shund made quite a strong speech,\u201d said he, in a nonchalant way.\n\n\u201cHe rather intensified the colors of truth, \u2019tis true,\u201d remarked Louise.\n\u201cThe masses, however, like high coloring and vigorous language.\u201d\n\nA servant brought the banker a note.\n\n\u201cGood! Shund is elected to the assembly! The span of bays belongs to me,\u201d\nexulted Carl Greifmann.\n\n\u201cYour bays Seraphin?\u201d inquired the father. \u201cHow is this?\u201d\n\nMr. Conrad had twice been informed of the wager; he had learned it first\nfrom Seraphin\u2019s own lips, then also he had read of it in his diary; still\nhe asked again, and his son detailed the story a third time.\n\n\u201cI should sooner have expected to see the heavens fall than to lose that\nbet,\u201d added Seraphin.\n\n\u201cWhen a notorious thief and usurer is elected to the chief magistracy and\nto the legislative assembly, the victory gained is hardly a creditable one\nto the spirit of progress, my dear Carl. Don\u2019t you think so, Louise?\u201d said\nthe landholder.\n\n\u201cYou mustn\u2019t be too rigorous,\u201d replied the lady, with composure. \u201cRumor\nwhispers many a bit of scandal respecting Shund which does, indeed, offend\none\u2019s sense of propriety; for all that, however, Shund will play his part\nbrilliantly both in the assembly and in the town council. The greatest of\nstatesmen have had their foibles, as everybody knows.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery true,\u201d said Gerlach dryly. \u201cViewed from the standpoint of very\nhumane tolerance, Shund\u2019s disgusting habits may be considered\njustifiable.\u201d\n\nSeraphin left the parlor, and retired to his room. Here he wrestled with\nviolent feelings. His father\u2019s conduct was a mystery to him. Opinions\nwhich conflicted with his own most sacred convictions, and principles\nwhich brought an indignant flush to his cheek, were listened to and\napparently acquiesced in by his father. Shund\u2019s abominable diatribe had\nnot roused the old gentleman\u2019s anger; Louise\u2019s avowed concurrence with the\nirreligious principles of the chieftain had not even provoked his\ndisapprobation.\n\n\u201cMy God, my God! can it be possible?\u201d cried he in an agony of despair.\n\u201cHas the love of gain so utterly blinded my father? Can he have sunk so\nlow as to be willing to immolate me, his only child, to a base\nspeculation? Can he be willing for the sake of a million florins to bind\nme for life to this erring creature, this infidel Louise? Can a paltry\nmillion tempt him to be so reckless and cruel? No! no! a thousand times\nno!\u201d exclaimed he. \u201cI never will be the husband of this woman, never\u2014I\nswear it by the great God of heaven! Get angry with me, father, banish me\nfrom your sight\u2014it would be more tolerable than the consciousness of being\nthe husband of a woman who believes not in the Redeemer of the world. I\nhave sworn\u2014the matter is for ever settled.\u201d He threw himself into an arm\u2010\nchair, and moodily stared at the opposite wall. By degrees, his excitement\nsubsided, and he became quiet.\n\nIn fancy, he beheld beside Louise\u2019s form another lovely one rise up\u2014that\nof the girl with the golden hair, the bright eyes, and the winning smile.\nShe had stood before him on this very floor, in her neat and simple\ncountry garb, radiant with innocence and purity, adorned with innate grace\nand uncommon beauty. And the lapse of days, far from weakening, had\ndeepened the impression of her first apparition. The storm that had been\nraging in his interior was allayed by the recollection of Mechtild, as the\nfury of the great deep subsides upon the reappearance of the sun. Scarcely\nan hour had passed during which he had not thought of the girl, rehearsed\nevery word she had uttered, and viewed the basket of grapes she had\nbrought him. Again he pulled out the drawer, and looked upon the gift with\na friendly smile; then, locking up the precious treasure, he returned to\nthe parlor.\n\nHe found the company on the balcony. The sound of trumpets and drums came\nfrom a distance, and presently a motley procession was seen coming up the\nnearest street.\n\n\u201cYou have just arrived in time to see the procession,\u201d cried Louise to\nhim. \u201cIt is going to defile past here, so we will be able to have a good\nlook at it.\u201d\n\nA dusky swarm of boys and half\u2010grown youths came winding round the nearest\nstreet\u2010corner, followed immediately by the head of a mock procession. In\nthe lead marched a fellow dressed in a brown cloak, the hood of which was\ndrawn over his head. His waist was encircled with a girdle from which\ndangled a string of pebbles representing a rosary. To complete the\ncaricature of a Capuchin, his feet were bare, excepting a pair of soles\nwhich were strapped to them with thongs of leather. In his hands he bore a\ntall cross rudely contrived with a couple of sticks. The image of the\ncross was represented by a broken mineral\u2010water bottle. Behind the cross\u2010\nbearer followed the procession in a double line, consisting of boys, young\nmen, factory\u2010hands, drunken mechanics, and such other begrimed and\nbesotted beings as progress alone can count in its ranks. The members of\nthe procession were chanting a litany; at the same time they folded their\nhands, made grimaces, turned their eyes upwards, or played unseemly pranks\nwith genuine rosary beads.\n\nNext in the procession came a low car drawn by a watery\u2010eyed mare which a\nlad bedizened like a clown was leading by the bridle. In the car sat a fat\nfellow whose face was painted red, and eyebrows dyed, and who wore a long\nartificial beard. Over a prodigious paunch, also artificial, he had drawn\na long white gown, over which again he wore a many\u2010colored rag shaped like\na cope. On his head he wore a high paper cap, brimless; around the cap\nwere three crowns of gilt paper to represent the tiara of the pope. A\nsorry\u2010looking donkey walked after the car, to which it was attached by a\nrope. It was the _r\u00f4le_ of the fellow in the car to address the donkey,\nmake a sign of blessing over it, and occasionally reach it straw drawn\nfrom his artificial paunch. As often as he went through this man\u0153uvre, the\ncrowd set up a tremendous roar of laughter. The fat man in the car\nrepresented the pope, and the donkey was intended to symbolize the\ncredulity of the faithful.\n\nThis mock pope was not a suggestion of Shund\u2019s or of any other inventive\nprogressionist. The whole idea was copied from a caricature which had\nappeared in a widely circulating pictorial whose only aim and pleasure it\nhas been for years to destroy the innate religious nobleness of the German\npeople by means of shallow wit and vulgar caricatures. And this very\nsheet, leagued with a daily organ equally degraded, can boast of no\ninconsiderable success. The rude and vulgar applaud its witticisms, the\nlow and infamous regale themselves with its pictures, and its demoralizing\ninfluence is infecting the land.\n\nThe principal feature of the procession was a wagon, hung with garlands\nand bestuck with small flags, drawn by six splendid horses. In it sat a\nyouthful woman, plump and bold. Her shoulders were bare, the dress being\nan exaggerated sample of the style _d\u00e9collet\u00e9_; above her head was a\nwreath of oak leaves. She was attended by a number of young men in masks.\nThey carried drinking\u2010horns, which they filled from time to time from a\nbarrel, and presented to the _bacchante_, who sipped from them; then these\ngentlemen in waiting drank themselves, and poured what was left upon the\ncrowd. A band of music, walking in front of this triumphal car, played\nairs and marches. Not even the mock pope was as great an object of\nadmiration as this shameless woman. Old and young thronged about the\nwagon, feasting their lascivious eyes on this beastly spectacle which\nrepresented that most disgusting of all abominable achievements of\nprogress\u2014the emancipated woman. And perhaps not even progress could have\ndared, in less excited times, so grossly to insult the chaste spirit of\nthe German people; but the social atmosphere had been made so foul by the\nabominations of the election, and the spirits of impurity had reigned so\nabsolutely during the canvass in behalf of common schools, that this\nimmoral show was suffered to parade without opposition.\n\nThe very commencement of this sacrilegious mockery of religion had roused\nSeraphin\u2019s indignation, and he had retired from the balcony. His father,\nhowever, had remained, coolly watching the procession as it passed, and\ncarefully noting Louise\u2019s remarks and behavior.\n\n\u201cWhat does that woman represent?\u201d he asked. \u201cA goddess of liberty, I\nsuppose?\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly in one sense, I think,\u201d replied the progressionist young lady. \u201cThe\nwoman wearing the crown symbolizes, to my mind, the enjoyment of life. She\ntypifies heaven upon earth, now that exact science has done away with the\nheaven of the next world.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should think yon creature rather reminds one of hell,\u201d said Mr. Conrad.\n\n\u201cOf hell!\u201d exclaimed Louise, in alarm. \u201cYou are jesting, sir, are you\nnot?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever more serious in my life, Louise. Notice the shameless effrontery,\nthe baseness and infamy of the creature, and you will be forced to form\nconclusions which, far from justifying the expectation of peace and\nhappiness in the family circle, the true sphere of woman, will suggest\nonly wrangling, discord, and hell upon earth.\u201d\n\nThe young lady did not venture to reply. A gentleman made his way through\nthe crowd, and waved his hat to the company on the balcony. The banker\nreturned the salutation.\n\n\u201cOfficial Seicht,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cWhat! an officer of the government in this disreputable crowd!\u201d exclaimed\nGerlach, with surprise.\n\n\u201cHe is on hand to maintain order,\u201d explained Greifmann. \u201cYou see some\npolicemen, too. Mr. Seicht sympathizes with progress. At the last meeting,\nhe made a speech in favor of common schools; he sounded the praises of the\ngospel of progress, gave a toast at the banquet to the gospel of progress,\nand has won for himself the title of evangelist of progress. He once\ndeclared, too, that the very sight of a priest rouses his blood, and they\nnow pleasantly call him the parson\u2010eater. He is very popular.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am amazed!\u201d said Gerlach. \u201cMr. Seicht dishonors his office. He\nadvocates common schools, insults all the believing citizens of his\ndistrict, and runs with mock processions\u2014a happy state of things, indeed!\u201d\n\n\u201cHis conduct is the result of careful calculation,\u201d returned Greifmann.\n\n\u201cBy showing hostility to ultramontanism, he commends himself to progress,\nwhich is in power.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the government should not tolerate such disgraceful behavior on the\npart of one of its officials,\u201d said Gerlach. \u201cThe entire official corps is\ndisgraced so long as this shallow evangelist of progress is permitted to\ncontinue wearing the uniform.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou should not be so exacting,\u201d cried Louise. \u201cWhy will you not allow\nofficials also to float along with the current of progress until they will\nhave reached the Eldorado of the position to which they are aspiring?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe corruption of the state must be fearful indeed, when such deportment\nin an officer is regarded as a recommendation,\u201d rejoined Mr. Conrad\ncurtly.\n\nA servant appeared to call them to table.\n\n\u201cWould you not like to see the celebration?\u201d inquired Louise.\n\n\u201cBy all means,\u201d answered Gerlach. \u201cThe excitement is of so unusual a\ncharacter that it claims attention. You will have to accompany us,\nLouise.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall do so with pleasure. When sound popular sentiment thus proclaims\nitself, I cannot but feel a strong desire to be present.\u201d\n\nThe procession had turned the corner of a street where stood Holt and two\nmore countrymen looking on. The religious sentiment of these honest men\nwas deeply wounded by the profanation of the cross; and when, besides,\nthey heard the singing of the mock litany, their anger kindled, their eyes\ngleamed, and they mingled fierce maledictions with the tumult of the mob.\nNext appeared the mock pope, dispensing blessings with his right hand,\nreaching straw to the donkey with his left, and distorting his painted\nface into all sorts of farcical grimaces.\n\nThe peasants at once caught the significance of this burlesque. Their\ncountenances glowed with indignation. Avenging spirits took possession of\nMechtild\u2019s father; his strong, stalwart frame seemed suddenly to have\nbecome herculean. His fist of iron doubled itself; there was lightning in\nhis eyes; like an infuriated lion, he burst into the crowd, broke the line\nof the procession, and, directing a tremendous blow at the head of the\nmock pope, precipitated him from the car. The paper cap flew far away\nunder the feet of the bystanders, and the false beard got into the\ndonkey\u2019s mouth. When the mock pope was down, Holt\u2019s comrades immediately\nset upon him, and tore the many\u2010colored rag from his shoulders. Then\ncommenced a great tumult. A host of furious progressionists surrounded the\nsturdy countrymen, brandishing their fists and filling the air with mad\nimprecations.\n\n\u201cKill the dogs! Down with the accursed ultramontanes!\u201d\n\nSome of the policemen hurried up to prevent bloodshed. Mr. Seicht also\nhurried to the scene of action, and his shrill voice could be heard high\nabove the noise and confusion.\n\n\u201cGentlemen, I implore you, let the law have its course, gentlemen!\u201d cried\nhe. \u201cGentlemen, friends, do not, I beg you, violate the law! Trust me,\nfellow\u2010citizens\u2014I shall see that the impertinence of these ultramontanes\nis duly punished.\u201d\n\nThey understood his meaning. Sticks and fists were immediately lowered.\n\n\u201cBrigadier Forchhaem,\u201d cried Mr. Seicht, in a tone of command\u2014\u201cForchhaem,\nhither! Put handcuffs on these ultramontanes, these disturbers of the\npeace\u2014put irons on these revolutionists.\u201d\n\nHandcuffs were forthwith produced by the policemen. The towering, broad\u2010\nshouldered Holt stood quiet as a lamb, looked with an air of astonishment\nat the confusion, and suffered himself to be handcuffed. His comrades,\nhowever, behaved like anything but lambs. They laid about them with hands\nand feet, knocking down the policemen, and giving bloody mouths and noses\nto all who came within their reach.\n\n\u201cHandcuff us!\u201d they screamed, grinding their teeth, bleeding and cursing.\n\u201cAre we cutthroats?\u201d The bystanders drew back in apprehension. The\nconfusion seemed to be past remedying. A thousand voices were screaming,\nbawling, and crying at the same time; the circle around the struggling\ncountrymen was getting wider and wider; and when finally they attempted to\nbreak through, the crowd took to flight, as if a couple of tigers were\nafter them.\n\nMany of the spectators found a pleasurable excitement in watching the\nbattle between the policemen and the peasants; but they would not move a\nfinger to aid the officers of the law in arresting the culprits. They\nadmired the agility and strength of the countrymen, and the more fierce\nthe struggle became, the greater grew their delight, and the louder their\nmerriment.\n\nHolt had been carried on with the motion of the crowd. When he dealt the\nblow to the fellow in the car, he was beside himself with rage. The\ngenuine _furor teutonicus_ had taken possession of him so irresistibly and\nso bewilderingly as to leave him utterly without any of the calm judgment\nnecessary to measure the situation. After his first adventure, he had\nsubmitted to be handcuffed, and had watched the struggle between Forchhaem\nand his own comrades in a sort of absence of mind. He had stood perfectly\nquiet, his face had become pale, and his eyes looked about strangely. The\nexcitement of passion was now beginning to wear off. He felt the cold iron\nof the manacles around his wrists, his eyes glared, his face became\ncrimson, the sinews of his powerful arm stiffened, and with one great\nmuscular convulsion he wrenched off the handcuffs. Nobody had observed\nthis sudden action, all eyes being directed to the combatants. Shoving the\npart of the handcuff which still hung to his wrist under the sleeve of his\njacket, Holt disappeared through the crowd.\n\nThe resistance of the peasants was gradually becoming fainter. At length\nthey succumbed to overpowering force, and were handcuffed.\n\n\u201cWhere is the third one?\u201d cried Seicht. \u201cThere were three of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere is the third one? There were three of them,\u201d was echoed on every\nhand, and all eyes sought for the missing one in the crowd.\n\n\u201cThe third one has run away, sir,\u201d reported Forchhaem.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s his name?\u201d asked Seicht.\n\nNobody knew.\n\nA street boy, looking up at the official, ingenuously cried, \u201c\u2019Twas a\nTartar.\u201d\n\nSeicht looked down upon the obstreperous little informant.\n\n\u201cA Tartar\u2014do you know him?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; but these here know him,\u201d pointing to the captives.\n\n\u201cWhat is the name of your comrade?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe don\u2019t know him,\u201d was the surly reply.\n\n\u201cNever mind, he will become known in the judicial examination. Off to jail\nwith these rebellious ultramontanes,\u201d the official commanded.\n\nBound in chains, and guarded by a posse of police, these honest men, whose\nreligious sense had been so wantonly outraged as to have occasioned an\noutburst of noble indignation, were marched through the streets of the\ntown and imprisoned. They were treated as criminals for a crime, however,\nthe guilt of which was justly chargeable to those very rioters who were\nenjoying official protection.\n\nThe procession moved on to the ground selected for the barbecue. A motley\nmass, especially of factory\u2010men, were hard at work upon the scene. The\nbooths, spread far and wide over the common, were thrown open, and around\nthem moved a swarm of thirsty beings drawing rations of beer and sausages,\nwith which, when they had received them, they staggered away to the\ntables. Degraded\u2010looking women were also to be seen moving about\nunsteadily with brimming mugs of beer in their hands. There were several\nbands of music stationed at different points around the place.\n\nThe chieftains of progress, perambulating the ground with an air of\ntriumph, bestowed friendly nods of recognition on all sides, and\ncondescendingly engaged in conversation with some of the rank and file.\n\nHans Shund approached the awning where the woman with the bare shoulders\nand indecent costume had taken a seat. She had captivated the gallant\nchief magistrate, who hovered about her as a raven hovers over a dead\ncarcass. Moving off, he halted within hearing distance, and, casting\nfrequent glances back, addressed immodest jokes to those who occupied the\nother side of the table, at which they laughed and applauded immoderately.\n\nThe men whom Seraphin had met in the subterranean den, on the memorable\nnight before the election, were also present: Flachsen, Graeulich, Koenig,\nand a host of others. They were regaling themselves with sausages which\nomitted an unmistakable odor of garlic, and were of a very dubious\nappearance; interrupting the process of eating with frequent and copious\ndraughts from their beer\u2010mugs.\n\n\u201cDrink, old woman!\u201d cried Graeulich to his wife. \u201cDrink, I tell you! It\ndoesn\u2019t cost us anything to\u2010day.\u201d\n\nThe woman put the jug to her lips and drained it manfully. Other women who\nwere present screamed in chorus, and the men laughed boisterously.\n\n\u201cYour old woman does that handsomely,\u201d applauded Koth. \u201cHell and thunder!\nBut she must be a real spitfire.\u201d\n\nAgain they laughed uproariously.\n\n\u201cI wish there were an election every day, what a jolly life this would\nbe!\u201d said Koenig. \u201cNothing to do, eating and drinking gratis\u2014what more\nwould you wish?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the way the bigbugs live all the year round. They may eat and\ndrink what they like best, and needn\u2019t do a hand\u2019s turn. Isn\u2019t it glorious\nto be rich?\u201d cried Graeulich.\n\n\u201cSo drink, boys, drink till you can\u2019t stand! We are all of us bigbugs to\u2010\nday.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd if things were regulated as they should be,\u201d said Koth, \u201cthere would\ncome a day when we poor devils would also see glorious times. We have been\ntorturing ourselves about long enough for the sake of others. I maintain\nthat things will have to be differently regulated.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat game is that you are wishing to come at? Show your hand, old\nfellow!\u201d cried several voices.\n\n\u201cHere\u2019s what I mean: Coffers which are full will have to pour some of\ntheir superfluity into coffers which are empty. You take me, don\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Pon my soul, I can\u2019t make you out. You are talking conundrums,\u201d declared\nKoenig.\n\n\u201cYou blockhead, I mean there will soon have to be a partition. They who\nhave plenty will have to give some to those who have nothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cBravo! Long live Koth!\u201d\n\n\u201cThat sort of doctrine is dangerous to the state,\u201d said Flachsen. \u201cSuch\nprinciples bring about revolutions, and corrupt society.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat of society! You\u2019re an ass, Flachsen! Koth is right\u2014partition,\npartition!\u201d was the cry all round the table.\n\n\u201cAs you will! I have nothing against it if only it were practicable,\u201d\nexpostulated Flachsen; \u201cfor I, too, am a radical.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is practicable! All things are practicable,\u201d exclaimed Koth. \u201cOur age\ncan do anything, and so can we. Haven\u2019t we driven religion out of the\nschools? Haven\u2019t we elected Shund for mayor? It is the majority who rule;\nand, were we to vote in favor of partition to\u2010morrow, partition would have\nto take place. Any measure can be carried by a majority, and, since we\npoor devils are in the majority, as soon as we will have voted for\npartition it will come without fail.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s sensible!\u201d agreed they all. \u201cBut then, such a thing has never yet\nbeen done. Do you think it possible?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnything is possible,\u201d maintained Koth. \u201cDidn\u2019t Shund preach that there\nisn\u2019t any God, or hell, or devil? Was that ever taught before? If the God\nof old has to submit to being deposed, the rich will have to submit to it.\nI tell you, the majority will settle the business for the rich. And if\nthere\u2019s no God, no devil, and no life beyond, well then, you see, I\u2019m\ncapable of laying my hand to anything. If voting won\u2019t do, violence will.\nDo you understand?\u201d\n\n\u201cBravo! Hurrah for Koth!\u201d\n\n\u201cThere must be progress,\u201d cried Graeulich, \u201camong us as well as others. We\nare not going to continue all our lives in wretchedness. We must advance\nfrom labor to comfort without labor, from poverty to wealth, from want to\nabundance. Three cheers for progress\u2014hurrah! hurrah!\u201d And the whole\ncompany joined in frantically.\n\n\u201cThere comes Evangelist Seicht,\u201d cried Koenig. \u201cThough I didn\u2019t understand\none word of his speech, I believe he meant well. Although he is an officer\nof the government, he cordially hates priests. A man may say what he\npleases against religion, and the church, and the Pope, and the Jesuits,\nit rather pleases Seicht. He is a free and enlightened man, is he. Up with\nyour glasses, boys; if he comes near, let\u2019s give him three rousing\ncheers.\u201d\n\nThey did as directed. Men and women cheered lustily. Seicht very\ncondescendingly raised his hat and smiled as he passed the table. The\novation put him in fine humor. Though he had failed in securing a place in\nthe assembly, perhaps the slight would be repaired in the future. Such was\nthe tenor of his thoughts whilst he advanced to the climbing\u2010pole, around\nwhich was assembled a crowd of boys. Quite a variety of prizes, especially\ntobacco\u2010pipes, was hanging from the cross\u2010pieces at the top of the mast.\nThe pole was so smooth that more than ordinary strength and activity were\nrequired to get to the top. The greater number of those who attempted the\nfeat gave out and slid back without having gained a prize. There were also\ngrown persons standing around watching the efforts of the boys and young\nmen.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s my turn now,\u201d cried the fellow who had carried the cross in the\nprocession.\n\n\u201cBut, first, let me have one more drink\u2014it\u2019ll improve the sliding.\u201d He\nswallowed the drink hastily, then swaying about as he looked and pointed\nupward, \u201cDo you see that pipe with tassels to it?\u201d he said. \u201cThat\u2019s the\none I\u2019m going after.\u201d\n\nThrowing aside his mantle, he began to climb.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019ll not get up, he\u2019s drunk,\u201d cried a lad among the bystanders.\n\u201cBelladonna has given him two pints of double beer for carrying the cross\nin the procession\u2014that\u2019s what ails him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWait till I come down, I\u2019ll slap your jaws,\u201d cried the climber.\n\nThe spectators were watching him with interest. He was obliged to pause\nfrequently to rest himself, which he did by winding his legs tightly round\nthe pole. At last he reached the top. Extending his arm to take the pipe,\nit was too short. Climbing still higher, he stretched his body to its\ngreatest length, lost his hold, and fell to the ground. The bystanders\nraised a great cry. The unfortunate youth\u2019s head had embedded itself in\nthe earth, streams of blood gushed from his mouth and nostrils\u2014he was\nlifeless.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s dead! It\u2019s all over with him,\u201d was whispered around.\n\n\u201cCarry him off,\u201d commanded Seicht, and then walked on.\n\nOne of the bystanders loosed the cross\u2010piece of the mock crucifix; the\ncorpse was then stretched across the two pieces of wood and carried off\nthe scene. As the body was carried past, the noise and revelry everywhere\nceased.\n\n\u201cWasn\u2019t that the one who carried the cross?\u201d was asked. \u201cIs he dead? Did\nhe fall from the pole? How terrible!\u201d\n\nEven the progressionist revellers were struck thoughtful, so deeply is the\nsense of religion rooted in the heart of man. Many a one among them,\nseeing the pale, rigid face of the dead man, understood his fate to be a\nsolemn warning, and fled from the scene in terror.\n\nThe progressionist element of the town was much flattered by the presence\nat its orgies of the wealthiest property owner of the country.\n\nThe women had already made the discovery that the millionaire\u2019s only son,\nMr. Seraphin Gerlach, was on the eve of marrying a member of the highly\nrespectable house of Greifmann, bankers. But it occasioned them no small\namount of surprise that the young gentleman was not in attendance on the\nbeautiful lady at the celebration. Louise\u2019s radiant countenance gave no\nindication, however, that any untoward occurrence had caused the absence\nof her prospective husband. The wives and daughters of the chieftains were\nsitting under an awning sipping coffee and eating cake. When Louise\napproached leaning on her brother\u2019s arm, they welcomed her to a place in\nthe circle of loveliness with many courtesies and marks of respect.\n\nMr. Conrad strolled about the place, studying the spirit which animated\nthe gathering.\n\nTo Be Continued.\n\n\n\n\n\u1f59\u03a0\u039d\u039f\u03a3\n\n\n    Not now for sleep, O slumber\u2010god! we sue;\n    Hypnus! not sleep, but give our souls repose!\n    Of the day\u2019s music such a mellowing close\n    As might have rested Shakespeare from his art,\n    Or soothed the spirit of the Tuscan strong\n    Who best read life, its passions and its woes,\n    And wrought of sorrow earth\u2019s divinest song.\n    Bring us a mood that might have lulled Mozart,\n    Not stupor, not forgetfulness, not dreams,\n    But vivid sense of what is best and rarest,\n    And sweet remembrance of the blessed few;\n    In the real presence of this fair world\u2019s fairest:\n    A spell of peace\u2014as \u2019twere by those dear streams(209)\n    Boccaccio wrote of, when romance was new.\n\n\n\n\nA Legend Of Saint Ottilia.\n\n\nAttich, Duke of Alsace, had a lovely wife, with whom he lived in great\nhappiness, desiring but one thing more than he possessed\u2014this was the\nblessing of children. His prayers, however, remained unanswered until he\nvowed that, if the Lord would grant his ardent wish, he would dedicate the\nchild entirely to his service. At length a daughter was born to him, but\nthe parents\u2019 first joy was turned into sadness, for the child was blind.\n\nOttilia (thus was she named) grew up a lovely maiden, with rare goodness\nand virtues, showing, from her earliest youth, singular piety and\ndevoutness of character. One of her daily prayers was that God might\nbestow on her the gift of sight. By\u2010and\u2010by, to the great astonishment of\nall, this prayer was answered. Beautiful before, the new expression of her\neyes so enhanced her charms that, whereas previously she had no lack of\nsuitors, now she was wooed by many and most noble youths. These dazzling\nprospects affected the mind of her father, and led him to repent the vow\nhe had made to give his sweet child to God. Then Count Adelhart, a brave\nman, and one who had performed great services for Attich, claimed the hand\nof Ottilia, and the duke resolved that his daughter should become his\nwife. Ottilia heard this with terror; she told her father how wrong she\nbelieved it to be, and how she feared the vengeance of heaven if they thus\ndisregarded his vow. Seeing, however, that her entreaties were of no\navail, and that they meant to marry her by compulsion, she fled she knew\nnot whither. Then Attich called out his servants to pursue her, he\nhimself, in company with Ottilia\u2019s suitor, taking the lead. They took the\nroad to Freiburg, in Breisgau.\n\nThe day began to decline, and their efforts to find her had been in vain,\nwhen, on riding up a hill from whose top they could overlook the country,\nthey heard a cry; turning their eyes toward the place from whence the\nsound came, they saw her whom they were seeking standing on the summit.\nThey urged their steeds onward, rejoicing in the certainty of capturing\nthe fugitive. Then Ottilia threw herself upon her knees, and prayed to\nheaven for assistance. The rock opened beneath her feet, and, in the sight\nof all, she sank into the yawning depth. The rock closed again, and, from\nthe spot where it had been reft in twain, a clear well flowed, taking its\ncourse downward into the forest below.\n\nThe mourning father returned to his now desolate home. Never again did he\nbehold Ottilia.\n\nThe wonderful tale soon spread far and near. The fountain became a place\nof pilgrimage. People drank from its waters, to which a wonderful healing\ninfluence for weak eyes was attributed. A hermit built his hut in its\nneighborhood, and \u201cThe Well of S. Ottilia\u201d was and is much frequented by\nold and young. The mountain itself bears the name of \u201cOttilia\u2010Berg.\u201d\n\nThus runs the simple legend which, even after the lapse of centuries,\nbrings people to visit this famous spring, partly drawn thither by\nreligious faith in the curative power of its waters, and partly attracted\nby the renowned beauty of the scenery which surrounds the spot where\nheaven\u2010trusting Ottilia had thrown herself upon the intervention of\nProvidence.\n\n\n\n\nThe Year Of Our Lord 1872.\n\n\nThere lurks a grim sarcasm in our title for those who, as the years grow\nand die out one after the other, ask each in turn: What have you brought\nus? what growth of good and lessening of evil? what new bond to link the\nscattered and divided masses of a humanity which should be common\u2014but is\nnot\u2014more closely and firmly together? Have you brought us a step nearer\nheaven, that is, nearer the destiny which God marked out in the beginning\nfor his creation, or thrown us backward? Years are the days of the world,\nof national life; and as each closes, even the superior minds which will\nnot deign to believe in such old\u2010fashioned words as a God, a heaven, or a\nhell, cannot fail to ask themselves the question, What has the world\ngained or lost in this its latest day?\n\nWe know that we shall be greeted at the outset by the old cry:\u2014Catholics\nbehind the age again: it is plain their religion was not made for the\nXIXth century; they will drift backward and sigh for the days that were,\nthe gloom and the mist and the superstition of the \u201cages of faith\u201d: they\nrefuse to recognize the century, to understand it and its glorious\nenlightenment: they decline to march hand in hand with the great leaders,\nthe apostles of the day, in politics, science, and religion\u2014the Bismarcks,\nthe Lanzas, the Mills, the Fawcetts, the Bradlaughs, the D\u00f6llingers, the\nBeechers, the Huxleys, the Buckles, the Darwins, the novelists, and the\nnewspapers; the \u201cenlightened\u201d ideas of the age on marriage, education,\ncivil government, and the rest. We humbly plead guilty to the greater\nportion of this charge. Modern enlightenment, as preached by the apostles\nabove enumerated, and others such, possesses still too few charms to win\nus from our benighted ignorance. To us Utopia appears as far off to\u2010day as\nwhen it grew upon the mind of Sir Thomas More in the shape of a dream too\nsplendid to be realized; as far off as the fairyland which presented\nitself to our youthful imagination, where everybody was goody\u2010goody, where\nall were kings and queens with crowns and sceptres, or lovely princesses\nand amiable princes, who loved each other with the most ardent nursery\nlove, and with only one crabbed old fairy to spoil the scene, whose\nwitcheries caused the amiable princes to undergo a certain amount of mild\nmisfortunes, creating a corresponding amount of misery in the bosoms of\nthe lovely princesses, till at length the old harridan was overridden to\nher shame and confusion, truth and virtue triumphed, everybody married\neverybody else, and there was peace and joy for ever after. To drop fancy:\nthe story of the year would not seem to bring happier tidings of the great\njoy which was announced at the coming of Christ: of \u201cpeace on earth to men\nof good\u2010will.\u201d \u201cCivilized\u201d governments still hold fast by the good old\nrule,\n\n\n    That he may take who has the power,\n    And he may keep who can.\n\n\nWe purpose passing in review a few of the chief events which have moved\nthe world during the past year and made its annals memorable in all time.\nOur review must necessarily be a rapid one, a mere glance in fact, at the\nmultitude of events which confront us, some like ghosts which we have\nsummoned from their graves in the buried year, others which accompany us\ninto the new and the unknown to ripen or wither with us into their measure\nof good or of evil.\n\nAs the year opened, the eyes of the world were fixed upon the sick\u2010bed of\nthe Prince of Wales, stricken down by fever apparently beyond hope of\nrecovery. The whole thing is long forgotten; but the anxiety which his\nillness caused\u2014in view of the possible political complications which might\nhave resulted from the death of the heir to the English throne\u2014and the\nenthusiasm which his recovery evoked from end to end of the land, makes\nthe event worthy of mention in the record of the year as significant of\nthe innate as well as outspoken loyalty of the English nation for their\ncrown and institution\u2014a national trait which it is becoming fashionable to\nquestion.\n\nOur own year opened tragically with the murder of Fisk by Stokes, his boon\ncompanion. The man\u2019s end was in keeping with his life, and his name should\nnot have sullied our pages, but for the consequent collapse of the long\ntriumphant Erie Ring. The era of blood thus commenced has flourished\nbravely. _Quid novi? quid novi?_ was the daily cry at Athens when S. Paul\nentered it. We would not demean the commercial metropolis of the New World\nand of the new age by comparing it with the intellectual metropolis of\npaganism; but as the cry of the Athenians was each day: What new system,\ndoctrine, or philosophy is there? the question of our more enlightened and\nChristian capital might well be: What new thing in the way of murder?\nScarcely a day passes but some fresh horror greets our eyes in the\nmorning. Nor is it left to the hand of man alone to take life as he\npleases; the privilege has passed to women, and they make right good use\nof this latest form of their \u201crights.\u201d We read till our blood curdles of\nthe political poisonings of the XVIth century in Italy; of their secrecy\nand the safety of their carrying out. We are a more honest race than the\nItalians; we enshroud our deeds of blood in no false Machiavellian veil;\nwe kill in open day. The lady or gentleman who has just taken away a life\npolitely hands the pistol to the officer, who escorts him or her with the\nutmost courtesy to the police station, where a cell is luxuriously fitted\nup according to the exigencies of the case; the murderer stands up in open\ncourt, with the ablest champions to defend him; he calls upon the law to\nsave him, and the \u201claw\u201d does. In the meantime obtuse people are beginning\nto inquire if there be such a thing as law in New York, and in America\ngenerally, and if the present administration of justice be not very\nclosely allied to administering injustice.\n\nWe have felt compelled to touch on this point at some length; for murder,\ncool, deliberate, wilful murder, has marked our year with a red stain\nwhich was never dry; the murderers have either escaped or are living at\nease and being \u201clionized\u201d by the press in their prisons; justice is not\nadministered among us. So true is this, that outraged public feeling,\nwhich requires a very heavy force to set its inertia in motion, has at\nlength found it necessary to begin to weed the judiciary. Until it does so\nthoroughly, the law of New York is the law of the bullet and the knife.\n\nIf we were not above taking a lesson from people for whom we entertain, of\ncourse, a sovereign contempt, we might find something commendable in the\naction of the populace in Lima, Peru, on the occasion of the murder of\nColonel Balta, the president, by Guttierez, the minister of war; who, in\norder to attain supreme power, caused Balta to be assassinated, having\npreviously gained over the garrison of Lima, and had himself proclaimed\ndictator. The people, finding reason to object to this summary mode of\nsettling questions, refused to accept this dictatorship; rose in revolt,\noverpowered the garrison, hanged the dictator and his brother to lamp\u2010\nposts in the public square, and burned their bodies. We, are far from\nadvocating the cause of \u201cJudge Lynch\u201d; but a slight touch of the sensible\nspirit displayed by the inhabitants of Lima has a wonderfully wholesome\neffect on evil doers in power.\n\nOur political life for the past year has been absorbed in the presidential\nelection and the settlement of the Alabama claims. This latter very vexed\nquestion has come at last to a final, peaceful, and satisfactory solution.\nOur claim for \u201cindirect damages\u201d against England was ruled out of court.\nAn adequate propitiation was made in the final decision, given in our\nfavor: England was compelled to pay us \u00a33,000,000; she is supposed to have\nlost very much in prestige in consequence; particularly as the San Juan\nboundary question was also decided in our favor; the whole thing was\nsettled by peaceful arbitration, and, therefore, no matter which party\nlost in prestige, or diplomacy, or pocket, both have good reason to\ncongratulate themselves on getting out of sight, let us ardently hope, for\never, a very ugly question which was fast becoming a gangrene, corroding\nand eating out all good feeling between the two nations. It is one of the\nthings which we sincerely trust may be buried with the dead year; and the\ntwo rival claimants we hope to see enter on a new lease of friendship and\ngood\u2010will.\n\nGeneral Grant was re\u2010elected; the opposition arrayed against him under Mr.\nGreeley as candidate for the presidency, and such very able secessionists\nfrom the republican ranks as Messrs. Sumner, Schurz, and others, and the\nattempted coalescing of Democrats with dissatisfied Republicans, who would\nnot coalesce, utterly broke down. General Grant\u2019s is undoubtedly a\nnational election: we trust, therefore, that his future term may\ncorrespond with the confidence placed in his rule by the nation; may be\nproductive of all the good which we expect of it for the nation at large;\nmay heal up old wounds still sore, and may lead the country wisely into a\nnew era of prosperity and peace: the more so that the outer world is fast\npouring in on us the most skilled artisans and law\u2010abiding, intelligent\ncitizens of every European race.\n\nHaving said so much for ourselves, we turn to the workings of events in\nEurope during the past year, which indeed have occupied our attention\nmore, almost, than our home questions. Our gaze has been riveted with an\ninterest of almost painful intensity on the two contestants during the\nlate dread struggle, and the actions and bearing of each have brought out\nthe inner character of the two nations in such strong relief that we can\nthink of Germany and France as two individualities. On the one side, we\nbehold United Germany, the victor in the fight, like a strong athlete\nglorying in his great strength, setting on his own brow the laurels which\nhe plucked from that of his fallen foe; not resting on his honors, and\nsatiated for the time being with his glory, but anxious, careful, trying\nhis strength, not letting his arms rust for want of practice, preparing\nhimself for new glories and new contests to come as though they were to\ncome to\u2010morrow, and as a matter of course. On the other, we have France\nwounded and bleeding at every pore. We thought its life had ebbed out,\nstricken first by the terrible blows of a merciless conqueror, after by a\ndelirious contest with itself. And what do we behold? No longer a weak\nconvalescent, sick, sore, and spiritless, but a great nation, infused with\na new life; strong and gaining in strength every day; cautious indeed and\nstill uncertain, but these are not bad signs in a nation which is\nrecovering at however rapid strides, and which fell from its overweening\nconfidence. It has almost exhausted its terrible debt to Germany, and rid\nthe soil of the foot of the foe. Its loans were eagerly taken up and\ncovered four times over: its exports for the first six months of the year\nwere in advance of those for the corresponding six months, esteemed a\nperiod of great prosperity, prior to the war; its army is again on a firm\nand sound footing; its children are peaceful, calm and obedient to the law\nin the face of the tyranny and unnecessarily harsh measures and dictation\nof the conqueror and the rash declamations of Gambetta, biding their time\nwith a calm good sense which we scarcely expected in the French people. Of\ncourse the nation is taxed and heavily; but the wonder is that a nation\ncan endure such blows and live; can not only live, but present to the\nadmiration and astonished gaze of the world, a year after what we\nconsidered its death and burial, so glorious a resurrection into a\npowerful and wealthy country. As these two nations have been the centre of\nattraction to the whole world during the year, we feel called upon to\ntouch upon each in a more special manner than on other nations.\n\nOn April 7th, the Emperor William delivered a speech from the throne, from\nwhich we cull the following extract:\n\n\u201cHonored Gentlemen: You will share the satisfaction with which the\nConfederate Governments look back on the events of the first year of the\nnewly founded German Empire, and the joyful confidence with which they\nlook forward to the further national and state development of our internal\ninstitutions. With equal satisfaction you will hail the assurance that the\npolicy of his majesty, the emperor and king, has succeeded in retaining\nand strengthening the confidence of all foreign states; that the power\nacquired by Germany through becoming united in one Empire is not only a\nsafe bulwark for the fatherland, but likewise affords a strong guarantee\nfor the peace of Europe.\u201d\n\nNow, that sounds so well, at least it did in April last, that it is almost\na pity to spoil it by the inevitable comments which cannot fail to present\nthemselves to the minds of its readers in December, in the face of one or\ntwo little events which have occurred since April. But before commenting\non it, we must add a further exquisite little piece of irony from the same\nspeech of Bismarck\u2019s\u2014we mean of the Emperor William: Prince Bismarck only\nread it:\n\n\u201cThe new administration in, and the consolidation of the affairs of,\nAlsace and Lorraine make satisfactory progress. The damage done by the war\nis gradually disappearing with the aid of the subvention given in\nconformity with the law, dated June 15, 1871.\u201d\n\nAs it is not the purport of this article to go extensively into the\nvarious subjects which come under our notice, we think that the best mode\nof dealing with the German question will be to read the above speech by\nthe December light:\n\nHonored Gentlemen: You will share the satisfaction with which the\nConfederate Governments look back on the events of the intervening nine\nmonths since his majesty, the emperor and king, first found reason to\ncongratulate you on the consolidation of the newly founded empire. Those\nevents are, in brief, as follows:\n\n1. As we consider national education to be the first means in making good,\nsound, and efficient citizens of the Empire, and as we consider it,\nmoreover, to be the great moralizer of the masses in these days, we have\nfound it necessary to take this education from the hands in which it has\nrested for so long, \u201cwhich the Prussia of the past encouraged, and indeed\nenforced; which have had the honor to receive the zealous support of two\ndeceased monarchs, the father and brother of the present sovereign; which\nhave received for the last two generations the approbation of all sorts of\nthinkers\u2014who believed that the Prussian state could only subsist by a\nstrict military and religious organization, that a definite church system\nmust be chosen by the state, and the people drilled in it as they were\ndrilled for his majesty\u2019s armies.\u201d(210) Notwithstanding the very solid\nproofs which our success in the late war gave us of the efficiency of this\nsystem, when our soldiers went to battle under the double panoply of\nintelligence and faith in God, we have since found it fit to divorce\nreligion from education, and place this moralizer of the masses in the\nhands of those to whom morality is a thing unknown, or, if it mean\nanything, means blind obedience to the state in all things.\n\n2. Holding as we do that marriage is another powerful moralizer of the\nmasses, and the strongest bond for the welfare, happiness, and power of a\nnation, we have thought fit to divorce it also from religion, to strip it\nof the sacred character with which Jesus Christ invested it, and which,\neven were it false, has been the chief means of restoring woman to her\nfitting station in life, of civilizing man, and substituting love and\npurity for sensuality and animal passion: being perfectly alive to all\nthis, we have still seen fit to hand the power of the binding and the\nloosing of marriage into the hands of the magistracy, to be dealt with for\nthe future as a civil contract, thus reducing it to the far more\nconvenient form of a mere matter of buying and selling at will.\n\n3. Having already testified in the most direct and special manner our\ngratitude for the great services rendered us by the Society of Jesus and\nkindred orders recently on the fields of France, and in the more lasting\nand beneficial fields of intellectual and religious culture under the\neducational system which obtained so long and with such profit to us, but\nwhich we have since seen fit to put an end to, we think it fit to prove\ntheir devotion still further to us by banishing them the Empire, breaking\nup their communities, closing their churches, appropriating their property\nto our own use and imprisoning them if we find them within our territory.\nWe mercifully spare them the further trial of immediate martyrdom.\n\n4. Having been compelled to meet the demands of two powerful bodies of our\nsubjects whose interests on religious questions sometimes clash, we have\nvery wisely, and very satisfactorily to both bodies, met those demands by\nspecial articles in our legislative code which have hitherto answered\ntheir purpose so well that both bodies have been enabled to work\nharmoniously though in friendly rivalry together as common children of\nfatherland. We have seen fit to erase those laws, at least in the case of\nthe Catholics. We cannot allow their bishops to excommunicate our\nsubjects, though we have hitherto allowed it, and though we still allow it\nto the Protestants.(211)\n\nHonored Gentlemen: Having thus succeeded in creating a profound and\nwidespread agitation by outraging the feelings and the conscience of\n14,000,000 of our most faithful subjects, an agitation which has spread\nfrom these 14,000,000 to hundreds of millions of their co\u2010religionists\noutside the Empire, and indeed of large bodies and powerful secular organs\nopposed to them in faith, the confederate governments, the most powerful\nof which is Catholic, may look forward with joyful confidence to the\nfurther national and state development of our institutions. With equal\nsatisfaction you will hail the assurance that the policy of his majesty,\nthe emperor and king, has succeeded in retaining and strengthening the\nconfidence of all foreign states,(212) that the power acquired by Germany\nis not only a safe bulwark for the fatherland,(213) but likewise affords a\nstrong guarantee for the peace of Europe.\n\nThe new administration in, and the consolidation of affairs in, Alsace and\nLorraine, have made most satisfactory progress. By careful and well\u2010\ndevised management we have succeeded in driving out the population of\nthese two provinces, two of the wealthiest in the world, in rendering\ntheir cities desolate and their smiling country a desert: in gaining for\nourselves a new legacy of hatred, and arousing the disgust and, what\npolitically is worse, the suspicion of all governments outside our own.\n\nAs a further comment on this speech we must add the dangerous symptoms of\nrevolt exhibited by the Upper House in the Prussian diet, and the\ndubiously constitutional mode adopted of bringing it to submission. The\ninflux of French gold would seem to have created a South Sea Bubble\ncommotion in financial circles. Rent in the chief cities and towns has\nincreased twofold; the cost of living has risen with it. This falls\nheaviest, of course, on the middle and lower classes, so that we are not\nsurprised to hear, that the rate of living having increased 60 or 70 per\ncent. for the poorer classes during the last six or seven years, and the\nFrench gold never having filtered down to their pockets, the poor have\nbeen unable to meet their new expenses, and \u201cever since the conclusion of\npeace with France,\u201d to quote the special correspondent of the London\n_Times_, April 11th, \u201cthe German workmen have been at war with their\n\u2018masters.\u2019 \u201d As a last comment we see the German people fleeing from this\nglorious consolidation of confederate governments in such numbers that the\ncentral government is compelled to call into practice measures as harsh on\nthe one side to restrain their own people from running away as they used\nto force out the inhabitants of Alsace and Lorraine. We believe we have\nsaid enough of German \u201cUnity\u201d on its first two years of lease to show that\nits workings, whether internal or external, have been anything but\nsatisfactory so far, and far from hopeful to the world at large.\n\nThe strikes which were successful in Germany were not restricted to that\nlocality. They spread through the greater part of Europe, and reached out\nhere to us, with varied success. New York was in many departments of\nbusiness at a standstill in what is generally esteemed as the busiest\nportion of the year. Fortunately with us and for the greater part\nelsewhere, the \u201cstrikes\u201d passed off peaceably, and the masters and workmen\nsucceeded in coming to a compromise at least for the time being. This\nuprising of labor against capital formed one of the most significant, we\nfear most threatening, aspects of the year. There was a union and a\ncombination among the working classes of European nations and our own,\nwhich enabled them to offer a persistent, solid, and bold front to their\nemployers. Funds and a more perfect organization, neither of which seem to\nus impossible, would convert trades\u2010unions into the most formidable power\nin the world. Christian education can alone hope to convert this into a\nlegal power. At present it wavers between the dictates of good sense and\nfair demands and the wild and impossible, but, to half\u2010educated men, very\nfascinating, dreams of the Communists. Labor is beginning at last to feel\nits power, its numbers, its irresistible force; that the world cannot get\non without it, as little as it can get on without the co\u2010operation of the\nrest of the world. Let the laboring classes receive an education worthy of\nthe name, plant religion in their hearts while at school, and, when they\ncome to face the hard problem, the division of wealth, they will be led\naway by no fallacious teachings that what is and always must be a\nnecessity is a wrong done to humanity; but divorce the schools, as\ngovernments seem now resolved to do, from religion, and labor will merge\ninto Communism.\n\nFrance has borne her terrible trials with a calmness, a magnanimity, and a\nself\u2010dependence which have regained for her in the eyes of the world more\nthan she ever lost at Sedan. We speak here of the nation, not of its\nhaphazard government. Thiers is at present a necessity; and by the aid of\nthe bogy \u201cresignation\u201d which he has conjured up so often, and whereby he\nfrightens the still cautious Assembly into submission, he has managed to\nhold the dangerous elements in such a state of order that the nation has\nbeen able so far to regain public confidence that its loans were caught up\nwith avidity; it has almost freed itself from the foot of the foe; it has\nfrowned down the folly of Gambetta; restored its army to a sound footing,\nand won the admiration and good\u2010will of all by its truly patriotic bearing\nin the face of a rapacious, dictatorial, and merciless conqueror. But\nThiers cannot last, and what is to follow? The country would not bear the\nrule of \u201cthe man of Sedan,\u201d though, undoubtedly, his twenty years of firm\ngovernment wrought it up to the pitch of material prosperity which even\nits terrible losses have been unable to destroy. The speech of the Duc\nd\u2019Audiffret Pasquier on the army contracts, showing a system of finance in\nthe army somewhat similar to that which has recently greeted our eyes in\nthe city government, has killed Napoleonism for the nonce. We can only\nhope for the best in France from some other and nobler sprout of former\ndynasties; we cannot foresee it. We must not forget that the nation has\nbeen kneeling at its altars and shrines. Of course superior people and\n\u201cwitty\u201d writers have laughed at and insulted a nation for being foolish\nenough and so far behind the age as to believe in the assistance of a God\nwhom they could not contain in their capacious intellects. France has\nsurvived the laughter and disregarded the laughers; but her sons have been\nnone the less obedient to the laws and constitution established, and thus\nrestored confidence in their country, by acknowledging the efficacy of\ndivine worship, and the intercession of the blessed Mother with her divine\nSon.\n\nThe year has, happily, borne no war stain on its record; for we cannot\ndignify the English expedition against the Looshais in India by that\ntitle. Revolts among the natives have of late been cropping up again in\nBritish India, while the silent but steady march of Russia, with all her\nvast forces, nearer and nearer to the outline of the British possessions,\nthreatens at no distant date an inevitable collision between the two\npowers, which, in the not very doubtful event of Russia\u2019s victory, would\navenge Sebastopol, and, at the same time more than counterbalance the\npresent supremacy of Germany in Europe.\n\nWhile England was all aglow with the gorgeous story of pomp and pageantry\ncoming from the far East, of reviews of armies, of gallant processions\nfrom end to end of the land, of displays of splendor, and more than royal\nmagnificence flashing on the bewildered gaze of the Easterns; outshining\nin dazzling brilliancy their own \u201cbarbaric pearl and gold\u201d\u2014wrought up to\nwin over their allegiance by giving them some idea of the vast power of\nthat empire far away, whose representative could muster such a show of\nmajesty\u2014came a cruel little flash across the world telling us that the\nshow was ended by the death of the chief performer at the hands of an\nobscure assassin. A few feet in advance of his party, in the gloom of\nevening, as he is about to step from the pier into his boat, the stroke of\na knife from a hidden assailant, and\u2014Lord Mayo, the great Viceroy, is\nslain. England viewed his death as a national calamity. Following close on\nthe heels of the murder of Mr. Justice Norman by another native, of the\noutbreaks of the Kookas and the Looshais, it had a significance which the\nnation took to heart.\n\nFrom a further corner of the East still comes a dread story of famine\ndevouring 3,000,000 of people in Persia. Small succor was offered them by\ntheir Christian brethren: and such as was sent seems to have reached them\nwith the greatest difficulty. Horrible tales are told of hunger overcoming\nall the ties of nature, and mothers, in their madness, devouring even\ntheir own offspring. The harvest for this season was a very excellent one;\nbut its effects cannot be felt till the coming year.\n\nThe East has not exhausted its romance yet, though this time it wears a\nless grim visage. We refer to the discovery of Dr. Livingstone by Mr.\nStanley, a reporter of the _New York Herald_. Everybody believed Dr.\nLivingstone dead: Mr. Bennett believed him living: he despatched Mr.\nStanley to interview him somewhere in the middle of Africa, and Mr.\nStanley obeyed as successfully as though he had only been despatched to\none of our hotels to \u201cinterview\u201d a political man. Of course nobody\nbelieved either Stanley or the _Herald_; and of course there has been much\nconsequent laughing at the \u201ceasy\u2010chair geographers,\u201d when white, after\nall, turned out to be white and not black, as the learned gentlemen thus\ndesignated demonstrated to a nicety. But we should imagine that the\npersistent doubts of these gentlemen were the highest compliment which\ncould be paid, either to Mr. Stanley or Mr. Bennett, as indicating the\nalmost utter impossibility of their stupendous and brilliant enterprise.\nTo the world at large, the finding of a man, whom, with all due respect,\nwe cannot but look upon as self\u2010lost, is the least part of the\nundertaking. Mr. Stanley\u2019s expedition and disclosures of the horrors of\nthe slave trade have awakened a new interest in that horrible traffic, and\npromises to enlist the sympathies of nations in unison against it.\n\nAfter a sleep of centuries Japan has reopened her gates to Christian\ninfluences and civilization\u2014gates closed since the work so gloriously\ncommenced by S. Francis Xavier was marred by the narrowness and\nselfishness and unchristian spirit of European traders. The Mikado\ndespatched an embassy under the leadership of one of his chief statesmen,\nIwakura, in order to study this boasted civilization and see what it was\nlike. In the meantime, Christians are still suffering persecution and even\ndeath in Japan. But why should Iwakura interfere to stop it when he finds\n\u201ccivilized\u201d governments, such as Germany and Italy, setting Japan a\nbrilliant example in the same line of policy?\n\nCorrespondents give us reason to dread a fresh outbreak in China similar\nto the Tientsin massacre. We trust that the representatives of the\nEuropean powers and our own will be alive to this. Nothing of great import\nhas occurred in the empire beyond the marriage of his Celestial Majesty.\n\nGoing back to Europe, we find Spain in much the same state as the opening\nyear found her; restless, dissatisfied, and disunited. A Carlist rising\nwas effected in the spring, which at one time threatened to be formidable;\nbut, after showing itself in fitful bursts at different points, it finally\ndied out, for the time being at least, with a greater loss of gunpowder\nthan of life. It was mismanaged. There were and still are a variety of\nlittle eruptions here, there, and everywhere. An attempt on the life of\nKing Amadeo was got up for the purpose of arousing some loyalty in his\nfavor. It created a little sensation at first; but people speedily\nsuspected something, and the subject dropped. All parties in Spain are\nstill at daggers drawn. Even if Amadeo could, by his influence, which we\nvery much doubt after his sufficient trial, conciliate them, they would\nnot be conciliated. We do not expect to find Amadeo\u2019s name at the head of\nthe Spanish government this day twelvemonth. A good regent, not\nMontpensier, might bring about the restoration of Don Alfonso; but where\nis such a regent? Don Carlos possesses the greatest amount of genuine\nloyalty to his name and cause, and he would be the winning man, could he\nonly manage his rising in a more efficient manner. Even the _Saturday\nReview_, the other day, almost lamented the loss of Queen Isabella.\n\nThe state of Italy is perhaps on a par with that of Spain, with the\nadvantage of the utter lawlessness touched upon in our last number. We are\nnow informed that a bill for the suppression of religious orders is\nintroduced. Of course it will pass. A government which shakes hands with\nthe _Garibaldini_, which is hand and glove with the murderer and assassin\nwhom it fears, is strong when it comes to the spoliation of religious\nhouses and the persecution of Christian men who it knows will not resist.\nWe cannot pass Italy by\u2014alas! what an Italy it has become!\u2014without one\nword of admiration for the Holy Father. Men, journalists, all sorts of\npeople, would have driven Pius IX. from Rome long ago. But the pilot is\nstill at the helm of the barque of Peter, though pirates tread the decks.\nAnd never during the successive storms which have made his long reign so\ndark with trial has our great pontiff presented to the angry world a more\nforcible spectacle of a man utterly above all the pettiness, all the\ntrials, all the misery, which human malice can inflict upon humanity, than\nat this moment in his own person; looking afar over the troubled waters\nfor the calm which shall come from heaven, and bring men back from their\ninsane mood at the old whisper, \u201cPeace, be still!\u201d He stands there the\ntruest and purest living protest of justice shackled by injustice, and\naround that prisoned throne range the hearts of all true Catholics and all\ntrue men in the world.\n\nIn England, the Gladstone Ministry after many threatenings has managed to\nhold its own, in consequence probably of the successful termination of the\nAlabama claims. The Ballot Bill has at length passed, and in future we\nhope to be spared the degrading scenes which were wont to accompany\nEnglish elections. The Irish Church Establishment has falsified Mr.\nGladstone\u2019s high hopes of new life, vigor, efficiency, and so forth, on\nbeing deprived of its \u201ctemporalities,\u201d which came into act this year. It\nhas come to a miserable collapse, and is now a pauper asking alms to live.\nThe agitation for the disestablishment of the English Church is gaining\nground, as is also the Home\u2010Rule movement in Ireland, which undoubtedly\nreceived a fresh impetus from the attack made by a renegade Catholic judge\non the Irish clergy and on one of their leaders, Archbishop McHale, whose\nname is venerated wherever his fame is known. There has been a cry of a\ncoal failure, and a much more serious one, because better founded and more\nimmediate, of a potato failure in Ireland as well as England, which,\ncoupled with the strike of the agricultural laborers and the coming\nwinter, threatens an ugly season. Serious riots incurring a lamentable\nloss of life and property occurred in Belfast on the repeal of the Parties\nProcessions Act. The rioters held the city in a state of terrorism for\ndays. \u201cOf course the Orangemen began it,\u201d commented the London\n_Spectator_; \u201cthe worst murder committed, that of Constable Morton, was\nthe murder of a Protestant by Protestants, because he upheld the law.\u201d\n\nIn Mexico, the death of President Juarez, the murderer of the unhappy\nMaximilian, as well as of countless others, whom \u201cpeople who ought to\nknow\u201d were never tired of calling the saviour of his country, the true\npatriot, and the like, oddly enough put an end to the internecine strife\nwhich was ravaging the country, and everybody suddenly collapsed into\npeace: \u201cYet Juarez was an honorable man.\u201d\n\nIn the natural order, there have been terrible convulsions, followed, in\nthe closing year, by a succession of tempests on sea and land, productive\nof dismal disasters. In the spring, an earthquake shook Antioch, and half\nthe city was gone, with a loss of 1,500 inhabitants. In the same month,\nVesuvius belched forth torrents of burning lava for days, causing a vast\ndestruction of property and loss of life to a few overcurious sight\u2010seers.\nLater on came the inundations of the Po, accompanied by losses more\ngrievous still. Then storms swept the country, and, indeed, all Europe,\nstrewing the shores with wrecked vessels and their crews. Fire touched and\nmarred, but, fortunately, did not succeed in destroying, two of the\ngrandest monuments of European art\u2014the Escurial of Philip II. in Spain,\nand the Cathedral of Canterbury in England, doubly consecrated\u2014the second\ntime by the blood of the martyred S. Thomas. It was more successful among\nourselves; and a few hours\u2019 blaze in the month of November destroyed the\nfinest portion of our most ancient city, Boston.\n\nAmong what might be termed the curiosities of the year figured the Boston\nJubilee; an assembling together of European bands and singers, with a\nnative chorus of 20,000. It was called music. A second curiosity was the\nepidemic which recently broke out among the horses, and brought life in\nNew York to a standstill, or at least to a walking pace, for several days.\nIt is to be hoped that means of transit may be devised to prevent the\neffects of such a casualty in future. A third curiosity was an assembly of\nrecreant priests and others to the number of 400 at Cologne in order to do\nsomething. What the something was never appeared. They dined, quarrelled,\nand separated; while the world was agape to see something arise which\nshould crush God\u2019s Church. Other curiosities were the great trials, civil\nand military, which took place during the year. Among the former class\nthat of the man known as the \u201cTichborne Claimant\u201d stands pre\u2010eminent. The\nstory is too well known to be commented on here; the \u201cclaimant\u2019s\u201d case\nbroke down; he was committed to Newgate prison, bailed out, and is now\n\u201cstarring\u201d the country to procure funds for a new trial. The case was\nremarkable for the strangest and oddest disclosures of character and\nhidden life from the highest almost to the lowest classes, not only in\nEngland, but in many other countries. The trial of Marshal Bazaine for the\nsurrender of Metz, which is still pending, stands foremost in the rank of\nmilitary trials. _V\u00e6 victis!_ Many of Bazaine\u2019s comrades were condemned\nfor premature surrender by the Committee of Inquiry; we shall see whether\nthe once great marshal will be able to come off with a clear escutcheon.\nOther trials were those of the Communists and the murderers of the\nArchbishop of Paris and the clergy. As a rule, a more villanous set never\nstood face to face with justice. They have had full, fair, and exhaustive\ntrials; such as could offer any excuse for their crimes escaped; the\nothers were shot.\n\nDeath has been mowing right and left among us with indiscriminating\nscythe. In Persia he grew weary of his own grim harvest. Eastern Europe\nwas threatened with cholera, but escaped. Some tall heads have fallen\namong the mean; many whose names are memorable for evil as well as good;\nmany others whose places it would seem hard to fill. The Catholic Church\nhas lost Archbishop Spalding, Bishops McGill and O\u2019Connor in America,\nMorris and Goss in England, Cardinal Amat in Italy. Their names will live\nin the church and in her prayers. Anderson and Meade have gone, Seward and\nMorse, and Bennett, the founder of the _New York Herald_, and Greeley, the\nfounder of the _Tribune_. Persigny, and Conti, and Mazzini, each memorable\nin his way, dropped out during the year. Lever, one of the most genial of\nIrish novelists, is dead, and his much\u2010lamented countryman, Maguire, of\nCork. The only surviving son of the Duc d\u2019Aumale, a promising young man,\nwas snatched away\u2014an important event, as the claims of this branch of the\nfamily to the French throne fall now to the Count de Chambord. Bernadotte,\nCharles XV. of Sweden, has gone, and was succeeded on the throne by his\nbrother Oscar.\n\nAnd now, passing from the old, we look to the new, not without anxiety.\nThe war against the church, in reality against the rights of man, the\nfreedom of conscience, commenced in Germany, has spread thence to Italy,\nSwitzerland, and Spain, and, under the form of the educational question,\nwider and further still. If Catholics would save the souls of their\nchildren, and of their children\u2019s children, from the infidelity and the\nmoral decay which we see around us, even in this free breathing\natmosphere, they must be firm and united in their resistance to the\nencroachment of the state, where states possess no rights\u2014over the\ndictates of conscience. The uprise of labor against capital, which was the\nreal cause of the first French Revolution and its mad excesses, we have\nalready touched upon. It should be a deep source of anxiety and care to\ntrue statesmen. War looms on the European horizon, gathers in silent\nthunder\u2010clouds all around. A flash is enough to kindle the combustion and\nmake the thunder speak. Who shall say when or whence it comes? Europe is\narming, and we have good authority for saying that \u201cthe next war will rage\nover half a century\u201d\u2014Bismarck himself. For the church we foresee an\nincrease of bitter and severe trials. We can only appeal to that\nenlightenment which the age vaunts; to its common sense and common\nfairness to allow us the freedom in our own worship which they, if they\npossess any, claim for themselves. Public opinion is, to a great extent,\nthe lever of the age. We must work at that until we shame it into powerful\nand persistent action to remove and overthrow the mountain of intolerance,\nbigotry, and opposition, which rulers, who are neither Protestant nor\nCatholic, are raising up in order to overwhelm all religion, all right,\nall freedom.\n\n\n\n\nNew Publications.\n\n\n    MY CLERICAL FRIENDS. New York: The Catholic Publication Society.\n    1873.\n\n\nWe need not say more than that the above is by the author of that\nproduction of exquisite humor and satire, _The Comedy of Convocation_, to\nawaken a profound interest in its appearance. This new book from his pen\nis somewhat similar. It is a choice compound of argument, history, and\nwit. Its object is to represent the English clerical body as it is, with a\nspecial intention of showing the ridiculousness of the claim made by some\nof its members to the character of Catholic priesthood. The author is the\nson of a clergyman, and was himself a clergyman, and is at home in his\nsubject. We promise our readers a rare treat in this new and spicy volume.\n\n\n    CONVERSION OF THE TEUTONIC RACE. CONVERSION OF THE FRANKS AND\n    ENGLISH.\n\n    SEQUEL TO THE SAME. S. BONIFACE AND THE CONVERSION OF GERMANY. By\n    Mrs. Hope. Edited by the Rev. J. B. Dalgairns, of the Oratory.\n    London: Washbourne. 1872. 2 vols. crown 8vo. (New York: Sold by\n    The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\n\nFew readers of English books know much of those most splendid and\nimportant chapters of history, of which these two volumes contain a\nsummary within a moderate compass. The lady who has written them is a very\ncompetent and graceful narrator of historical scenes and events. She has\ngiven us the cream of authentic and truly scientific historical works with\ncare and skill, and at the same time she has clothed her narrative with a\nflowing and agreeable diction. There are scarcely two volumes to be found\nin the whole mass of recent English literature better worth reading than\nthese. We are delighted, also, to meet again, in the preface of the second\nvolume, with F. Dalgairns, from whose pen nothing ever comes which is not\nchoice both in matter and style. His editorship adds a most satisfactory\nsanction to the historical and critical accuracy of these volumes, over\nwhich he has exercised a supervision, and some pages of which have been\nwritten by himself. These volumes which have gained great repute and favor\nin England will, we trust, have also a wide circulation in this country,\nand help to diffuse sound historical knowledge, which, as F. Dalgairns\nremarks, is such a powerful auxiliary to religious truth.\n\n\n    LIFE AND TIMES OF SIXTUS THE FIFTH. From the French of Baron\n    H\u00fcbner. By James F. Meline. New York: The Catholic Publication\n    Society. 1873.\n\n\nThe dying Gregory XIII., worn out with the difficulties and\nresponsibilities of his position, raised his weary hands to heaven, and\nexclaimed: \u201cThou wilt arise, O Lord, and have mercy on Zion\u201d; prophetic\nwords that were realized in the election of Pope Sixtus V., who, as Ranke\njustly observes, possessed in the highest perfection the moral and\nintellectual qualities demanded for the suppression of the prevalent\ndisorders of the times. Perhaps there is no other pope whose life is of\nmore universal interest. His striking individuality of character appeals\nto the popular mind, and has given rise to a variety of fables respecting\nhim which fasten themselves on the memory and, though not literally true,\nyet embody a certain truth of their own.\n\nHis rise from obscurity to become a link of that august dynasty beside\nwhich \u201cthe proudest royal houses are but of yesterday,\u201d his ability to\ncope with all the difficulties of his position at a critical period in the\npolitical and religious world, his astuteness in dealing with the most\nwily diplomatists, his clear notions as to the necessity of balance of\npower among different nations, his financial ability and genius for\nstatesmanship, have all commanded the very admiration of the enemies of\nthe papacy. \u201cA grand old man,\u201d the _British Quarterly_ styles him, and\nwith reason. \u201cA great pope, to whom posterity owes a debt of gratitude in\nconsideration of the whole results of his pontificate,\u201d says the\n_Edinburgh Review_.\n\nThe extraordinary events of the life of Sixtus V. were the result of his\nwonderful energy and persistency. People like decision of character\u2014a man\nwith a purpose, and the ability of putting it into execution. This is why\nall admirers of \u201cself\u2010made\u201d men like to retrace the upward steps of the\nlife of this eminent pope, from the rustic boyhood of Felice Peretti on\nthe shores of the Adriatic; his thirst for knowledge that impelled him to\nstudy by the lamp of the sanctuary; his girding himself with the cord of\nthe humble Francis while yet a mere boy; his career as a young friar\u2010\npreacher, drawing crowded Roman audiences to listen to his fervid\neloquence, among them such men as S. Ignatius de Loyola and S. Philip\nNeri; his promotion to a cardinalship by a sainted pope who was his\nbenefactor, and whose last moments he had the happiness of witnessing; his\ntemporary retirement to his villa, where he gave himself up to quiet\nobservation of the needs of the times, especially of his own country, the\nstudy of architecture and the improvements needed in Rome, and all those\npursuits which tended to fit him for his subsequent elevation to the\npapacy. Sixtus V. did not look upon his success in life as solely due to\nhis own merit. He recognized the finger of Divine Providence, and chose as\nhis motto: \u201cThou, O God, hast been my defender, even from my mother\u2019s\nwomb.\u201d\n\n_The Life of Sixtus V._ by Baron H\u00fcbner, though written from a Catholic\npoint of view, is acknowledged by the _Edinburgh Review_ to be one of the\nmost valuable contributions to the literature of the age, so rich in\nhistorical biography. Its superiority to the previous lives of that pope\nis partly due to his access to the archives of Simancas, not open to\nresearch at the time of Ranke. Though the pontificate of Sixtus V. was\nonly about five years long, it embraced a rapid succession of\nextraordinary and tragical events, as is evident when we remember he was\ncontemporary with Queen Elizabeth of England, Mary Queen of Scots, Philip\nII. of Spain, and Henry of Navarre, whose names recall the persecution of\nthe Church in England, the execution of Mary Stuart, the Armada, the\noverthrow of the League, and the accession of Henri Quatre to the throne\nof France, and show us what a weight of responsibility rested upon the\nHead of the Church. No wonder he was soon worn out by the pressure. The\ntiara is but a thorny crown at the best, as befits him who stands in\nChrist\u2019s stead. The very condition of the Pontifical States was an affair\nof no slight difficulty. Only a man of extraordinary energy and decision\nof character could have surmounted it. Sixtus V. has been called pitiless\nfrom the terrible punishments he inflicted for apparently trivial\noffences, but he was personally humane, for at the murder of his nephew he\nwas the first to entreat the pope (Sixtus being at that time Cardinal\nMontalto) to drop his investigations, and when he had cleared the Roman\nStates of brigandage, he endeavored to conciliate the nobles. His\ninflexible severity seemed imperiously demanded. Twenty\u2010seven thousand\nbrigands ravaged his dominions; the castles of noblemen were their\nstrongholds; they were protected by neighboring princes; and the very\nstreets of Rome often witnessed the attacks of peaceful citizens by armed\nbands. Sixtus himself when a cardinal had nearly lost his life in\nencountering a band of lawless young nobles as he was going home one\nnight. He saw the absolute necessity of putting an end to such disorders\nand the terror of the inhabitants. Accordingly, one of his first acts\nafter his election was to forbid the carrying of fire\u2010arms in the streets,\nand, when he found his order disobeyed by four young men, he had them hung\nthe very next morning.\n\nBut he was strictly impartial in administering justice. No clerical\noffender was screened by the sacredness of his garments. The friar who\nimposed on the piety of the faithful was scourged from one end of the\nCorso to the other; the cardinal who was desirous of protecting a guilty\nservant was threatened with the Castle of St. Angelo; the traitor\u2010priest\nwho gave Queen Elizabeth information of what was occurring at Rome was\nexecuted in such a manner as to strike terror into every treacherous\nbreast. No wonder Sixtus became a terror to evil doers, and his very name\nsufficed to put an end to the brawls in the streets. The time arrived when\nhe could say with grim humor: \u201c_Fugit impius nemine persequente_\u201d\u2014\u201cThe\nwicked flee when no man pursueth.\u201d\n\nSixtus V. left proofs of his genius and energy all over Rome. He kept\nthousands of men constantly employed. The dome of S. Peter\u2019s was completed\nin twenty\u2010two months, though the architect said it would require ten\nyears. He restored a colossal aqueduct that had fallen to ruin, and\nbrought the Acqua Felice into Rome from a distance of about twenty miles.\nHe opened great thoroughfares all through the city, built the Lateran\nPalace, erected monuments, undertook to drain the Pontine Marshes,\nencouraged agriculture and the manufacture of silk, established the\nCongregation of Rites and several others, limited the number of cardinals\nto seventy, and partly revised the Vulgate with his own hand. His\npractical nature by no means made him insensible to softer influences. His\nsoul was so alive to music that at the exciting time of his election he\nlent an ear to Palestrina\u2019s music hastily composed for the occasion, and\nremarked that Pierluigi had forgotten Pope Marcello\u2019s Mass\u2014a criticism\nthat mortified the great composer, but which has since been acknowledged\nto be true.\n\nHe won the gratitude of the Israelites by his favor. Amazed Rome saw a\nGentile actually scourged on the Corso for insulting a member of that\nancient race. To another Israelite was granted special privileges for his\nsuccess in increasing the production of silk.\n\nCol. Meline\u2019s book is not a literal translation of Baron H\u00fcbner\u2019s _Life of\nSixtus V._: it is rather a _r\u00e9sum\u00e9_, as the preface explains. It consists\nof three parts: the first reviews the life of that pope, giving such\ndetails as are of interest to the general reader; the second portrays the\nexperience of a Transalpine traveller to Rome three centuries ago; and the\nthird is a vivid picture of Rome at that time: the whole being an improved\nedition of three essays already given to the public.\n\nThe readers of THE CATHOLIC WORLD are already too familiar with Mr.\nMeline\u2019s felicitous style and his power of analysis to require any\ncommendation on our part. And to the public at large he has recommended\nhimself by his chivalrous defence of Mary, Queen of Scots. The strong\nlance he has wielded in the defence of her fair name against that doughty\nwriter of fiction, Mr. James Anthony Froude, has been too universally\napplauded not to secure a general welcome to whatever comes from his able\npen.\n\n\n    THE HEART OF MYRRHA LAKE; or, Into the Light of Catholicity. By\n    Minnie Mary Lee. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1872.\n\n\nThe enthusiastic author of this charming little story has succeeded in\npresenting much logic which is usually dull, in very attractive attire.\nThe arguments and conclusions are so wonderfully clear, that it is to be\nhoped the book will fall frequently into the hands of the class most in\nneed of it, but, alas! least likely to read it. There is in it much of\nquiet humor which is irresistible and very \u201ctelling\u201d; as, for instance,\nwhen to the question, \u201cWhat Catholic books have you read, sir?\u201d the sturdy\nMethodist, Abner White, replies: \u201c_Fox\u2019s Book of Martyrs_, _Maria Monk_,\n_Six Months in a Convent_, _Romanism at Home_, _Priest and Nun_, etc.\u201d And\nagain, in the interview between Aunt Ruth and the committee of Methodist\nladies who had come to wait upon her after her husband\u2019s conversion, human\nnature, and especially Methodist nature, is painted with a very clever\npen. Who has not known just such spinsters as Miss Nancy and Miss Sarah?\nAnd what a keen dash is this:\n\n\u201c \u2018Then we shall report that you choose to follow your husband, rather\nthan the goodly rules of our Methodist discipline?\u2019\n\n\u201c \u2018I shall go with my husband certainly,\u2019 was the firm, respectful answer.\n\n\u201c \u2018And may God have mercy on your soul,\u2019 solemnly added the spinster, as\nif addressing a person about to be hanged.\n\n\u201c \u2018Thank you!\u2019 absently and innocently responded the quiet Quakeress.\n\n\u201c \u2018I suppose, then, _we need not even pray for you_?\u2019 said one.\n\n\u201c \u2018You always _was_ a little queer, Sister White, you and Brother White,\ntoo, now that we come to think it over,\u2019 said another.\n\n\u201c \u2018Extremely odd it is for one to lose all sense of propriety, and assume\nthe responsibility of such a fearful step,\u2019 rapidly spoke little Sarah.\n\n\u201c \u2018We pity you, and _would_ help you, but you won\u2019t let us,\u2019 was Mrs.\nSand\u2019s trembling good\u2010by.\n\n\u201c \u2018We wash our hands of all sin in this matter. It lies at your own door,\u2019\nwere the last consolatory words of Miss Nancy.\u201d\n\nMany another reader might say with Myrrha, \u201cWhen I took up that small book\ncalled _A General Catechism of the __ Christian Doctrine_, I little\ndreamed upon what a study I had entered. Again, after reading it through,\nI as little dreamed upon what a sea of speculation I had launched.\u201d May\nthe result of such reading prove as fruitful of good to all readers as to\nMyrrha! But such results seem to happen oftener in books than in real,\nselfish life. The best of this story is its ending, which, this time, is\nneither marriage nor death for the lovers.\n\n\n    FLEURANGE. By Mme. Augustus Craven. Translated by M. P. T. New\n    York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1872.\n\n\nRarely, indeed, have we met a work whose author exhibits so many of the\nqualities indespensable in a good novelist, as the one under\nconsideration. Artistic in conception, pure and elevated in style, it is\nwithal faultless in tone and sentiment.\n\nIt is not our purpose to give an outline of the plot of this tale, or to\nenlarge on the actors through whom it is evolved, but we shall confine\nourselves to some observations on certain characteristics of the writer as\ndeveloped in her work.\n\nThe author manifests a high degree of insight and the \u00e6sthetic sense, an\nintimate knowledge of feminine nature, and more of that of the opposite\nsex than its members may dream of\u2014in acquiring which the delicate\nintuitions of her own sex doubtless serve a better purpose than the mere\nlogic and learning of ours. Although the story introduces the reader into\nthe highest social circles, and its incidents are of the most absorbing\ninterest, there is no sacrifice of the dramatic unities, or any departure\nfrom the essential simplicity of the narrative. This severity of style, we\nmay say, is at once the most winning quality of a work of genius, and the\nbest test of its success; making the latter dependent on inherent\nexcellence, rather than adventitious aids. In works of this character, art\nin letters reaches its highest development\u2014that in which it becomes the\nmost natural.\n\nA noticeable feature is the epigrammatic conciseness with which a\nsentiment or description is finished. The reader is never wearied with\nplatitudes or over\u2010minuteness of limning. Whatever idea occurs to the\nwriter which she is willing to share with the reader is expressed in the\nfewest possible words. Is a scene to be presented to the mind\u2019s eye?\u2014a few\ntouches of the artist\u2019s pencil bring it vividly before us. The reader\nfinds himself moved alternately to mirthfulness, or tears, or\nastonishment, as he encounters an unexpected bit of humor, and exquisite\nburst of pathos, or some reflection almost startling in depth or\nsuggestiveness. Some passages are open to obvious inference, while others\nconstitute studies if we would probe their philosophy. It was a question\nwith those who watched the serial progress of the story, how the author\ncould bring order and harmony out of the complications in which she had\ninvolved her principal characters; and the way this has been accomplished\nwill be acknowledged as not the least of her achievements. No characters\nare interchanged or lose their identity. Each acts his part as naturally,\nand retains his individuality, as in real life; so that, when the\n_dramatis person\u00e6_ are at length summoned to the footlights for a final\nadieu, we feel inclined to protest, in the name of all the delighted\nauditors, against the call, as a premature termination of a very pleasant\nintercourse.\n\nThe reception _Fleurange_ has met with thus far is very flattering. It has\ncommended itself to the favorable judgment of the London _Saturday\nReview_, and other authorities of like critical acumen; has been _crowned_\nby the French Academy; and received the general approval of the press and\npublic, so far as we have learned, while passing through the pages of _Le\nCorrespondant_ and THE CATHOLIC WORLD. We know of no recent imaginative\nwork of which we could speak in terms of more unqualified approbation, or\nbetter deserving a permanent place in our literature, both as a work of\nart and for the sound principles by which it is pervaded and informed.\n\nOn the translation, we do not know that we could bestow higher praise than\nto say that it reads like an original work of the first order; while we\nare convinced that it is a faithful and conscientious rendering from the\nFrench text.\n\n\n    LEGENDS OF ST. PATRICK By Aubrey De Vere. Dublin: McGlashan &\n    Gill. London: Henry S. King & Co. 1872. (New York: Sold by The\n    Catholic Publication Society.)\n\n\n\u201cIf the Ireland of early times is ever understood, it will not be till\nafter thoughtful men have deemed her legends worthy of their serious\nattention.\u201d This remark Mr. De Vere makes in his preface, and not until we\nhad read through his _Legends_ did we fully realize its truth. It is a\nmost certain fact that the twilight of Irish history can be changed into\nday only by the profound study of its legendary lore. We have read several\nlives of S. Patrick, and more than one history of Ireland have we studied,\nbut from none of them did we get so clear an insight into the character of\nthe saint and the genius of his people as from Mr. De Vere\u2019s _Legends_,\nfew and short though they be.\n\nThe subjects are beautiful and poetic, and the author\u2019s conception of them\nlofty and spiritual. There is indeed a sacred melody about early Irish\nsong which only a spiritual bard can evoke. Chords there are in Erin\u2019s\nancient harp which a hand of mere flesh and blood may not touch. Mr. De\nVere has sung those songs; he has touched these chords, and they have\ngiven forth their true melody. It is not to his beautiful diction and\nvarying metres, it is not to his wonderful descriptive powers and high\npoetic gifts, that we attribute this success, but it is to those two\npassions of his soul which impress themselves on all that he writes\u2014love\nof God and love of Ireland. And here an opportunity is afforded us of\nspeaking of Mr. De Vere as the poet of Ireland. That he is far superior to\nany Irish poet of the present day is beyond all question, and that his\nequal, in everything save popularity, to any English poet of the day is a\nverdict competent judges have not hesitated to give.\n\nWe often ask ourselves, How is it, then, he is so little known and read by\nhis countrymen in America? For twenty years he has scorned \u201cthe siren\u2019s\ntinsel lure,\u201d and devoted all his talents to sounding the praises of\nIreland and of Ireland\u2019s Catholicity. His sole aim through life has been\nto enshrine Ireland\u2019s faith and Ireland\u2019s song in the temple of fame.\nPatriotism is his only incentive to labor; he seems indifferent to\npopularity, and perhaps this is one reason why he enjoys so little. But\nthere are other reasons, we think, and they also are in his favor. Mr. De\nVere is too polished, too thoughtful, and too spiritual to be a popular\npoet.\n\nIf he would descend from his high poetic ideal to sing love songs, he\nwould soon be popular; but he will never prove a recreant bard. Those for\nwhom he has so long and so faithfully labored must disenthrall themselves\nfrom the spirit of the age, and ascend to his level; then will they find\nin him all they can desire, and proclaim him their laureate. They will not\nfind in him, it is true, the inimitable sweetness of Moore or the poetic\nfire of Davis, but they will find in him the patriotism of both, a polish\nsuperior to either, and, over all and above all, they will find a muse\nennobled by the highest sentiments of religion and morality.\n\n\n    THE TRUTH. By Field Marshal the Duke of Saldanha. Translated from\n    the Portuguese, by William John Charles Henry. London: Burns,\n    Oates & Co. 1872. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication\n    Society.)\n\n\nThis little volume will be found to contain not only some of the most\nforcible arguments for Christianity that have ever been advanced, but\nparticularly a collection (in the first chapter) of testimonials from\nancient heathendom to what is only realized in Christ and his religion.\nNothing can be more interesting, surely, than the study of the great\ntradition of expectation which fulfilled the prophecy of the dying Israel:\n\u201cAnd He shall be the expectation of the nations\u201d (Gen. xlix. 10). Our\nnoble author opens his first chapter with this sentence: \u201cFrom the east to\nthe west, from the north to the south, in every language, in the\nliterature of all nations, with a voice spontaneous, universal, and\nunanimous, the entire human race cried aloud for the coming of a Divine\nTeacher.\u201d And when we have delightedly perused this first chapter, we as\nheartily endorse its concluding sentence: \u201cThis we believe to have most\nclearly demonstrated that, ... with one voice, unanimous, spontaneous, and\nuniversal, the human race cried out for the coming of a God of\nrevelation.\u201d\n\nThe work is designed for a defence of Christianity against the infidelity\nof the day. And we think it a most able and a singularly attractive one.\nLet our young men especially read it. It will make them a match for any\nsceptical show of learning.\n\n\n    CATHOLIC WORSHIP. A Manual of Popular Instruction on the\n    Ceremonies and Devotions of the Church. By Frederick Canon\n    Oakeley. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1872.\n\n\nRecent converts and inquirers after religious truth frequently experience\nsome difficulty in understanding the ceremonies of the church and the\nvarious devotional practices of Catholics. We know of no more suitable\nbook to place in the hands of such persons than this little treatise of\nCanon Oakeley. It is concise, clear, and methodical. Nothing is left\nunexplained, from the practice of taking holy water upon entering the\nchurch to the consecration of a bishop. This book will be found to be of\ngreat use not only to converts, but to Catholics in general, containing as\nit does a thoroughly reliable explanation of everything connected with our\nworship. This second edition is an evidence of the favor with which it has\nbeen received by the Catholic public.\n\n\n    THE SHADOW OF THE OBELISK, and Other Poems. By Thomas William\n    Parsons. London: Hatchards, Piccadilly. 1872.\n\n\nThis modest volume is from the author whose translations from Dante, that\nhave appeared in our magazine, are attracting deserved attention.\n\nMr. Parsons\u2019 powers as a lyric poet are considerable. His verse has, for\nthe most part, the easy and often careless diction of a school which many\nthink gone out, but which we believe destined to revive. Yet here and\nthere we see the influence of Tennyson. The lines, \u201cTo Henry Wadsworth\nLongfellow,\u201d are in the latter style. For strength his sonnets are his\nbest efforts. We wish he had favored us with more of them.\n\nThere is ample variety in the pieces collected. The poet has travelled\nmuch. \u201cThe Shadow of the Obelisk\u201d sets us musing in Rome. \u201cThe Birthplace\nof Robert Burns\u201d takes us to \u201cbonnie Scotland.\u201d \u201cSt. James\u2019 Park\u201d tells us\nthe writer has philosophized in London. While the \u201cWilley House,\u201d \u201cOn the\nDeath of Daniel Webster,\u201d and \u201cHudson River\u201d are themes from his native\nAmerica. The lines, \u201cOn a Magnolia Flower,\u201d are fragrant with the\nSouth\u2014the pale, sad South\u2014and one of the gems of the book.\n\nMr. Parsons is a Unitarian, as he takes care to indicate; but, like\nLongfellow, he has Catholic sympathies. However, there is one short\ntranslation from Dante, entitled \u201cA Lesson for Easter,\u201d the last two lines\nof which _seem_ to talk Protestantism:\n\n\n    \u201cYe have the Testament, the Old and New,\n    And this for your salvation is enough.\u201d\n\n\nBut the preceding lines should throw light on the Catholic poet\u2019s meaning:\n\n\n    \u201cChristians, be staid: walk wisely and serene:\n    Be grave, and shun the flippant speech of those\n    Who think that _every_ wave will wash them clean\u2014\n    That _any_ field will serve them for repose.\n    Be not a feather to each wind that blows:\n    There is a _Shepherd_ and a _Fold_ for you:\n    Ye have a _Leader_ when your way is rough.\u201d\n\n\nAll this is unmistakable orthodoxy; and, therefore, the two lines quoted,\nwhich come next, speak of the evidence of the Old and the New Testament\nfor the \u201cone Fold and one Shepherd\u201d and the infallible \u201cLeader.\u201d\n\nWe conclude by hoping that Mr. Parsons will vouchsafe us another volume of\nminor poems, and especially of sonnets.\n\n\n    THE LIFE OF FATHER MATHEW, THE PEOPLE\u2019S SOGGARTH AROON. By Sister\n    Mary Francis Clare, Author of _The Illustrated History of\n    Ireland_, _Advice to Irish Girls in America_, _Hornehurst\n    Rectory_, etc.\n\n\nThe indefatigable Nun of Kenmare could not have employed her pen on a\nworthier subject than the life and labors of the Apostle of Temperance.\nShe will have accomplished a great end if this work serves to keep green\nin the hearts of her countrymen and of all Catholics the memory of one who\naccomplished more good than many who possessed more brilliant abilities,\nyet who neglected to employ their talents in that usurious activity which\nwins a blessing.\n\n\n    DAILY STEPS TO HEAVEN. New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1872.\n\n\nThis, as well as the preceding work, belongs to a series of publications\nby the same author, embracing religious, historical, and miscellaneous\nbooks, which have attained an extraordinary popularity in the old country\nand in the United States.\n\n\n    A BIOGRAPHICAL DICTIONARY. By Rev. Reuben Parsons, D.D. New York:\n    D. & J. Sadlier & Co.\n\n\nThis work has been compiled \u201cfor the use of colleges, schools, and\nfamilies.\u201d It contains short biographical sketches of the principal\ncharacters of history, together with chronological tables. The subjects\nare for the most part well selected, and, as far as we have read, are well\nand correctly treated. The style of the author is terse and vigorous, and\nwell adapted to this kind of composition.\n\nThe printing is excellent, the binding neat, but the figure in the\nfrontispiece has suffered not a little at the hands of the artist\u2014an\naccident which mars somewhat the general appearance of the book.\n\n\n    THE NEW GOD. Translated from the German of Conrad von Bolanden, by\n    Very Rev. Theodore Noethen, V.G. Albany: M. O\u2019Sullivan. 1872.\n\n\nOur readers have already had a sufficient taste of this author\u2019s quality\nin \u201cThe Progressionists,\u201d now going through our pages, to desire the\nfurther treat to be found in the new products of his pen. We do not recall\nany series of fictitious writings, designed to combat vicious principles\nand actions, more admirable as specimens of vigorous and effective\ncomposition. The most obtuse progressionist could scarcely fail to\ncomprehend the drift of the underlying argument, while the more fastidious\nreader will be carried along by the interest of the tale through which it\nis conveyed. Father Noethen is performing an acceptable service in making\nthese works known to the English reader.\n\nBolanden\u2019s works fairly palpitate with the gravity of themes of living\ninterest. The new German Government, the burthen of the present tale, has\ngiven evidence of their telling effect by ordering their suppression.\n\n\n    GERALDINE: A TALE OF CONSCIENCE. By E. C. A. New York: P. O\u2019Shea.\n\n\n_Geraldine_ was one of the first successful religious novels which\nfollowed the revival of Catholic doctrine in England, and bids fair to\nhold its own for many a year to come. It enjoys a wider reputation than\neither of Miss Agnew\u2019s other works, one of which, _Rome and the Abbey_,\nforms a sequel to this.\n\nMr. O\u2019Shea also issues a reprint of Cardinal Wiseman\u2019s _Lectures on the\nConnection between Science and Revealed Religion_; intended, apparently,\nas the commencement of an uniform series of the great author\u2019s works.\n\nIt is to be regretted that this work had not undergone a thorough revision\nby some competent hand before its reappearance, in order to adapt it to\nthe present state of scientific investigation. Although true science can\nnever be out of harmony with revelation, its successive developments may\nenable us to see the conditions of that harmony and relation in a clearer\nlight than when the _Lectures_ were originally published.\n\n\n    THE HISTORY OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY. Translated from the French\n    of the Abb\u00e9 Orsini, by the Very Rev. F. C. Husenbeth, D.D., V.G.\n    Boston: Patrick Donahoe. 1872.\n\n\nThis work is already known to many readers in the presentation edition\nissued by the Messrs. Sadlier some years since, and the recent English\nedition of which the above is a _fac\u2010simile_. We are glad to see an\nedition like this made accessible to the great body of readers, though the\nfire in which the publisher was involved, will interfere for a time with\nthat consummation. It has a number of pictorial illustrations, and there\nare appended the letters apostolic concerning the dogmatic definition of\nthe Immaculate Conception.\n\n\n    LIZA. By Ivan S. Turgenieff. New York: Holt & Williams. 1872.\n\n\n_Liza_ is another work from the pen of M. Turgenieff, the distinguished\nRussian novelist, several of whose works are already familiar to us. His\nquiet sarcasm in depicting the Russian of the old school, who needs no\nscratching to reveal the genuine Tartar\u2014crafty and brutal, but with a\nkindly streak withal\u2014and the Russian of the present generation who has\nimbibed foreign habits and theories by no means elevating, is admirably\ncalculated to correct the evils of a transition state of society. The\nformer affords us two affecting pictures in this book of women of\nrepressed lives, who humbly kiss with their dying lips the hand that has\ncrushed them. One of them leaves a young son, Fedor Lavretsky, who never\nforgets his pale and gentle mother, who in turn hardly dared caress him\nfor fear of the sharp eyes and cutting tongue of her sister\u2010in\u2010law,\nGlafira, who had taken charge of the child. He is brought up under a\nsystem of repression, and, when his father dies, he goes to Moscow\ndetermined to repair the defects of his education. There he falls in love\nwith the face of a beautiful girl who regards him as a _sch\u00f6ne Partie_ and\nmarries him. He gives himself up to the happiness of his new life, and is\ninduced by his wife to leave his estate, and, after various changes, to go\nto Paris, where admiration seems to have intoxicated her. Fedor, becoming\naware of her real character, settles an annuity on her, leaves her, and\nreturns to his native land. He cannot bear, however, to go to his own seat\nwhere he passed the first happy days of his married life, but betakes\nhimself to his aunt\u2019s place\u2014the stern Glafira, who had died during his\nabsence. The desolate house is once more opened, and he stands alone in\nthe room where she breathed her last, and looks with softened heart on the\nsacred icons in their gilded frames in the corner, and the worn carpet,\ncovered with drippings from the wax candles she had burned before them,\nand on which she had knelt to pray. His old servant waits on him, he\ndrinks tea out of the great cup he had used in his boyhood, looks over the\nlarge book full of mysterious pictures which he had found so wondrous in\nchildish days. Everything recalls the earlier remembrances of his life.\n\u201cOn a woman\u2019s love my best years have been wasted,\u201d thought he.\n\nGoing to pay his respects to his great\u2010aunt, who is admirably drawn with a\nfew vivid touches, he meets with Liza, whom he left a child, but is now\nnineteen years of age. There is a natural grace about her person; her face\nis pale, but fresh; her eyes lustrous and thoughtful, her smile\nfascinating, but grave, and she has a frank, innocent way of looking you\ndirectly in the face. Lavretsky is instantly struck with her appearance,\nand the impression is deepened the oftener he sees her. Liza\u2019s mother is\none of those women, _qui n\u2019a pas invent\u00e9 la poudre, la bonne da\u00ecne_, as\none of her visitors ungratefully remarks. Her daughter owes the elevation\nand purify of her character to the nurse of her childhood, who gave\nherself up to penitential observances. Instead of nursery tales, she told\nLiza of the Blessed Virgin, the holy hermits who had been fed in their\ncaves by the birds, and the female martyrs from whose blood sprang up\nsweet flowers. She used to speak of these things seriously and humbly, as\nif unworthy to utter such high and holy names, and Liza sat at her feet\nwith reverent awe drinking in the holy influences of her words. Aglafia\nalso taught her to pray, and took her at early dawn to the matin service.\nLiza grew up thoroughly penetrated with a sense of duty, loving everybody,\nbut loving God supremely and with tender enthusiasm. Till Lavretsky came,\nno one had troubled the calmness of her inner life.\n\nAfter some time, learning through a newspaper that his wife is dead, he\nconfesses his love to Liza. She feels drawn towards him, her heart seems\nto respond to his love, but it is hardly with genuine passion; it is\nrather the agitation of a lily too rudely stirred by the breeze. Not that\nshe has no depth of feeling; but, as she afterwards acknowledges, when she\ndid indulge in hopes of happiness, her heart shuddered within her. Love\nseemed almost a profanation, as if a stranger had entered her pure maiden\nchamber.\n\nSuddenly, the wife, supposed to be dead, reappears. It is all a mistake.\nHer husband is stunned. He feels he can never give back his love to one\nwho has no longer his respect. And Liza is lost to him. After several\nattempts, he sees her again. Her eyes have grown dimmer and sunken, her\nface is pale, and her lips have lost their color. She implores him to be\nreconciled to his wife, and they part without her allowing her hand to\nmeet his.\n\nSix months later, Liza takes the veil in a remote convent in Russia. The\nGreek as well as the Latin convent seems to be the ideal refuge of\nstartled innocence and purity. Once Lavretsky goes there, hoping to catch\na glimpse of her. He sees her as she is leaving the choir. She passes\nclose by him with the quick, noiseless step of a nun, but keeps steadily\non without looking at him. But he sees the almost imperceptible tremor of\nher eye; she bends her emaciated face still lower, and the hands that hold\nthe rosary are clasped more tightly together.\n\nBut the chief value of M. Turgenieff\u2019s novels to a Catholic lies not in\nthe stories themselves certainly, but in the delightful pictures of\nRussian life and manners they present, and the influence they have had in\nsoftening the rugged manners of the north and changing the condition of\nthe serfs.\n\n\n    WONDERS OF THE MOON. Translated from the French of Am\u00e9d\u00e9e\n    Guillemin, by Miss M. G. Mead. Edited, with additions, by Maria\n    Mitchell, of Vassar College. Illustrated with forty\u2010three\n    engravings. New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co. 1873.\n\n\nThis little book contains a tolerably full account of all that is known\nabout the moon, and that is of interest to the general reader. Our\nknowledge of our satellite is in some respects hardly equal to that which\nwe have recently acquired of the much more distant sun; though so near,\ncomparatively, to us, it is still too far away for the telescope ever to\ngive us as clear a view of it as we need; and the spectroscope is of\nlittle use in its examination. We shall never know much about it, and\nespecially about its other side, unless we go to see it; and a trip to the\nmoon, chimerical as it may seem, may not always remain an impossibility\nfor some adventurous person who is willing to run his chance of finding in\nthe apparently uncomfortable little place the necessary conditions for\nhuman life. However, not a few of us will be content with the information\ngiven in this book, which is vastly greater than what most persons would\nprobably acquire by examining the moon with the finest telescope; for a\ntelescope is of little service to one unaccustomed to use it, and few\nthings are more provoking to an experienced moon\u2010gazer than evident\nfailure of others to see what seems to him so plain. To those, then, who\nreally wish to get a good idea of the moon, and especially of its physical\nconstitution and probable scenery, in really the most satisfactory way,\nthis little volume, notwithstanding a few slight inaccuracies (such as the\nplacing of Petit\u2019s bolide at 9,000,000 miles from the earth), will be\nquite interesting and valuable. These inaccuracies, if in the original,\nshould have been corrected in the translation.\n\n\n    THE GREAT PROBLEM: The Higher Ministry of Nature viewed in the\n    Light of Modern Science, and as an aid to advanced Christian\n    Philosophy. By John R. Leifchild, A.M., author of _Our Coal Fields\n    and our Coal Pits_; _Cornwall: Its Mines and Miners_, etc., etc.\n    With an introduction by Howard Crosby, D.D., LL.D., Chancellor of\n    the University of New York. New York: G. P. Putnam & Son. 1872.\n\n\nDr. Crosby introduces this really able and valuable essay with a just and\nmanly rebuke of the unparalleled absurdity and impudence of our modern\nmaterialistic scientists; and it is high time for him, considering what\nbalderdash he is obliged to listen to from his chancellor\u2019s chair. The\nessay of Mr. Leifchild is a series of arguments on the topics of natural\ntheology, in which some of the principal manifestations of the power and\nwisdom of God in the physical world are pointed out and referred to their\ntrue cause and end. The author most absurdly saws off the limb of the tree\non which grows all the fruit he admires so much and gathers so carefully,\nby denying the value of metaphysics. But, in spite of that, his sound mind\nholds implicitly the very metaphysics he ignorantly despises, and he is\ntherefore able to reason very well and conclusively. Most persons who read\nbooks of this kind are more ready to listen to a geologist teaching\ntheology than to a professed theologian, and they prefer the roundabout\nmethod of coming to a point by induction to the straight road of logical\ndeduction. This book is likely to be useful, therefore, and is, besides,\nprinted in very clear, legible type, which makes it a pleasant book to\nread, though laboring under the sad inconvenience of having neither index\nnor table of contents. There are a good many interesting facts and\nstatements about eminent writers interspersed, e.g., Spinoza and Leibnitz;\nbut the author is seriously mistaken in ascribing any pantheistic\ndoctrines or tendencies to Henry Suso and Tauler. We are happy to welcome\nsuch books from English writers who are adepts in the physical sciences.\nFor these sciences, and the men who are really masters of them, we have a\ngreat respect in their own sphere. And we consider it a very praiseworthy\nand useful task for men of this kind, to undertake to show the conformity\nof these sciences with the queen over all the scientific realm\u2014Christian\nphilosophy.\n\n\n    THE MINNESINGER OF GERMANY. By A. E. Kroeger. New York: Hurd &\n    Houghton. 1872.\n\n\nIn this little book we have a very charming, as also very learned,\nexposition of medi\u00e6val art. The Minnesinger or minstrel\u2010knights of the\nlatter half of the XIIth and earlier half of the XIIIth centuries are but\nlittle known outside of Germany. In this book we are introduced to the\nprincipal masters of this beautiful and ephemeral school of song,\nGottfried von Strassburg, Walter von der Vogelweide, Ulrich von\nLichtenstein, Hartmann von der Aue, Regenbogen, Conrad von W\u00fcrzburg, and\nHenrich von Meissen, known as \u201c_Frauenlob_,\u201d or \u201cladies\u2019 praise.\u201d These\npoets sang chiefly of religion and love. But foremost among all women, the\ngreat Mother of God chiefly claimed their enthusiastic homage, as we see\nby the long extracts given by Mr. Kroeger of some of their glorious \u201cHymns\nto the Virgin.\u201d Here is an example, from \u201cThe Divine Minnesong,\u201d\nattributed sometimes to Gottfried of Strassburg:\n\n\n    \u201cThou art the blooming heaven\u2010branch,\n    Which blooming, blooms in many a grange;\n      Great care and strange\n      God lavished, Maid, on thee.\u201d\n\n\nWe have, unfortunately, no space for a selection of the beauties collected\nfor us in this book, and can only recommend our readers to procure it for\nthemselves. It is full of gems, and is especially welcome to us as\nevidence of the high degree to which the burning faith of those days had\nled and guided lyrical art. Hartmann von der Aue\u2019s \u201cPoor Henry\u201d is, so we\nare told, \u201cthe original of that sweet story of self\u2010sacrifice which\nLongfellow has made universally known as the \u2018Golden Legend,\u2019 (p. 190).\u201d\nThe same hymn we have already quoted has this allusion to the \u201cliving wine\nof true remorse\u201d and the following words:\n\n\n    \u201cHe whom God\u2019s love has never found\n    Is like a shadow on the ground,\n      And does confound\n      Life, wisdom, sense, and reason.\u201d\n\n\nConrad von W\u00fcrzburg, in his \u201cGolden Smithy,\u201d represents himself as a gold\u2010\nsmith working an ornament for the Queen of Heaven, and says, \u201cIf in the\ndepth of the smithy of my heart I could melt a poem out of gold, and could\nenamel the gold with the glowing ruby of pure devotion, I would forge a\ntransparent shining and sparkling praise of thy work, thou glorious\nEmpress of Heaven.\u201d Walter von der Vogelweide sings these grand words:\n\n\n    \u201cWho slays the lion? Who slays the giant?\n    Who masters them all, however defiant?\n    He does it who himself controlleth;\n    And every nerve of his body enrolleth,\n    _Freed from passion, under strict subjection_.\u201d\n\n\nMr. Kroeger has done a service to art, to history, and to religion in\nopening thus before our eyes a few of the treasures of the _so\u2010called_\ndark ages.\n\n\n    COLLEGE JOURNAL. Georgetown College: Dec., 1872, Vol. I., No. 1.\n\n\nThis is as elegant a little paper in outward appearance as we remember to\nhave seen. The articles are written with taste and correctness, and we\noffer a hearty welcome to the young gentlemen of classic Georgetown on\ntheir editorial _d\u00e9but_. We have only one piece of advice to give them,\nwhich is, to be careful that their wit and humor be as classic and\nscholarly as their serious pieces. Most papers, especially juvenile ones,\nbreak down on this point. We wish our young friends honor and success in\ntheir enterprise.\n\nThe Catholic Publication Society will publish in a few days Wild Times, a\nstory by Miss Caddell.\n\n\n\nBooks And Pamphlets Received.\n\n\nFrom C. DAREAU, Quebec: Francis Parkman. Par L\u2019Abb\u00e9 H. R. Casgrain. 18mo,\npaper, pp. 89.\n\nFrom A. WILLIAMS & CO., Boston: The Blazing Star; with an appendix\ntreating of the Jewish Kabbala. 12mo, pp. 180.\n\nFrom JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston: The Masque of the Gods. By Bayard\nTaylor. 12mo, pp. 48.\n\nFrom LEE & SHEPARD, Boston: Humanity Immortal. By L. P. Hickok, D.D.,\nLL.D. 8vo, pp. 362.\u2014God\u2010Man. By L. T. Townsend, D.D. 12mo, pp.\n446.\u2014Autobiography of Amos Kendall. Edited by his Son\u2010in\u2010law, Wm.\nStickney. 1872.\n\nFrom ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston: Paul of Tarsus: An Inquiry into the Times\nand the Gospel of the Apostle of the Gentiles. By A Graduate, 12mo, pp.\n401.\n\nFrom D. VAN NOSTRAND, New York: A Treatise on Acoustics in Connection with\nVentilation. By Alexander Saeltzer. 12mo, pp. 102.\n\nFrom J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., Philadelphia: Thoughts on Paper Currency,\netc. By Wm. Brown. 18mo, pp. 240.\u2014Black Robes; or, Sketches of Missions\nand Ministers in the Wilderness and on the Border. By Robert P. Nevin.\n12mo, pp. 366.\n\nFrom A. D. F. RANDOLPH & CO., New York: The Scripture Doctrine in\nReference to the Seat of Sin in the Regenerate Man. 18mo, pp. 125.\n\nFrom DESFORGES & LAWRENCE, Milwaukee: A Religion of Evolution: Letters of\n\u201cInternationalist\u201d Reviewing the Sermons of J. L. Dudley, Pastor of\nPlymouth Congregationalist Church, Milwaukee, 8vo, pp. 42.\n\nFrom C. C. CHATFIELD & CO., New Haven: Hints to Young Editors. 12mo, pp.\n31.\n\nFrom CARROLL, Wheeling: Pastoral Letter of the Rt. Rev. Richard Vincent\nWhelan, Bishop of Wheeling, to the Clergy and Laity of the Diocese. 8vo,\npp. 12.\n\nNinth Annual Report of the New York Catholic Protectory. Paper, 8vo, pp.\n66.\n\nConstitution and By\u2010Laws of the Catholic Total Abstinence Union of\nAmerica, with the Journal of Proceedings and Address of the First General\nConvention held at Baltimore, Md., Feb. 22, 23, 1872. 8vo, pp. 57.\n\nLibrary Work in the Army. United States Military Post Library Association.\nAnnual Report, 1871\u20102. Paper, 12mo, pp. 57.\n\nThe English Inquisition worse than the Spanish. By an English Priest.\nMontreal. 18mo, pp. 34.\n\nFrom Hon. EUGENE CASSERLY: Papers relating to the Foreign Relations of the\nU. S. transmitted to Congress with the Annual Message of the President,\nDec. 4, 1871.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD. VOL. XVI., NO. 95.\u2014FEBRUARY, 1873.\n\n\n\n\nWho Made Our Laws?\n\n\nIt is a characteristic of every succeeding century to consider itself much\nwiser than any or all that have preceded it. In this respect our beloved\nNINETEENTH is no exception; in fact, with a vanity that may be palliated,\nif not excused, it considers that, comparatively speaking, the world has\nhitherto been in its schoolboy days, and only attained its majority on the\nfirst day of January, 1800. It is true that the great advances made in the\nphysical sciences, in chemistry, astronomy, and geology, and in the\napplication of steam and electricity, have marked our age as one of true\nprogress in a certain direction, and are substantial subjects of self\u2010\ncongratulation; but it must also be remembered that very little of the\ngenuine happiness of mankind in general depends upon any or all of these\ndiscoveries and appliances. Man, being an intellectual as well as an\nanimal being, must look to spiritual discoveries and mental agencies for\nhis chief sources of enjoyment; and, as the soul controls the body, as his\nmain duty in this life is to qualify that soul for an eternity of bliss,\nas the unlimited future is superior to the limited present, it follows\nthat the things merely of this world play a small and insignificant part\nin the real drama of the life of a human being. The sad misconception of\nthis solution of the problem of man\u2019s destiny has been the principal\nmistake of materialists, and their consequent punishment here below has\nbeen so marked that the criticism of the charitable is considerately\nwithheld.\n\nFortunately for us Catholics, the great desideratum\u2014the law that includes\nall laws\u2014is immovably fixed, and no new discoveries, no alleged progress,\nno experiment, can disturb it. Immutable as the eternal hills, it stands\nto\u2010day as when promulgated in Jud\u00e6a over eighteen hundred years ago by its\nDivine Founder, and though the heavens and earth may pass away, we have\nthe assurance that it shall not. But there have sprung out of the\noperation of this great law other laws which may be called secondary or\nsubsidiary, which have long affected the welfare of Christendom, and upon\nthe observance or rejection of which much of the welfare or misery of\nnations has depended and must for ever depend. Political justice, social\norder, art, science, and literature, everything which relates to the\nrelations of man with his fellows, and brightens and beautifies life, have\na great deal more to do with forming the character and insuring the purity\nof a people, as well as the regulation of their actions justly, than\nrailroads, telegraphs, and an\u00e6sthetic agents. Respect for the memory of\nthe dead and charity for the living prevent us from pointing out\nindividual instances where men, remarkable for their skill and\nperseverance in forwarding the latter projects, have neither been\ndistinguished for their truthfulness, liberality, nor for any moral\nquality typical of intelligent Christians. The best of these men are\nsimply clever mechanists, increasing, it is true, our sum of knowledge of\nthe effect of certain forces in nature, yet without being able to reveal\nthe nature of the forces themselves, which seems impossible; but whoever\nteaches us true ideas regarding the active agencies that govern ordinary\nlife is the true benefactor of his species, and is the governor of his\naudience or race. Have our discoveries in this science of making mankind\nmore moral, humane, and refined kept pace with our more intimate\nacquaintance with the secrets of nature and the laws of mechanism, or have\nwe to look back to the despised past for all our ideas of rectitude in\nlegislation, honesty in the administration of government, and truthfulness\nin the plastic arts? We fear that a candid answer to this question would\ninvolve some loss of our self\u2010esteem. While, like the degenerate Hebrews,\nwe have been worshipping graven images, the work of men\u2019s hands, we have\nbeen neglecting the Tables of the Law.\n\nAll national governments reflect more or less correctly the ideas of the\npeople governed. The absolutism of Russia is as much the reflex of the\nmental status of the inhabitants of that vast and semi\u2010civilized empire as\nthat of the United States is of our busy, hasty, and heterogeneous\npopulation. The first is a necessity growing out of a peculiar order of\nthings, wherein many tribes and barbarous races are to be found struggling\ntowards light and civilization; the other is the creation of the matured\nminds of experienced and profound statesmen, acting as the delegates of a\nself\u2010reliant and self\u2010sustaining people. Still, though the framework of\nthe government is _unique_, the ideas of justice and equality which\nunderlie it are old. In one sense they are not American, but European, for\nit cannot be denied that the principles of our constitutions, state and\nnational, the laws accepted or enacted in harmony therewith, and the modes\nof their interpretation and administration, are taken from the civil\npolity of the nations of the Old World, as those again have been the\ndirect and palpable result of the teachings of the Catholic Church. Russia\nto\u2010day is mainly barbarous, and subject to the unfettered will of one man,\nbecause centuries ago the East broke away from the centre of Catholic\nunity, and, in losing the Apostolic authority, lost all its vivifying\npower, and the ministers of the so\u2010called Greek Church their capacity and\nefficiency as civilizers and law\u2010givers.\n\nThe West was more loyal, and consequently more fortunate. If we consider\nfor a moment the chaotic condition of the greater part of Europe when the\nchurch commenced to spread far and wide the teachings of the Gospel,\nslowly but steadily pursuing her holy mission, we may be able to\nappreciate the herculean task before her. Then, in every part of Europe,\nfrom the pole to the Mediterranean, from the Carpathians to the Atlantic,\ndisorder, ignorance, and rapine prevailed. Wave after wave of Northern and\nEastern hordes had swept over the continent and most of the islands,\nsubmerging the effete nations of the South, and carrying destruction and\ndeath wherever they surged. The old Roman civilization, such as it was,\nwas entirely obliterated, all municipal law was abolished, the conquered\nmasses were reduced to the condition of serfs, and, as each successive\nleader of a tribe rested from his bloody labors and built a stronghold for\nhis occupancy, he reserved to himself the exclusive monopoly of plunder\nand spoliation in his own particular neighborhood. This of course led to\nrivalry and unceasing warfare between rival marauders, and the incessant\nslaughter and oppression of their retainers and tenants.\n\nIt was with these fierce and lawless _nobles_, as they loved to style\nthemselves, that the church for centuries waged most persistent and\nuncompromising warfare, and against them she hurled her most terrible\nanathemas. It was she who taught the sanguinary barons and chieftains that\nthere was a moral power greater than armed force and stronger than moated\nand castellated tower, who took by the hand the downtrodden, impoverished\nserf, freed him from his earthly bonds, taught him the knowledge of God\u2019s\nlaw, the principles of eternal justice and the rights of humanity, and\ninstilled into his heart those ideas of human liberty which have since\nfructified and now permeate every free or partially free government in\nboth hemispheres. Those great results were achieved in many ways, as local\ncircumstances required; by teaching and exhorting, by persuasion or\nthreats, by taking the serf into the ministry of the church and thereby\nmaking him the superior of his former master, by introducing gradually\njust and equitable laws, and when necessary forcing their adoption on\nunwilling sovereigns and reluctant nobles, and, perhaps, most potently by\nthe example of her own organization, which permitted the humblest of her\nchildren to be crowned by a free election with the tiara of the successors\nof S. Peter.\n\nThe influence of the church in secular affairs was particularly remarkable\nin England, from which we have drawn so many of our political opinions and\nprinciples. The early missionaries to the Britons and Saxons were\ndoubtless men of high intelligence as well as sanctity; but the Norman and\nAnglo\u2010Norman ecclesiastics who came into the country with William the\nConqueror and clustered around his sons and successors were still more\nremarkable for astuteness and breadth of view. For many generations after\nthe Conquest they may be said to have governed England in so far as they\nframed her laws, conducted her ordinary jurisprudence, and mainly directed\nher foreign and domestic policy. The most interesting, though by no means\nthe most impartial, chapters in Hallam and Blackstone are those devoted to\nthe struggles between the lay lawyers supported or subsidized by the\nnobility, and the clerical jurists who defended the privileges of their\norder and the natural rights of the oppressed masses. The Great Charter,\nof which we hear so much from persons who very probably never read it, was\nundoubtedly the work of the latter, though signed by all the barons with\ntheir seal or mark; trial by jury, the germs of which may be traced into\nremote antiquity, was systematized and as far as possible perfected under\ntheir auspices; courts of equity, for the rectification of \u201cinjustice\nwhich the law from its generality worketh to individuals,\u201d were their\ncreation, and even until comparatively late years were presided over by\nthem; and representative or parliamentary government may justly be said to\nhave been the fruit of their fertile and ever\u2010active brains. Its founder,\nin England at least, was de Montfort, who, though not in orders, was the\nfollower, if not the pupil, of the great S. Bernard.\n\nIt is thus that we, the ungrateful or forgetful eulogists of the XIXth\ncentury, while laying the flattering unction to our souls that we have\ndone more than put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes, ignore the\nlong, painful, and continuous efforts of our spiritual forefathers to\nchristianize, civilize, and make free our ancestors in the order of nature\nwhom pagan despotism and barbaric cupidity sought to degrade and\nbrutalize. In our self\u2010glorification we forget that all we have in\nlegislation, of which we are naturally so proud and for which we never can\nbe too thankful, is the product of long years of toil and reflection of\nhumble priests and learned prelates, whose names are now scarcely\nremembered. The ideas of justice and clemency generated in the minds of\nthose men of the past by the spirit of Catholicity are the same which\ngovern our daily actions, and regulate the most important affairs of our\nlives and of those most dear to us, though we are so occupied or so\nungrateful that we fail to acknowledge the sources from whence they arose.\n\nFor instance, the possession of real estate forms one of the principal\nattractions for the ambition of industrious Americans, yet how few of them\never think that the laws regulating its disposition, acquisition, and\ninheritance are the very enactments framed by monks, hundreds of years\nago, and recognized by armed laymen after long and at times doubtful\ncontests with the advocates of the arbitrary feudal system. Personal\nliberty, speedy trial by our peers, were first secured in an incontestable\nform by an archbishop of the church which some of our so\u2010called and\n\u201cloudly called\u201d preachers are never tired of denouncing as tyrannical.\nThat the right of the people governed, to elect representatives to make\nlaws affecting their \u201clives, liberty, and pursuit of happiness,\u201d was\nobtained and carried into practical effect by a Catholic statesman many\ncenturies before Thomas Jefferson or Benjamin Franklin were born, seems to\nhave been forgotten by our pseudo\u2010liberals; while the grand principle of\npolitical equality which lies at the foundation of our republic, instead\nof being less than a hundred years old, is coeval with Christianity\nitself, and in its operation within the church is more expansive and less\ndiscriminating as regards social rank and condition.\n\nBut though, in this inconsiderate age, we fail to acknowledge the deep\ndebt of gratitude we owe to the workers and thinkers of the past for our\nlaws, civilization, and correct ideas of government, we cannot if we would\ndeny that we are still ruled by those very ideas, and that none of our\nboasted, and in their way valuable, discoveries have had the effect to\ngive us a new or a better scheme of jurisprudence, whereby mankind can be\nmade better, wiser, or happier.\n\nThe people of the United States are not generally considered a profoundly\nreflective people; we are too much engaged with the present to care much\nabout either the past or future; but we respectfully suggest that, while\nwe may be justly proud of our laws and system of government, it is hardly\nfair or generous to assume to ourselves all the credit for their formation\nand existence. We have done enough to secure the liberty of our fellow\u2010\nmen, and maintain our authority in the family of nations, not to be able\nto be just, if not generous, to the memory of the men who have bequeathed\nto us so invaluable a legacy; and let us therefore accord to our Catholic\nancestors due credit for the conception and transmission of the laws under\nwhich we all so happily live. After all, their ideas rule more than our\nown, whether we will or not.\n\n\n\n\nDante\u2019s Purgatorio. Canto Sixth.\n\n\n    When from the game of hazard men depart,\n      The loser stays, and, casting o\u2019er his throws,\n    Learns a hard lesson with a heavy heart;\n      While with the winner all the assembly goes:\n    One runs before, one plucks his robe behind,\n      But he delays not, though beside his way\n    Another comrade calls himself to mind;\n      And every one perceives that he would say:\n    \u201c_Press me no more!_\u201d to whom he lifts his hand,\n      And by so doing keeps the crowd at bay;\n    Such I was, freeing me from that dense band,\n      To this and that one bending my survey,\n    And promising to answer each demand.\n\n    Here was that Aretine whose lethal wound\n      The savage hands of Ghin\u2019 di Tacco made;\n    Also that knight who in pursuit was drowned.\n      Here with stretched palms Frederic Novello prayed,\n    The Pisan, too, at whose defeat his sire,\n      Good old Marzucco, showed a strength sublime.\n    I saw Count Orso, and that soul whom dire\n      Envy and spite, but no committed crime\n    Tore from his mortal frame, as he declared;\n      Pierre de la Brosse I mean: so, while she may,\n    Be that bad woman of Brabant prepared\n      Lest she go join a far worse flock than they.\n\n    When I had freed me from the gathering press\n      Of shadows praying still that others\u2019 prayers\n    Might hasten forward their own blessedness,\n      I thus began: \u201cThy page, my Light! declares\n    Expressly, in one text, that Heaven\u2019s decree\n      To no beseeching bendeth.(214) Yet this race\n    Prays with such purpose: will their praying be\n      Without avail? or have I in that place\n    Misread thy word?\u201d He answered: \u201cIt is gross\n      And plain to reason: no fallacious hope\n    Is theirs, if thy sound mind consider close;\n      The topmost height of judgment doth not slope,\n    Because love\u2019s fire may instantly complete\n      The penance due from one of these: but where\n    I closed that point with words which you repeat,\n      A gulf betwixt the Most High was and prayer:\n    No praying there could cover past defect.\n      Yet verily, in so profound a doubt\n    Rest not, till she who, \u2019twixt thine intellect\n      And truth, shall be thy light, herself speak out.\n    Dost understand me? Beatrice I mean:\n      Thou shalt behold her in a loftier place,\n    This mountain summit, smiling and serene.\u201d\n      \u201cGood Guide,\u201d said I, \u201cthen let us mend our pace,\n    I feel no more my weariness: o\u2019er us\n      The mountain shadow grows and hides mine own.\u201d\n    \u201cWe will go forward\u201d\u2014he gave answer thus\u2014\n      \u201cFar as we can, ere this day\u2019s light be gone;\n    But thy thought wanders from the fact. That height\n      Ere thou canst gain, thou shalt behold the day\u2019s\n    Returning orb, who now so hides his light\n      Behind the hill that thou break\u2019st not his rays.\n    But yonder look! one spirit, all alone,\n      By itself stationed, bends toward us his gaze:\n    The readiest passage will by him be shown\u201d\n\n    Sordello.\n\n    We came up tow\u2019rds it: O proud Lombard soul!\n      How thou didst wait, in thy disdain unstirred,\n    And thy majestic eyes didst slowly roll!\n      Meanwhile to us it never uttered word,\n    But let us move, just giving us a glance,\n      Like as a lion looks in his repose.\n    Then Virgil, making a more near advance,\n      Prayed him to show us where the mountain rose\n    With easier slope, and still that soul replied\n      Nothing to his demand; but question made\n    About life, and our country. My sweet Guide\n      Began to answer: \u201cMantua\u201d\u2014and the shade\n    From where it had been, separate from his band,\n      All rapt in self, sprang up towards him in haste,\n    Saying: \u201cO Mantuan, I am of thy land,\n      I am Sordello.\u201d And the twain embraced.\n\n    Ah slavish Italy! thou common inn\n      For woe to lodge at! without pilot, thou\n    Ship in great tempest! not what thou hast been,\n      Lady of provinces, but brothel now!\n    That gentle soul so quickly, at the dear\n      Sound that recalled his country, forward came\n    To grace his townsman with a greeting here;\n      And now thy living children, to their shame,\n    Are all at war, and they who dwell most near\n      Prey, each on each, with moat and wall the same!\n    Search, wretched! search all round thine either coast,\n      And then look inland, in thy bosom, see\n    If peace in any part of thee thou know\u2019st!\n      What though Justinian made new reins for thee,\n    What boots it if the saddle remain void?\n      Without his mending thy disgrace were less.\n    And O ye tribe that ought to be employed\n      In your devotions, and let C\u00e6sar press\n    The seat of C\u00e6sar if God\u2019s word you heed,\n      See, since your hand hath on the bridle been,\n    How wanton grown and wicked is the steed,\n      Through want from you of the spur\u2019s discipline.\n    O German Albert! who abandonest\n      Her now run wild, unchecked by curb of thine,\n    When thou shouldst ride her with thy heels hard\u2010pressed;\n      May heaven\u2019s just judgment light upon thy line,\n      And be it something strange, and manifest,\n    To make him tremble that comes after thee,\n      Because, for lust of barren fiefs out there,(215)\n    Thou and thy Father have not shamed to see\n      The empire\u2019s garden desolate and bare.\n    Come see the Capulets and Montagues,\n      Monaldi and Filippeschi, O thou being\n    Without concern! these wan with fears, and those\n      Already crushed: come sate thyself with seeing,\n    Thou cruel man, the outrage that is done\n      To thy best blood, and make their bruises well!\n    And thou shalt see too, thou cold looker\u2010on,\n      Santafiore\u2019s lords how safe they dwell.\n    Come see thy Rome that mourning all alone\n      Weepeth, a widow, calling day and night,\n    Why, O my C\u00e6sar, dost thou leave thine own?\n      Come see what love there\u2014how all hearts unite!\n    And if no pity move thee at our moan\n    Blush for thy fame beholding such a sight.\n      And, lawful if I speak, O most high Jove\n    Who wast for _our_ sakes crucified on earth,\n      Are thy just eyes who watchest men above\n    Turned elsewhere?\u2014Or is this before the birth\n      Of some great good a preparation hid\n    From us in the abyss of thy intent,\n      That all the Italian towns are tyrant\u2010rid,\n    And every clown that comes on faction bent\n      Makes as much clamor as Marcellus did?\n\n    My Florence! well may\u2019st thou remain content\n      At this digression; it concerns not thee,\n    Thanks to thy people, great in argument!\n      Many with justice in their hearts there be\n    Who stay the shaft lest, coming to the bow\n      Without discretion, it might err; but they\n    On their lips wear it. Many men are slow\n      To serve the state, and turn from place away;\n    Thy people do not\u2014every one bends low,\n      Crying before he\u2019s called for: \u201cI obey.\u201d\n    Now make thee joyful, who may\u2019st triumph well;\n      Thou who art rich\u2014so wise! and so at peace!\n    If I speak true in this\u2014let the truth tell.\n      Athens and Sparta, that raised civil Greece\n    To such a height, and framed the ancient laws,\n      Towards the well\u2010ordered life made small beginning\n    Compared with thee, whose legislation draws\n      Threads out so fine that thy October spinning\n    Comes before mid\u2010November to a pause.\n      How many times hast thou renewed thy men,\n    Yea, within days that in thy memory dwell,\n      And changed thy laws and offices, and then\n    Customs and coins! if thou remember well\n      Thou wilt behold thyself, unless quite blind,\n    Like a sick woman, restless, that in vain\n      Seeks on her pillow some repose to find,\n    And turns and turns as \u2019twere to parry pain.\n\n\n\n\nThe Church The Champion Of Marriage.\n\n\n\u201cThere is nothing new under the sun,\u201d least of all the continued crusade\nthe church has headed and now heads against the enemies of Christian\nmarriage. What marriage is, what duties it involves, what holiness it\nrequires, what grace it confers, we leave to other pens more learned or\nmore eloquent to define. What are the Scripture authorities and allowable\ninferences concerning the married state, its indissolubility and its\nfuture transformation in heaven, we leave to theologians to state. Those\nwho may feel curious as to that part of the question, or as to the local\nand civil enactments concerning marriage and divorce, we refer to two able\narticles published in THE CATHOLIC WORLD of October, 1866, and July,\n1867.(216)\n\nBut as witnesses are multiplied when a strong case has to be made out in\nfavor of some important issue, let us turn to the tribunal of history, and\nlook over the record of the church\u2019s battles. Witnesses without number\nrise in silent power to show on which side the weight of church influence\nhas ever been thrown\u2014the side of the oppressed and weakly. Every liberty,\nfrom ecclesiastical immunities to constitutional rights, she has upheld\nand enforced, and it would be impossible that she, the knight\u2010errant of\nthe moral world, should have failed to break a lance, through every\nsucceeding century, for the integrity of the marriage bond.\n\nTake, for instance, the history of the new Frankish kingdom in the VIth\ncentury, at the time when the church was laboriously moulding pagan hordes\ninto Christian and civilized nations. The times were wild and unsettled,\nthe very laws hardly established, heathen license barely reined in by the\nthreatening barrier of solemn excommunication. They were times of great\nheroism, it is true, but none the less of great abuses and of startling\ncrimes. The bishops of the Christian church stood alone in the midst of\nthe universal depravity, like mighty colossi, defying the civil power and\nrebuking royal license. S. Nicetus, the Bishop of Tr\u00e8ves, was one of\nthese. The young King of the Franks, Theodebert, who was betrothed to\nWisigardis, the daughter of the Lombard king Wakon, had, during a war\nagainst the Goths, taken a beautiful captive named Denteria. He made her\nhis mistress, and, forgetful of his solemn betrothal, lived with her for\nseven years. The bishop never ceased boldly to admonish him and warn him,\nbut to no purpose. After a while, his powers of persuasion failing to\neffect his charitable design, he resorted to the penalties of the church,\nand excommunicated him. But, instead of suspending his evil career, the\nking persuaded many of his courtiers to follow his example. The holy\nbishop excommunicated them all with calm impartiality. Despite the\ncensures under which they lay, they insolently attempted to assist at High\nMass one Sunday in the bishop\u2019s presence. S. Nicetus turned to meet the\nsacrilegious throng, and undauntedly announced that, unless those who were\nexcommunicated left the church, the Mass would not be celebrated. The king\npublicly demurred to this, but a young man in the crowd, possessed by the\ndevil, suddenly started up, and in impassioned language gave testimony to\nthe holiness of the bishop and the vicious and debased character of the\nking himself. Four or five stalwart men got up to hold him, but were\nunable to do so; his strength defied their utmost efforts, and burning\nwords of condemnation continued to fall from his lips. The king, abashed,\nwas forced to leave the church, while S. Nicetus caused the young man to\nbe brought to him. The touch of the holy bishop\u2019s hand, and his\nefficacious prayer breathed over him, cured him at once of the grievous\naffliction which had beset him for ten years. Finally, the displeasure of\nthe Franks at the insult offered to the King of the Lombards and his\ndaughter grew so serious that, with S. Nicetus at their head, they called\na general meeting to denounce his conduct. He listened to their\nreproaches, and at last agreed to dismiss his mistress and fulfil his\ncontract with the Lombard princess.(217)\n\nAn eminent French writer, De Maistre, says of the part played by the popes\nin the middle ages: \u201cNever have the popes and the church rendered a more\nsignal service to the world than they did in repressing by the authority\nof ecclesiastical censures the transports of a passion, dangerous enough\nin mild and orderly characters, but which, when indulged in by violent and\nfierce natures, will make havoc of the holiest laws of marriage.... The\nsanctity of marriage, the sacred foundation of the peace and welfare of\nnations, is, above all, of the highest importance in royal families, where\nexcesses and disorders are apt to breed consequences whose gravity in the\nfuture none can calculate.\u201d\n\nIn the early part of the VIIth century, S. Columbanus, the great Irish\nmonk who founded the powerful monastery of Luxeuil in Burgundy, began that\nopposition to royal license which finally cost him his exalted position,\nand made him an exile and wanderer from his chosen abode. Queen Brunehault\nwas practically reigning in Burgundy under the name of her grandson\nTheodoric. She connived at the young sovereign\u2019s precocious depravity, and\nherself furnished him with attractive mistresses, thereby preventing his\nmarriage with a suitable princess, for fear of losing her own influence\nover him in public affairs. One day, as S. Columbanus, whose monastery the\nking had munificently enriched, came to see Theodoric on matters of\nimportance, the queen rashly presented the king\u2019s illegitimate children to\nthe saint, and begged him to bless them. Columbanus refused, turning away\nhis eyes and saying sternly, \u201cThese children are the offspring of guilt,\nand they will never sit upon their father\u2019s throne.\u201d Another time, after\nmany vain threats and remonstrances, the saint again visited Theodoric,\nbut, instead of accepting the hospitality of his palace, took up his\nquarters in a neighboring house. Brunehault and her grandson, keenly alive\nto the implied rebuke, and resenting the public slight thus put upon them\nbefore their court and subjects, sent some officers of their household\nwith costly vases and golden dishes, full of delicacies from the royal\ntable, to Columbanus, at the same time entreating him to come to them. The\nsaint made the sign of the cross, and spoke thus to the messengers: \u201cTell\nthe king that the Most High spurns the gifts of the unjust; heaven is not\nto be propitiated by precious offerings, but by conversion and\nrepentance.\u201d And as he spoke the vases fell to the earth and broke,\nscattering the food and wine that had been brought to bribe the servant of\nGod. The king, afraid of the divine judgments, promised to amend, but did\nnot fail to relapse into sin, upon which Columbanus wrote to him again,\nand finally excommunicated him. Theodoric then visited the monastery of\nLuxeuil, and in retaliation publicly accused the saint of violating his\nrule. Columbanus answered, \u201cIf you are come here to disturb the servants\nof God, and stir up confusion among them, we will relinquish all your aid,\ncountenance, and presents, O Theodoric; but know that you and all your\nrace shall perish.\u201d The king retired, awed for this time into silence;\nbut, being further incensed against Columbanus by his grandmother\nBrunehault, he had him exiled to Besan\u00e7on. The saint\u2019s reputation was such\nthat no one would venture to guard him, and he of his own accord soon\nreturned to Luxeuil. Theodoric, growing more obstinate the firmer he saw\nhis judge become, again ordered him to leave, even threatening force.\nColumbanus defied him, and announced that physical violence alone could\ndrive him from his post; but, upon the persecution of the monastery\ncontinuing unabated, he judged it more perfect and charitable to exile\nhimself for the peace of his community. Three years after, Theodoric and\nhis children were all killed, and Clotaire, his relative and ruler of a\nneighboring kingdom, reigned in Burgundy in his stead.\n\nThe Byzantine Empire also was constantly torn by schisms and dissensions\noriginating in the unbridled passions of its ignoble sovereigns. In the\nVIIIth century, Constantine VI., surnamed Porphyrogenitus, the son of the\nEmpress Irene, married at his mother\u2019s instigation an Armenian woman of\nlow birth but irreproachable morals, named Mary. It was not long, however,\nbefore he became enamored of one of his wife\u2019s attendants, Theodota,\nwhereupon he proceeded to divorce the Empress Mary and force her to take\nthe veil. The Patriarch of Constantinople, Tarasius, refused to dissolve\nthe first marriage and perform the second, as required by the dissolute\nemperor, who then attempted to blind him by alleging that his wife had\nconspired to poison him. This the patriarch firmly refused to believe,\nand, moreover, represented to the emperor the scandal of his conduct, the\ninfamy that would attach to his name in consequence, and especially the\nincalculable evil his bad example would cause among his not too chaste\ncourtiers and people. Constantine lost his temper, and violently replied\nthat he would close the Christian churches, and reopen the temples of the\nheathen gods. The patriarch threatened to refuse him the right of entering\nthe sanctuary, and of assisting at the sacred mysteries; but when an\nunworthy priest, Joseph, the treasurer of the church of Constantinople,\nwas found willing to celebrate between the emperor and Theodota an invalid\n\u201cmarriage\u201d in one of the halls of the palace of S. Maurice, Tarasius\nhesitated to pronounce the excommunication. At this distance of time, it\nis not easy to point out the reasons and excuses which the unsettled state\nof things in the Byzantine Empire may have furnished for this act of\nseeming compromise; much less should we rashly condemn a holy and zealous\nbishop; but it is noticeable that such instances have never been repeated\nwhen it was the popes themselves who were directly appealed to.\n\nAs the patriarch had foretold, evil results followed the sovereign\u2019s\nlicentious example, a frightful laxity of morals prevailed, and\ninsubordination to the church went hand in hand with the violation of the\nmarriage bond. Tarasius excommunicated the priest Joseph two years after,\nbut, although he had refrained from directly and publicly censuring the\nprincipal culprit, he was none the less persecuted by him.\n\nIn the following century, a still worse case of the kind took place, the\nchief actors in it being Bardas, the ambitious uncle of the wretched\nEmperor Michael the Drunkard, and the Patriarch of Constantinople, S.\nIgnatius. The former, who had the practical control of the state, and had\ninduced his sottish nephew to give him the title of \u201cC\u00e6sar\u201d of the\nByzantine Empire, deliberately left his lawful wife, and lived in publicly\nincestuous union with the wife of his own son. S. Ignatius indignantly\nreproved him, and when the prince, braving his censures, presented himself\nin church on the Feast of the Epiphany, the patriarch publicly refused to\nadmit him to the Holy Communion. Bardas furiously threatened him before\nthe faithful, but the holy prelate boldly presented his breast to the\nblows he seemed about to receive, and in a few solemn words invoked the\nwrath of God on the sacrilegious \u201cC\u00e6sar.\u201d He was promptly exiled to the\nIsland of Teberinthia, where Bardas, partly by threats and partly by\nhypocritical promises, induced all his suffragans to repair in a body, and\nentreat him to resign the patriarchate. With holy firmness he resisted the\ntreacherous appeal, whereupon Bardas had him put in irons, deposed, and\nreplaced on the patriarchal chair by Photius, a creature of his own and a\nlayman. The famous schism of Photius thus sprang from the same cause as\nlater heresies, and everywhere we see contumacy to ecclesiastical\nauthority making common cause with abandoned passion and shameless\nlicense.\n\nThe Photian schism was abetted in the West by another rebellious son of\nthe church, Lothair, King of Lorraine, who was anxious to get rid of his\nwife Thietberga. This was one of the most famous cases of the sort during\nthe middle ages, and was prolonged over many years, breeding not only the\nutmost moral disorder, but threatening also to bring about even political\nconvulsions. Lothair had conceived a criminal passion for one of his\nwife\u2019s maids, Waldrade, and to marry her his first endeavor was to prove\nthe queen guilty of incest before her marriage with him. For this purpose\nhe summoned his bishops three times at Aix\u2010la\u2010Chapelle, in 860, and had\nThietberga condemned to the public penance usually inflicted in those days\non a fallen woman. The time\u2010serving prelates, after a superficial\nexamination of the evidence, allowed the divorce on the plea that \u201cit is\nbetter to marry than to burn\u201d; thus giving an early historical proof of\nthe old saying about a certain person \u201cquoting Scripture.\u201d Widalon, Bishop\nof Vienne, who had not concurred in this iniquitous decree, wrote to the\npope for guidance. The pope, Nicholas I., firmly standing by the tradition\nof the church, and vindicating the fundamental dogma of the sanctity of\nmarriage, replied uncompromisingly that the divorce was null and void, the\nbishops blamable for their servility, and that even were it proved beyond\ndoubt that Thietberga had been guilty of incest or any other sinful\nintercourse before marriage, yet the marriage itself could never on that\naccount be legally dissolved. The queen herself then appealed to the pope,\nwho appointed two legates to inquire into the matter. Baffled in his first\nattempt, Lothair now trumped up a second pretext, and pretended that he\nhad been previously married to Waldrade, and that the queen had therefore\nnever been his lawful wife. The pope replied that, until this matter was\ndisposed of, the queen should be sent with all honor to her father, and\nsuitably provided for from the royal treasury. Thietberga was now\narraigned before a packed and bribed tribunal, and forced to acknowledge\nherself an interloper, but found secret means of sending word to the pope\nthat she had acted under compulsion. Nicholas then wrote an indignant\nletter to the king and bishops, annulled all previous decisions, and\ncommanded a new and _fair_ trial of the case to be held. He then wrote to\nthe Emperor of Germany, Louis II., and the King of France, Charles the\nBald, as well as to all the bishops of the four kingdoms, Lorraine,\nFrance, Germany, and Provence, whom he ordered to repair to a council at\nMetz, where his legates would meet them. He charged them to have more\nregard to the laws of God than the will of men, and to protect the weak\nand innocent with all the dignity of their influence. Lothair, however,\nsucceeded in corrupting the legates themselves, and the council merely met\nto confirm the previous infamous decrees and condemnations. Two of the\nprelates were chosen to report to the pope and bear hypocritical and\nfalsified messages to him, but in vain. Nicholas, secretly advised of this\ntreachery, and no doubt also divinely inspired, detected the imposition,\nabrogated the decrees of the false council, and canonically deposed the\ntwo guilty prelates from all their functions and dignities. They\nimmediately took refuge at Benevento with the Emperor Louis II., who,\nhotly espousing their cause, marched with his army against Rome, and\nsurprised the clergy and people in the act of singing the litanies and\ntaking part in a penitential procession at S. Peter\u2019s. His soldiers\ndispersed the people by force of arms, and blockaded the pope in his\npalace. Nicholas escaped in disguise, and for two days lay concealed in a\nboat on the Tiber, with neither covering for the night nor scarcely food\nenough to sustain nature. Thus the conflict between a sovereign\u2019s\nunbridled passions and the calm and immutable principles of the Gospel was\ncarried so far as to entail actual persecution on the sacred and\nrepresentative person of the pontiff. The emperor, repenting of his hasty\nattack, sent his wife to the pope to negotiate a reconciliation. The two\ninsubordinate bishops at the same time sent an embassy to Photius, the\nsacrilegious successor of S. Ignatius in the See of Constantinople, to\ndemand his support and countenance. \u201cAnd thus,\u201d says Rohrbacher, to whom\nwe are indebted for these graphic pictures of the early struggles of the\nchurch, \u201cdid the schism born of the adultery of Lothair in the West join\nhands with that born of the incest of Bardas in the East.\u201d Lothair and the\nrebellious bishops now quarrelled among themselves, and one of the deposed\nprelates, the Archbishop of Cologne, repaired in haste to Rome to reveal\nthe duplicity, the plotting, and insincerity that had characterized the\nwhole of the proceedings.\n\nThe king himself, however, showed a disposition to submit, most of the\nbishops begged the pope\u2019s forgiveness, and the former legate, Rodoaldus,\nhaving been excommunicated for his collusion with the king, a new one,\nArsenius, Bishop of Orta, was appointed. The conditions he was charged to\ndemand were explicit\u2014either Waldrade must be dismissed, or the\nexcommunication until now delayed in mercy would be pronounced. Unwilling\nto submit entirely, yet dreading the consequences if he did not, Lothair\nactually recalled Thietberga to her lawful position, and allowed Waldrade\nto accompany the legate to Rome, as a public token of her repentance and\nobedience. But although his royal word was plighted, he soon found his\nblind appetites too much for his reason and his faith, and, sending\nmessengers to bring back his mistress, relapsed into his former sins.\nWaldrade herself was now publicly excommunicated.\n\nIn the meantime, Pope Nicholas died, and was succeeded by Adrian II., who\nproved himself no less strenuous an opponent of royal license than his\nholy predecessor had been. Lothair, naturally inclined to temporize,\noffered to go to Rome and plead his own cause with the new pontiff. In a\npreliminary interview held at Monte\u2010Casino, the pope reiterated his firm\nintention of coming to no understanding before the king had made his peace\nwith Thietberga and finally dissolved his criminal union with Waldrade.\nThe next day was Sunday, and the king hoped to hear Mass before he left\nfor Rome, but he could find no priest willing to celebrate it for him, and\nwas forced to take his departure in diminished state for Rome, where no\npublic reception awaited him, so that he had to enter the Holy City almost\nas a pilgrim and a penitent. In those days of princely hospitality and\nprofuse pageantry, such an occurrence was rare, and, therefore, all the\nmore significant of the majestic and practical power of the church.\n\nLothair, now thoroughly sensible of his sin, and warned by the terrible\ndissensions of the past of what further misery to his country and people\nhis prolonged obstinacy might involve, signified his intention to submit\nunconditionally to the pope\u2019s decree. High Mass was then celebrated in his\npresence and that of all his noble followers by the pope in person, and\nwhen at the moment of communion the king approached the altar, Adrian\nimpressively addressed to him the following unexpected adjuration:\n\n\u201cI charge thee, O King of Lorraine, if thou hast any concealed intention\nof renewing thy shameless intercourse with thy concubine Waldrade, not to\ndare approach this altar and sacrilegiously receive thy Lord in this\ntremendous sacrament; but if with true repentance and sincere purpose of\namendment thou dost approach, then receive him without fear.\u201d\n\nThe king, evidently moved by this solemn address, knelt down and\ncommunicated, and his retainers and courtiers took their places at the\nsacred board. That no pretext might remain for further equivocation, the\nholy pontiff warned them also, before administering the Blessed Sacrament\nto them, saying:\n\n\u201cIf any among you have wilfully aided and abetted the king, and are ready\nwilfully to aid and abet him again in his wicked intercourse with\nWaldrade, let him not presume to receive sacrilegiously the body of the\nLord; but you that have not abetted him, or that have sincerely repented\nof having done so, and are resolved to do so no more, approach and receive\nwithout fear.\u201d A few of them shrank back at these awful words, but the\ngreater part, whether in sincerity or in contempt, followed the king\u2019s\nexample and received.\n\nAfter this, which did not take place till 869, we hear no more of\nLothair\u2019s passion for Waldrade.\n\nGermany, too, had her Lothair, and, in the XIth century, King Henry IV.,\none of the most abandoned sovereigns that ever reigned, brought upon\nhimself not only the papal anathema, but the displeasure of his electors\nand confederated vassals themselves by his shameless trifling with his\nmarriage vows. His wife Bertha, a beautiful and virtuous woman, the\ndaughter of Otho, Marquis of Italy, never found favor in his sight; and,\nin concert with some of his simoniacal bishops, Siegfried, the Archbishop\nof Mayence at their head, Henry held a diet at Worms in 1069 to procure a\ndivorce from her. Siegfried, however, feeling uneasy at the part allotted\nhim, sent to the Pope Alexander II. for advice, and received from him a\nsevere reprimand for having countenanced the dissolute king. The papal\nlegate, an austere and holy man, Peter Damian, arrived during the session\nof a diet at Frankfort, where the king\u2019s cause was to be finally judged.\nDespite Henry\u2019s protestations that his divorce would enable him, as he\nhypocritically said, to marry lawfully a wife that would please him, and\nto abandon his numerous harem of favorites, whom he would have no excuse\nany longer to retain, the stern sentence of Rome was passed against\nhim\u2014either excommunication or reconciliation with his wife. He reluctantly\nsubmitted, but only in appearance, for he refused even to see Bertha, and\nsoon gave himself up to his former illicit pleasures. His brutal treatment\nof his second wife, Praxedes of Lorraine, whom he married according to his\nown choice after the death of Bertha, drew upon him further ecclesiastical\ncensures, and he left a memory justly branded by all historians as more\ninfamous still than that of the notorious Henry VIII. of England.\n\nAt the same time that his passions were revolutionizing the German Empire,\nPhilip I. of France was showing an equally deplorable example to his\nvassals and subjects. He was married to Bertha, daughter of Hugh, Count of\nFrisia, by whom he already had two children, one of whom, Louis le Gros,\nsucceeded him; but, blinded by a sinful affection, he carried off, in\n1092, Bertrade, the wife of Fulk, Count of Anjou, and lived with her in a\ndoubly adulterous union.\n\nHugh of Flavigny, a contemporary historian, says of this occurrence: \u201cEven\nif our book were silent, all France would cry out, nay, the whole of the\nWestern church would re\u2010echo like thunder in horror of this crime. It is\ntruly monstrous that an anointed king, who should have defended even with\nthe sword the indissolubility of marriage, should on the contrary _wallow\nshamelessly_ for years in _intolerable disorder_.\u201d The Blessed Yves,\nBishop of Chartres, immediately lifted his voice against the enormity of\nthe crime; but though his fervent reproaches fell upon a deadened\nconscience, and his letter to the king was in vain, still among the\nbishops of France none could be found, at least for a long time, to\nperform a scandalous \u201cmarriage\u201d between the king and his mistress. At last\nthe Archbishop of Rouen allowed himself to be blinded, and consented to\nunite them, but a prompt and sharp interference on the part of Rome\npunished him by a deposition from all his ecclesiastical dignities, which\nlasted for several years. The whole of the controversy had now come\nclearly to the knowledge of the Pope Urban II.\n\nThe Count of Anjou had declared war against the ravisher, and the king had\nput the B. Yves in irons under the guard of the Viscount of Chartres. In\nthe meanwhile, the pope wrote a scathing letter to the metropolitan of\nRheims and the episcopate of France. \u201cYou,\u201d he says, \u201cwho should have\nstood as a wall against the inroads of public immorality, you have been\nsilent and allowed this great crime; for not to oppose is to consent. Go\nnow, speak to the king, reproach him, warn him, threaten him, and, if\nnecessary, resort boldly to the last measures.\u201d From 1092 to 1094 the pope\nnever ceased publicly and privately to oppose Philip\u2019s unlawful passion,\nand, sending as his legate Hugh, Archbishop of Lyons, convoked an assembly\nat Autun for the 15th of October, 1094, to decide the matter. The king\ninsolently attempted to forestall the papal decision by calling a council\nfor the 10th of September previous, which accordingly took place, and in\nwhich a few contumacious bishops confirmed the king in his obstinate\nresistance to the head of the church. As the queen had died a short time\nbefore, Philip presumptuously began to hope that his marriage with\nBertrade would now be legalized; but, since she herself was the wedded\nwife of the Count of Anjou, it will be easy to see how vain were his\nexpectations. The Council of Autun met, and, finding the king determined\nto continue in sin, solemnly excommunicated him. Philip then wrote a\nthreatening letter to the pope, declaring that, if he did not absolve him\nfrom the church\u2019s censures, he would go over to the anti\u2010pope Guibert,\nstyled Clement III. Philip now attempted to secure immunity for himself in\nanother way: he promised all sorts of reforms, both ecclesiastical and\nmoral, if he could only obtain permission to indulge his guilty passion\nundisturbed. To this proposal the B. Yves replied, like S. Columbanus to\nTheodoric, that it was impossible to compound for sin by costly gifts,\nthat God desires ourselves, not our treasures, and that heaven is won by\npenance and not by gold.\n\nAt length, in 1095, the Council of Placentia was held. Philip pleaded for\na delay, which was granted him, but at the following council, that of\nClermont, he and his concubine were at last rigorously excommunicated. And\nhere Rohrbacher takes occasion to remark, _\u00e0 propos_ to the crusade which\nwas then occupying Christendom: \u201cIndeed, of what use would a crusade\nagainst the Turks have proved if the popes had not, at the same time,\nresolutely opposed the introduction of Turkish disorders into Christian\nsociety?\u201d\n\nIn 1096, Philip consented to submit, and went in state to the Council of\nNismes to meet the pope, and be absolved from the excommunication, which,\nas he found, weighed very heavily on his conscience. Throughout the middle\nages this one trait, a lively faith, proved, indeed, the only barrier\nagainst excesses which, had they been unrestrained by the fear of\necclesiastical censures, would have simply produced a state of license\nworse than that of the latter days of the Roman Empire. But Philip\u2019s\nrepentance was short\u2010lived; he recalled Bertrade, and even gave away\nbenefices and church dignities to her favorites, seculars, and persons of\nquestionable morality. Urban II. died, and was succeeded by Paschal II.,\nwho again sent his legates to the king, and, at the Council of Poictiers,\nexcommunicated the guilty pair a second time. At this council a strange\nscene took place. A layman threw a stone at one of the legates, and,\nthough it missed him, it split open the head of another bishop who was\nstanding near. This was the signal for a violent attack on the prelates;\nthe unruly crowd outside the church battered down the doors, and rushed\nin, throwing stones and missiles of all kinds among the deliberating\nbishops. Of these a very few, seized with panic, hastily made their\nescape, but the greater part stood like heroes at their post, and even\ntook off their mitres that their heads might present a better mark to the\ninfuriated and partisan mob. Nor was this the only act of violence\nperpetrated in the name of Philip and Bertrade. Shortly after this scene,\nwhile staying at Sens, they remained a fortnight without hearing Mass,\nwhich so incensed Bertrade that she sent her servants to break open the\ndoors of the church, and caused one of her priests, a tool of her own, to\ncelebrate the Holy Sacrifice in her presence. Philip now noisily\nproclaimed that he was going to Rome to receive absolution, but Yves of\nChartres warned the Pope of the king\u2019s insincerity, and the pontiff\nremained conscientiously cold to all his advances until he had wrested\nfrom him a solemn oath not only to cease his criminal intercourse with\nBertrade, but also to abstain from seeing her or speaking to her unless in\nthe presence of a third person. Nevertheless, the solemn absolution was\nnot pronounced in his favor before the Council of Beaugency, assembled in\n1104, _twelve_ years after his first sin in carrying off the lawful wife\nof his own vassal and kinsman.\n\nThe XIIth century, so stormily begun, was disturbed later on by yet\nanother controversy of the same kind. It has been noticed by Protestant\nwriters, says De Maistre, that it was almost invariably marriage, its\nindissolubility and the irregularities against its integrity, that have\nprovoked the \u201cscandal\u201d of excommunication. In this admission, made rather\nto criminate than to honor the church, made indeed to throw the obloquy of\nschism upon the popes themselves, is there not an unwilling testimony to\nthe Papacy\u2019s unflinching championship of virtue?\n\nIn 1140, Louis VII. of France, surnamed _Le Jeune_, refused to sanction\nthe canonical nomination of Peter, Archbishop of Bourges, whom Thibault,\nCount of Champagne, valiantly defended and upheld. At the same time,\nRaoul, Count of Vermandois, a man advanced in years, who had long been\nmarried to Thibault\u2019s niece, wished to dissolve his marriage in order to\ncontract another with Petronilla, the sister of the Queen of France,\nLouis\u2019 wife, Eleanor of Antioch. He succeeded in persuading a few bishops\nto grant him this permission on the plea of relationship between him and\nhis first wife, which, if true, would have made that union illegal from\nthe first. S. Bernard, in a fervid letter to Pope Innocent II., denounces\nhis vile conduct, giving a most lamentable picture of the state of the\nkingdom of France. \u201c_That which is most sacred in the church_,\u201d he says,\n\u201cis trodden underfoot.\u201d The pope, through his legate, Cardinal Yves,\nexcommunicated the Count of Vermandois, and laid his whole territory under\nan interdict. Mass could no longer be said, the sacraments were not\nadministered, the churches were closed, the bells silent. The king\nrevenged himself by declaring war on the Count of Champagne, who had given\nshelter to the archbishop, and appealed to Rome against the Count of\nVermandois. He devastated Thibault\u2019s territory with fire and sword, and\nbehaved, says Rohrbacher, rather like a Vandal chief than a Christian\nking. In 1142, he arrived before the town of Vitry, sacked it, and set\nfire to its church and castle. In the former were no less than 1300\npersons, men, women, and children, who had sought safety in the sanctuary.\nHe ruthlessly closed all avenues to the church, and burnt the miserable\ninhabitants as they vainly strove to escape. The town was hereafter called\n_Vitry le Br\u00fble_. The Count of Champagne, weakened by this terrible onset,\nsued for peace, and promised to exert his influence to have both\nexcommunication and interdict taken off the person and fiefs of Raoul de\nVermandois. It was, in fact, provisionally suspended, but, as the culprit\nstill refused to dissolve his criminal union, he was excommunicated for\nthe second time. S. Bernard was a prominent actor in this controversy, and\npowerfully worked for the preservation of peace.\n\nBut greater troubles were yet in store for France and the church. In 1193,\nPhilip Augustus lost his first wife, Isabella of Hainault, and soon\nafterwards sent the Bishop of Noyon, Stephen, with great pomp to the King\nof Denmark, Canute III., to ask the hand of his sister Ingeburga in\nmarriage. The request was joyfully granted, and the queen\u2010elect brought\nback to France with all possible honor. The marriage took place at once,\nand the king confessed himself much pleased with his new consort. The next\nday he caused her to be solemnly crowned, a ceremony to which great\nimportance was attached in those days; but, strange to say, during the\nservice itself he was seen to turn pale as if with horror, and to cast\nsudden looks of aversion towards the queen. He, however, retired with her\nto Meaux, and lived with her a short time, still unable to conquer his\ndislike, which many did not fail to attribute to witchcraft, for Ingeburga\nwas both comely, virtuous, and accomplished. The king now called together\nhis parliament at Compi\u00e8gne, his uncle, the Archbishop of Rheims and\nlegate of the Holy See, presiding. The queen, who did not understand\nFrench, and whose Danish attendants had all been sent away, was present at\nthe deliberation. Unheard, therefore, and even unchallenged, she was\nspeedily declared too closely related to the king through his former wife\nIsabella to be united to him in lawful marriage. This seems to have been\nthe favorite pretext for dissolving inconvenient marriages in those times,\nas it was also later in the too famous case of Henry VIII. of England and\nCatharine of Aragon, but even in this we see the spirit of subordination\nto the general authority of the church still underlying the partial\nrevolts of her unruly sons. When Queen Ingeburga was made acquainted by an\ninterpreter with the sentence rendered against her, she was painfully\nastonished, and, bursting into tears, cried out in her broken French,\n_Male France! Male France!_ Some pitying hearts there must have been in\nthat assembly of lords spiritual and temporal, some remorseful consciences\namong that gathering of Frenchmen, who, as Rohrbacher quaintly says,\n\u201cforgot even to be courteous to a stranger and a woman.\u201d Ingeburga,\nrising, then added, \u201cRome! Rome!\u201d\u2014sublime appeal of oppressed innocence to\nthe fountain\u2010head of justice and honor! Philip had her immured in the\nAbbey of Cisoing. Pope Celestine III. sent legates to inquire into the\nrights of the case, but the king succeeded in intimidating them, and no\nconclusion was arrived at in the council held at Paris. The pope then\nwrote an energetic letter to the bishops, concluding by a decision to this\neffect, that, having carefully examined the genealogy upon which turned\nthe question of the alleged close relationship between the king\u2019s first\nand second wives, he solemnly annuls the unlawful act of divorce passed at\nthe Parliament of Compi\u00e8gne, and decrees that, if the king should attempt\nto marry any other woman during Ingeburga\u2019s lifetime, he should be\nproceeded against as an adulterer.\n\nThis speedily came to pass. Not content with repudiating his wife, he\nattempted, in 1196, to marry another, Agnes of Merania (Tyrol). Ingeburga\ninstantly appealed to the pope, saying that for this outrage her husband\n\u201callegeth no cause, but of his will maketh an order, of his obstinacy a\nlaw, and of his passion _une fureur_,\u201d as Rohrbacher rather untranslatably\nputs it.\n\nThe Protestant historian Hurter says: \u201cIn this instance, the pope stands\nface to face, not with the king, but with the Christian. Innocent III. (he\nhad succeeded Celestine) would not sacrifice the moral importance of his\noffice even to procure help for the Crusade or to prepare for himself an\nally in his dissensions with the German emperors.\u201d\n\nPope Innocent remonstrated with the king first through the Bishop of\nParis, Eudes de Sully, then personally by letter, and threatened him with\nthe last and most awful punishment, excommunication. The king temporized,\nand would give no satisfactory answer, until in 1198 the papal legate,\nPeter of Capua, was directed to give him his choice between submission\nwithin one month or the imposition of an interdict upon the whole kingdom.\nThis appalling measure had never before been so sweepingly resorted to,\nand the preparations for it were as solemnly magnificent as if they had\nportended the funeral of a nation. The council met at Dijon in 1199, and,\nduring its seven days\u2019 session, once more invited the king to attend and\navert the doom his sin had well\u2010nigh brought upon the realm. But Philip\nremained inflexible, despite the last and urgent letters of the pope, and\nthe interdict was accordingly pronounced.\n\nFour archbishops, eighteen bishops, and a great number of abbots composed\nthe august assembly, and on the seventh day of the council a strange and\nimpressive scene closed the unavailing deliberations. At midnight the\ngreat bell of the cathedral tolled out the knell of a parting soul, the\nprelates repaired in silent and lugubrious procession to the high altar,\nnow divested of all its ornaments, the lights were extinguished and\nremoved, the figure of Christ on the great rood was veiled in penitential\nguise, the relics of the patron saints were removed into the crypt below,\nand the consecrated hosts yet unconsumed were destroyed by fire. The\nlegate, clothed in purple, advanced to the foot of the denuded altar, and\npromulgated the awful sentence that was to deprive a whole Christian\nkingdom of the consolations of religion. The assembled people answered\nwith a great groan, and, says a historian of the times, it seemed as if\nthe Last Judgment had suddenly come upon men. A respite of twenty days was\nallowed before the interdict was publicly announced, but after Candlemas\nDay, 1200, it was not only announced, but rigorously enforced. The effect\nwas terrible; thousands flocked to Normandy and other provinces belonging\nto the King of England, to receive the sacraments and perform their usual\ndevotions; the king\u2019s own sister, on the occasion of her marriage with the\nCount of Ponthien, had to remove to Rouen to have the ceremony canonically\nperformed. The king, meanwhile, vented his fury on the bishops, imprisoned\nsome, confiscated the temporalities of others, and caused many to be even\npersonally maltreated. Queen Ingeburga was dragged from her convent, and\nbarbarously imprisoned in the Castle of Etampes, near Paris. Philip\u2019s\nwrath extended to all classes; the nobles he oppressed, the burghers he\ntaxed beyond their means, until his very servants left him as a God\u2010\nforsaken man. The pressure at last became so terrible that he was heard to\nexclaim in a transport of rage, \u201cI shall end by becoming a Mussulman!\nFortunate Saladin! he at least had no pope over him!\u201d At a meeting of the\nlords and prelates of the kingdom, at which Agnes of Merania assisted,\nPhilip moodily asked, in the midst of an ominous silence, what he was to\ndo. \u201cObey the pope,\u201d was the instant and uncompromising reply of the\nassembly; and, when the king further obtained a confession from his uncle\nthe Archbishop of Rheims that the decree of divorce passed by him had been\ninvalid from the first, he exclaimed in ill\u2010concealed anger, \u201cYou were a\nfool to give it, then!\u201d\n\nAt this juncture, both Agnes and the king sent ambassadors to Rome to ask\nfor a suspension at least of the interdict, but the pope was inflexible,\nand would hear of no negotiation before an unconditional submission. This\nPhilip reluctantly promised; the interdict had now lasted seven months,\nand he could no longer withstand the dangerous and threatening attitude of\nhis dissatisfied subjects. In the summer of the year 1200, Cardinal John\nColonna, Cardinal Octavian, of Ostia, and several others repaired first to\nVezelay, then to Compi\u00e8gne, where they met the king and received his\novertures. On the eve of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin, the assembly\nof lords spiritual and temporal met at the Castle of S. L\u00e9ger, where the\nlegate insisted on the deliberations being held in public. The anxious\npeople crowded round the doors of the great hall, eager to watch every\nfluctuation in the proceedings. At last, on the legate\u2019s urgent advice,\nand in his presence, Philip consented to visit Queen Ingeburga in state.\nShe had been sent for to be present, but had not yet seen her husband. It\nwas their first meeting since their separation six years before. At sight\nof her, the king recoiled, crying out, \u201cThe pope is forcing me to this.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, my lord,\u201d replied the injured wife, calmly and meekly, \u201che seeks but\njustice.\u201d\n\nPhilip soon afterwards swore by proxy to receive the queen as his only and\nlawful wife, and to render her all the honors due to her rank. As soon as\nthis was done, the bells rang out a joyous peal, and the people knew that\npeace had been made. The sacred images were again uncovered, the church\ndoors were opened, and Mass was everywhere celebrated with great pomp. The\npeople were frantic with joy, but the king, though he had bent under the\nweight of influence that had been brought to bear upon him, still\npersisted in asking for a divorce from his wife on the before\u2010mentioned\nplea of relationship. The pope delayed an answer, and, the better to\nsatisfy the reason of the refractory king, appointed another meeting to be\nheld at Soissons, six months after the date of the recent one at S. L\u00e9ger.\n\nTo this meeting Canute III. of Denmark sent bishops and learned doctors to\nplead his sister\u2019s cause, but, as on the king\u2019s side was arrayed the\nbest\u2014though servile\u2014talent of France, the case seemed not very hopeful,\nuntil an unknown and obscure ecclesiastic arose, and, towards the end of\nthe council, which had already lasted a fortnight, modestly asked leave of\nthe august judges to speak in favor of Queen Ingeburga. His address\nstartled and moved all who listened, and they agreed with one voice that\nthis sudden and almost inspired burst of eloquence was surely a sign of\nthe will of God directly urging the queen\u2019s rights. Philip, anticipating\nthe papal decision, determined to surprise the assembly by forestalling\nit. He accordingly appeared on horseback very early one morning at the\ngate of the palace of Notre Dame, the queen\u2019s residence, and in public\u2014and\nshall we not say primitive?\u2014token of reconciliation took Ingeburga away\nwith him, making her sit on a pillion behind him. They rode away quietly\nand almost unattended, but soon after it became known that he had again\nimprisoned her in an old castle, and that, having thus broken up the\ncouncil before a public decision had been rendered, he still considered\nhimself free to seek the divorce. Soon after the difficulty was lessened\nby the death of the unfortunate Agnes of Merania, whose health had been\nshattered by the terrible and infamous publicity necessarily brought upon\nher during her recent pregnancy. It was not, however, for many years after\nher death, not until 1213, that Philip was sincerely and permanently\nreconciled to Ingeburga, whom he calls in his will his _dear wife_, and to\nwhom he left a suitable provision as queen\u2010dowager.\n\nHurter and Schlegel both give witness to the admirable conduct of the\nmedi\u00e6val popes in these and kindred struggles. The former says: \u201cIf\nChristianity was not reduced to a vain formula like the religion of the\nHindoos, or relegated to one corner of the globe like a common sect, or\nsunk altogether in the mire of oriental voluptuousness, it was entirely\nowing to the vigilance and constant efforts of the popes.\u201d And Schlegel,\nin his _Concordia_, speaks thus: \u201cWe hardly dare to liken the Guelphs,\nwith the popes at their head, to anything approaching _liberalism_, so\ndegraded has the term become in connection with _modern liberals_; yet\nthey alone, because they had religion and the church on their side, were\nthe _true liberals_ of the middle ages. Indeed, if we look at the position\nof the popes in its highest type, we shall find that they were always\neither gentle peace\u2010makers and arbiters in times of unnecessary and\nfoolish wars, or stern champions of the oppressed, and austere censors of\nmorals.\u201d\n\nWe pass over a few other less important cases, and come at once to the\nlast and most fatal, those connected with the Protestant Reformation. In\nthe XVIth century, the old story of Bardas and Photius was lamentably\nrepeated in England. Germany was in open revolt; Philip, Landgrave of\nHesse, was extorting shameful permissions for polygamy from the married\nmonk Luther; religious were trampling their vows underfoot; Wittenberg,\naccording to the Lutheran chronicler Illyricus, was no better than a den\nof prostitution; troops of \u201capostate nuns,\u201d as Luther himself called them,\nwere constantly arriving, begging, says Rohrbacher, for _food, clothing,\nand husbands_; Luther, their prophet, was hawking his mistress, Catharine\nBoris, about among his disciples, offering her as a wife first to one,\nthen to the other, till he was at last forced to take her himself, to the\nno small disgust of his best friends, who remonstrated in the following\ngraphic words: \u201cIf any, at least not _this_ one.\u201d The Germanic world was\ncrazy with a new revolution, and henceforth the struggle was no longer to\nbe a partial one, a revolt of the flesh, but a radical onset upon\neverything divine, upon revelation and faith, as well as upon moral\nrestraints and social decencies. Philip of Hesse, petitioning in 1539 for\npermission to marry a second wife while the first was living, says that\n\u201cnecessities of body and of conscience obliged him thereto\u201d; that \u201che sees\nno remedy save that allowed of old to the chosen people\u201d (polygamy); that\n\u201che begs this dispensation in order that he may live more entirely for the\nglory of God, and lie more ready to do him earthly services; that he is\nready to do anything that may be required of him in reason (as an\nequivalent), whether concerning the property of convents or anything\nelse.\u201d He also hints that he will seek this permission from the emperor,\n\u201cno matter at what _pecuniary cost_,\u201d if it be denied him by the\nWittenberg divines, and alleges as a sufficient reason that it is too\ncostly for him to take his wife to diets of the empire, with all the\nhonors due to her rank, and equally too hard for him to live without\nfemale society during such times of gaiety. The permission was granted at\nlast, reluctantly, it must be admitted, for even the first Reformers, lax\nas they were, were not Mormons. Melancthon drew it up, and eight divines,\nincluding Bucer and Luther, signed it, but made secrecy a condition. The\nshameful \u201cmarriage\u201d was performed on the 4th of March, 1540, between the\nlandgrave and Marguerite de Saal, and perhaps the most revolting feature\nof the proceeding was the consent of Philip\u2019s lawful wife, the Duchess\nChristina.\n\nIn Chambers\u2019 _Book of Days_, a collection of curious information, we read\nthat a still more liberal dispensation from the ordinary rules of morality\nwas in the last century accorded by the Calvinistic clergy of Prussia to\nthe reigning King, Frederick William, successor of Frederick the Great, to\nhave three wives at the same time, the Princess of Hesse, the Countess\nEuhoff, and Elizabeth of Brunswick. The progenitor of the Prussian dynasty\nhad already given a similar example of licentiousness. In Luther\u2019s time,\nAlbert of Brandenburg, Grand Master of the religious order of chivalry,\nthe Knights of S. Mary, otherwise called the Teutonic Order, broke his\nvows and took a wife, having already abjured his faith. Prussia, then only\na province dependent on the Order, he seized as his own, Protestantizing\nit, and making moral disorder the rule there rather than the exception.\n\nBut we must glance at England, though the story of its defection is so\nwell known that we will not do more than pencil the outlines of the\nconflict on this occasion. After twenty years of married life, without a\nscruple to mar his domestic peace, without a breath of scandal to sully\nthe fair fame of the queen, Henry VIII. suddenly strives to obtain a\ndivorce from his wife, Catharine of Aragon, that he may marry one who is\nalready his mistress and the acknowledged head of his court. A faithful\nson of the church until a personal test of fidelity is demanded from him,\nhe had already refuted Luther\u2019s errors, and gained the title of \u201cDefender\nof the Faith.\u201d But passion blinds him, and everywhere he seeks a sanction\nfor his unrestrained license. He applies to Rome and to Wittenberg: the\nlatter answers in a deprecatory tone, \u201cRather than divorce your wife marry\n_two_ queens\u201d; the former, in the person of Clement VII., urges him to\ndesist from his unlawful courses. Repulsed the first time, the pope sends\nCardinal Campeggio, his legate, to treat of the matter with Cardinal\nWolsey; they summon the queen to their presence; she refuses point\u2010blank,\nand appeals directly to Rome.\n\nIn 1531, Cromwell, the astute and traitorous _prot\u00e9g\u00e9_ of Wolsey, suggests\nschism to the king as a means to the desired end. Henry, knowing the\ncorrupt and venal state of the clergy in England, eagerly accepts the\nproposals, and instantly attempts to enforce a declaration of his supreme\nheadship of the English Church by putting in force, against the clergy,\nseveral obsolete statutes of Norman origin, named \u201cpr\u00e6munire\u201d; the whole\necclesiastical body is threatened with the punishment of attainder due to\nhigh treason, and to save the rest they offer the king a ransom of\n\u00a3100,000 (equal at that period to at least four times that sum according\nto modern computation). The king only accepts this amount with the\nsupplementary condition of the \u201coath of supremacy.\u201d At one stroke the\nepiscopate is gagged, and schism practically effected. Meanwhile, Cranmer\nis sent to Rome to apply anew for the divorce.\n\nHis mission proved unsuccessful, and on his return a final council was\nheld at Dunstable, Bedfordshire, where, however, the queen refused again\nto appear, and was therefore condemned as _contumacious_. Shortly after,\nat Lambeth, her marriage was annulled, and her daughter, the Princess\nMary, declared illegitimate. Pope Clement VII. threatened to excommunicate\nthe king; Henry never heeded him. A public consistory, held at Rome in\n1534, reversed the Lambeth decision, but the die was already cast, and the\ncomplaisant parliament was ready to confirm Henry in all his desires.\nMore\u2019s and Fisher\u2019s were the only dissentient voices heard throughout the\nkingdom; we know at what cost their courageous protest was raised. A reign\nof blood was inaugurated; confiscations enriched the royal treasury, and\nthe servile episcopate bent to the shameful yoke like one man. Of the\nFranciscan friars, Peyto and Elston, who dared to preach to the king\u2019s\nface against his adulterous union, the Protestant historian Cobbett says:\n\u201cThey were not fanatics, as some have said; they were the defenders of\nmorality and order, and I know of no instance in ancient or modern history\nof a greater and nobler heroism than this.\u201d(218)\n\nIn 1536, Queen Catharine died, and the same year was performed the\nmarriage of Henry with Anne Boleyn by a Catholic chaplain, who was ordered\nto say Mass early one morning by the king, Henry falsely alleging that he\nhad in his possession the newly arrived permission from Rome. But passion\nis no foundation whereon to build a permanent and happy domestic life.\nAnne\u2019s immorality matched Henry\u2019s, and ere long she was accused, vaguely,\nit is true, of treason, adultery, and incest. Her supposed accomplices and\nlovers were all executed, and she herself, in cruel derision, condemned on\nthe 15th of May, 1536, to be executed on the 19th, while, on the\nintermediate 17th, the Archbishop of Canterbury, according to his royal\nmaster\u2019s orders, declared her marriage annulled, and her daughter\nElizabeth illegitimate. Thus she was first proved to have never been the\nking\u2019s lawful wife, and then beheaded for _infidelity_ to the man who had\nnever been her husband. Of Henry\u2019s subsequent wives and his methods of\ndisposing of them we need say nothing; the separation from Rome had won\nhim a sad independence of the only tribunal once recognized by kings, and\ndivorce, adultery, and consequent murder had already begun the dark record\nwhich has ever since steadily increased in England.\n\nThe church was the only bulwark adequate to resist that flood of violent\nand powerful passions which kingly supremacy naturally incites and\nfosters, and, in breaking with the church, the licentious sovereigns of\nthe XVIth century acted indeed with the _wisdom_ of the children of this\nworld. Still the church stood fast, sad but not conquered; the Mosaic law\nstood fast, passing into the dicta of society even where it was exiled\nfrom the legal courts\u2014for who does not attach even now some idea of\nobloquy to a divorced or impure person?\u2014still history pointed to the\ninevitable punishments that fall on the adulterer, and of which the\n\u201cchurches\u201d so\u2010called, born of royal adultery, have invariably been\npalpable monuments.\n\nIn our days, who can doubt that that church alone which guarantees the\nsanctity and indissolubility of marriage can hope to become the saviour\nand regenerator of modern society; that that church alone which protects\nand ennobles woman can remain triumphant in lands where woman\u2019s influence\nis slowly leavening the whole social mass; who can doubt that that church\nalone which can trace its uncompromising laws back to Mount Sinai can hope\nto retain the moral mastery over the unruly ages to come, even to that age\nwhich shall witness the Last Judgment and the final condemnation?\n\n\n\n\nFleurange.\n\n\nBy Mrs. Craven, Author Of \u201cA Sister\u2019s Story.\u201d\n\nTranslated From The French, With Permission.\n\n\n\nPart IV.\u2014The Immolation.\n\n\nLV.\n\n\nThe clock had just struck two. Vera, according to her custom, was waiting\nin the ante\u2010room of the empress\u2019 audience\u2010chamber. The door was soon\nopened by an usher, and the person she was waiting to introduce appeared.\nThere was an involuntary movement of surprise on the part of both.\nFleurange stopped as if in doubt. Vera\u2019s appearance did not correspond\nwith the idea she had formed of the lady\u2010in\u2010waiting she expected to find\nat her majesty\u2019s door, and for an instant she thought she was in the\npresence of the empress herself.\n\nVera, on her side, expected still less to see a petitioner like the one\nwho now appeared.\n\nThe Princess Catherine, with her usual forethought, had, in view of this\nimportant occasion, carefully prepared a dress for her who was to be\nregarded as her son\u2019s _fianc\u00e9e_, and, when the day came, the young girl\nopened a coffer which had a special place among her luggage, and followed\nwith docility the instructions she there found in the princess\u2019 own\nhandwriting, with the dress she was to wear. It was black, as etiquette\nthen required, but a court dress, and the princess took pleasure in having\nit made as magnificent as possible. Fleurange thus arrayed was dazzling.\nNevertheless, her only ornaments were a gold chain from which was\nsuspended a cross concealed in her corsage (a precious gift from her\nfather which she never laid aside), and on her right arm a bracelet the\nPrincess Catherine had taken from her own wrist the eve of the young\ngirl\u2019s departure, assuring her it would bring her good luck. She wore no\nornament on her head, but her beautiful hair was turned back and plaited\nin a way not common at that time, though so becoming and striking as to\nadd another peculiar charm to that of her whole person, which was as noble\nas if she was entitled to a place at court, but simple enough to show that\nshe now appeared there for the first time.\n\nThe two young girls looked at each other, and, as we have said, their\nsurprise was mutual. But it was only for an instant. Vera advanced.\n\n\u201cMademoiselle Fleurange d\u2019Yves, I suppose?\u201d\n\nFleurange bowed.\n\n\u201cThe empress awaits you: follow me.\u201d She turned towards the door, but\nbefore opening it she said: \u201cTake off the glove on your right hand\u2014that is\netiquette\u2014and hold your petition in that.\u201d\n\nFleurange mechanically ungloved her beautiful hand in which trembled the\npaper she held. She stopped a moment, pale and agitated.\n\n\u201cDo not be afraid, mademoiselle,\u201d said the maid of honor to her in an\nencouraging tone. \u201cHer majesty is kindness itself. You have nothing to\nfear; she could not be better disposed to give you a favorable reception.\u201d\n\nThere was not time to utter another word. The door then opened. Vera\nentered first. She bowed, and made Fleurange advance; then retired herself\nwith another profound reverence, leaving the young girl alone with the\nempress.\n\nThe audience lasted over half an hour, and Vera, though accustomed to\nwait, was beginning to find the time long, when the door again opened, and\nFleurange came out. Her face was agitated, her eyes brilliant and tearful.\nPerceiving Vera, she stopped, and took her by the hand.\n\n\u201cOh! you were right,\u201d she said. \u201cHer majesty treated me with wonderful\nkindness. But I know how much I am also indebted to you. It was owing to\nyou she was disposed to be gracious even before I was heard. May God\nreward you, mademoiselle, and repay you for all you have done for me!\u201d\n\nVera replied to this effusion with unusual cordiality, and accompanied\nFleurange to the door. As they took leave of each other, their eyes met; a\ncommon impulse caused them both to make a slight movement: but a little\ntimidity on one side, and some haughtiness on the other, stopped them, and\nthe young girls parted without embracing each other.\n\nVera slowly retraced her steps, and entered the empress\u2019 salon. As soon as\nthe latter perceived her, she said: \u201cWell, Vera, what have you to say? Did\nyou ever see a more charming apparition?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe young lady was beautiful indeed,\u201d said Vera, with a thoughtful air.\n\u201cI never saw such eyes.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is true\u2014eyes that look you directly in the face, with an expression\nso innocent, so frank, and almost of assurance, were it not so sweet. I\nwas not reluctant, I assure you, to take charge of her petition, and\npromise to favor it. Here, take it: I would not even read it. I am ready\nto grant all this charming girl requests. It is sufficient to know she\nloves one of those criminals, and wishes to marry him in order to share\nhis fate. Such a terrible favor will not be refused, I am sure.\u201d\n\nThe empress seated herself in her large arm\u2010chair. \u201cBut what fools men\nare,\u201d she continued, after a moment\u2019s silence, \u201cto thus foolishly risk the\nhappiness of others as well as their own! Really, I admire these women\nwhom nothing daunts, nothing discourages, and who thus sacrifice\nthemselves for such selfish beings.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d replied Vera, \u201ctheir devotedness is certainly admirable; but the\nwomen who implore, who supplicate, and at length avert the punishment of\nthe guilty, have also a noble _r\u00f4le_, madame, and one which the\nunfortunate have reason to bless.\u201d\n\n\u201cI understand you, Vera. Your large beseeching eyes have nothing to remind\nme of, or reproach me for. I have already told the emperor all I learned\nfrom you yesterday. We must now leave it to his magnanimity, and importune\nhim no more.\u201d\n\nThese words were uttered with a slight accent of authority, and some\nmoments of silence followed. Vera, with mingled sadness and displeasure,\nstood motionless with her eyes cast down, awaiting her sovereign\u2019s order.\nIn this attitude, she perceived a bracelet on the carpet, which she picked\nup to give her mistress, who recognized it. \u201cAh!\u201d said she, \u201cit is the\ntalisman that charming creature, just gone, wore on her arm. Keep it,\nVera, you can return it to\u2010morrow with the reply I promised her.\u201d\n\nVera examined the bracelet with curiosity. It was a massive gold chain\nwith a deep\u2010red cornelian clasp on which was graven some talismanic\nfigure. It looked natural. She had seen some one wear a similar bracelet,\nshe was sure; who could it be? For the moment, she could not remember.\n\nWhile thus examining it, the empress continued: \u201cTake a seat at that\ntable, and write Prince W\u2014\u2014 in my name, without any further delay\u2014in my\nname, you understand. Send this petition with your letter, and say it is\nmy wish it should be granted, and that I beg him to send me an answer\u2014a\nfavorable answer\u2014to\u2010morrow morning at the latest. As soon as it arrives,\nyou will forward it in my name without any delay to that lovely girl. She\nis staying at the Princess Catherine Lamianoft\u2019s house on the Grand Quay.\u201d\n\nVera could not resist a slight start: \u201cThe Princess Catherine\u2019s?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but make haste, and do what should be done at once.\u201d\n\nVera again looked at the bracelet; the princess\u2019 name clearly recalled the\nremembrance so vague a moment before. It was hers. She had seen the\nPrincess Catherine wear the bracelet.\n\n\u201cCome, Vera, what are you thinking of?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing, madame; excuse me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen make haste and write what I tell you, and send the letter and the\npetition without any delay.\u201d\n\nVera obeyed without reply; she took the petition, and went to a table in\none of the deep embrasures of the windows, before which a gilt trellis\ncovered with a vine formed a genuine screen. As soon as she was seated in\nthis place where she could not be seen, she eagerly opened the petition,\nand glanced over it before beginning the letter. This glance was\nsufficient to justify the suspicion just excited. A deadly paleness came\nover her face; her features, generally so calm, were suddenly transformed\nby a violent explosion of anger and hatred. She crushed the paper, and\nremained motionless on the chair into which she had fallen, incapable of\nacting, thinking, or realizing where she was and what she had to do.\n\nAt length she returned to herself, and made an effort to collect her\nthoughts. The moments were passing away; the empress would be astonished\nat the time it took to accomplish her wishes. She therefore took up her\npen, but had scarcely written a few words with a trembling hand, when a\nnoise, unusual at that hour, was heard in the court\u2014the sound of a drum,\nand the guards shouldering arms. Vera rose with surprise, and looked out\nof the window. The emperor had arrived in his sledge, alone and without\nany escort, according to his custom, though this was not his usual time of\ncoming. Shortly after, the doors of the salon were thrown open\u2014a signal\nfor Vera to leave the room. She tore up the note, put the petition in her\npocket, and, while the empress was advancing to meet her husband, the lady\nof honor disappeared through a side door, and hurried to her room next the\nempress\u2019 apartment.\n\nA whole hour passed away, she could not tell how. She had been able to\ncontrol and generally to effectually disguise the strong feelings which\npique had not suppressed\u2014feelings which gave her assurance of some day\novercoming all obstacles. And then, what were these obstacles? It was not\nlong since George, her chosen husband from childhood, plainly testified\nthe attraction he felt for her, and seemed as much as she to regard the\nunion arranged in their infancy as the realization of his wishes. It is\ntrue a cloud had since passed across that brilliant horizon, and, when she\nmet George again, he was not the same.\u2014Why was it so?\u2014She had often sought\nthe reason, but all she was able to ascertain was that a young girl, an\nobscure _demoiselle de compagnie_ in his mother\u2019s service, fascinated him\nfor a while, and some one had whispered the name of _Gabrielle_, but the\nhaughty Vera was not disturbed by so trifling an affair. The future was\nhers, and she was awaiting it without any fear, when the news of George\u2019s\ncrime and misfortune came like a thunderbolt, enabling her to estimate the\ndepth of her affection for him by the very liveliness of her grief. From\nthat time she had but one thought\u2014to prevail over the emperor, obtain\nGeorge\u2019s pardon, and win him back to herself. Her first repulse did not\ndestroy all hope of success. But while her influence, her passion, and her\nefforts were still without any result, another\u2014and what a rival! (for\nVera, in spite of her pride, was not so vain or so stupid as not to\nrecognize the redoubtable charm against which she had to\nstruggle)\u2014another, young, as beautiful as herself, and even more so, had\neclipsed in an instant, by an heroic act, all her own devotedness had even\ndreamed of, and gone beyond the limits which she dare not cross! How could\nshe doubt George\u2019s feelings when the young lady she had just seen appeared\nin his prison. How could she thwart her? What was to be done? Besides, who\nwas this girl who suddenly appeared in their midst\u2014who had the air of an\nangel, but whom she hated as if she were a demon? All at once an idea\nflashed into her mind. \u201cCan this be Gabrielle?\u201d she exclaimed aloud. But\nbefore Vera had time to dwell on this idea, and calm the fresh agitation\nwhich it caused, the sound of the little bell interrupted her painful\nreverie. She rose, but with some surprise, for she had not heard the usual\nsignal of the emperor\u2019s departure, and she was very seldom admitted when\nhe was present. But her hesitation was only momentary, for the bell again\nhastily repeated the summons. Vera hastened to answer it, but, confused at\nthe sight of the emperor, she stopped at the door, and bowed profoundly.\nThe empress, with mingled kindness and impatience, exclaimed:\n\n\u201cWhy do you not come in, Vera? The emperor wishes to speak to you, and you\nare making _him_ wait!\u201d\n\n\nLVI.\n\n\nWhile all we have just related was occurring at the palace, the Marquis\nAdelardi was on his way to the fortress, considering as he went what it\nwas advisable to say to George. After much reflection, he resolved not to\nannounce Fleurange\u2019s arrival till he knew the result of her interview with\nthe empress. He must not torture George in his misfortunes with vague\nhopes; above all, he must avoid arousing expectations that might prove\nvain. This would delay the communication but little, for the young girl\u2019s\naudience was the same day, and on the morrow he could act with a complete\nknowledge of the case.\n\nStrong apprehensions were mingled with these thoughts as he reflected, on\nthe new position in which his friend now stood. His fate was decided, the\nprolonged excitement of the trial was over, and the time come for him to\nresign himself to his lot. In what disposition should he find him? With a\nnature ardent and impetuous, but at the same time delicate, sensitive to\nthe least restraint, and excessively fond of the comforts of life, how\nwould he endure the horrors of this new prospect\u2014he whose very object in\nhis studies, and in the gratification of his tastes and passions, was only\nenjoyment? Pleasure by means of his intelligence, his affections, his\nintellect, and his senses\u2014such had been the sole motive of his actions,\neven the best; and, in the dangerous risks that led to his destruction, he\nhad rather sought to satisfy a thirst for a new sensation than the\nrealization of a chimerical though generous scheme. How would he, for whom\nthe words duty, sacrifice, and restraint had no meaning, now bear up in\nthe presence not of danger, but of misfortune under so merciless a form?\n\nThe marquis asked himself these questions with an anxiety founded perhaps\non some resemblance between his own nature and that of him whom he\ncomprehended so thoroughly. Both were men of the world: one more refined\nand cultivated, more captivating; the other with more acuteness, more\nsagacity, and more judgment. Both were generous and noble, and, apart from\nthe political entanglements that had misled them one after the other,\nincapable of a base action unworthy of their noble birth. But there exists\nin the human soul a chord whose tone is the echo of the divine voice; this\nchord gave out no sound in these men, otherwise accomplished; or, if not\nvoiceless with the elder of the two, at least, according to the expression\nof the great poet of his country, inert and feeble from \u201csilence too\nprolonged.\u201d This mysterious and hidden chord never resounds very loudly,\nit is true, and the tumult of the world with its passions, pleasures, wit,\ntalent, and glory, often deadens its tone and prevents its being heard;\nbut when the silent hour of adversity comes, then it awakes to a sweet,\npowerful harmony which sometimes transforms the soul it fills. At such a\ntime its want is felt, and excites a horror, the cause of which is not\ncomprehended by those who experience it.\n\nGeorge was not confined in a dungeon, but in a narrow cell lighted only by\na high grated window. There was nothing in it but a bed, a table, and two\nstraw\u2010bottomed chairs. In his former visits, the marquis had found his\nfriend sad, but always calm, courageous, and, as it were, contemptuous of\nthe danger of his position. Though grown pale and thin, his features\nhitherto retained their lofty, noble character, and the disorder of his\nhair and even of his garments did not at all detract from the aristocratic\nappearance which, in the very best sense of the word, characterized his\nwhole person. But this was no longer the case. He could not have been more\nchanged by a long illness, or the inroads of time, than he was since they\nlast met. Seated beside his table in an attitude of deep dejection, he\nhardly raised his head at his friend\u2019s entrance. After pressing his hand,\nthe latter remained some moments too much affected himself to break the\nmournful silence. George waited till the warden who ushered the visitor in\nhad left the cell.\n\n\u201cYou have come at last, Adelardi,\u201d said he at length, with an altered\nvoice. \u201cI have been surprised not to see you since\u2014since everything was\ndecided.\u201d\n\n\u201cI could not obtain permission to enter any sooner; but, to make up for\nit, I am allowed to come every day, till\u2014\u201d He stopped.\n\n\u201cTill I give up the enjoyments of this place for those that await me when\nI leave it,\u201d said George, with a bitter smile.\u2014\u201cAdelardi,\u201d continued he,\nchanging his tone, and rising abruptly, \u201ccan a friend like you come to me\nto\u2010day with empty hands? Is it possible you have not divined my wants, and\nare here without bringing me the means of escaping my doom, and meeting\ndeath, which they have had the cruelty to refuse me?\u201d He strode up and\ndown his cell two or three times as if beside himself. \u201cAnswer me, then,\nAdelardi!\u201d exclaimed he, in a violent manner. \u201cWhy have you not rendered\nme this, the greatest of services? In a similar position, you would have\nexpected it of me, and I assure you it would not have been in vain.\u201d\n\nThe marquis was not ignorant of the religious principles that should have\ninspired his reply, but he had long lost the habit of appealing to them.\nHe therefore simply replied: \u201cYou know well, George, what you ask would\nhave been impossible.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! yes, I forgot.\u2014It is just. They take precautions to prevent their\nvictims from finding another way out of these walls than that opened by\ntheir murderers; but they do not consider all the resources of despair,\u201d\ncontinued he, with agitation. \u201cWhen a man is determined to die, they must\nbe sharper than they are now to prevent him, and oblige him to accept the\nodious life they would inflict upon him.\u201d\n\nAdelardi allowed him without any interruption to give vent for some time\nto the despair that burdened his heart, but at last he turned to him with\nsudden firmness: \u201cGeorge, I have always found you calm and courageous till\nto\u2010day, but now your language is unworthy of you.\u201d\n\nA slight flush rose to the prisoner\u2019s brow, and he resumed his seat. \u201cYou\nare right, my friend, I acknowledge. I am no longer what I was. I must\nindeed astonish you, for I no longer recognize myself.\u201d He remained\nthoughtful for some moments, and then continued: \u201cIt is strange! for,\nafter all, Adelardi, in saying that till now I never knew what fear was,\nor shrunk in the presence of danger or death, saying I had courage, was\nnot laying claim to any extraordinary merit, for there are but few men who\nlack it. Yes, if any virtue fell to my lot, it was certainly that, it\nseems to me. Why, then, am I so weak to\u2010day?\u2014Courage,\u201d repeated he, after\na pause. \u201cIs it true? Was it really courage, or was I merely brave, which\nseems to be another thing? What is the difference between them?\u201d\n\n\u201cI know not,\u201d replied the marquis, as if in a dream; \u201cbut there is a\ndifference, certainly.\u201d\n\nNeither of them possessed the true key to the enigma; neither of them now\nthought of searching for it. But Adelardi, glad to see his friend\u2019s\nexcitement somewhat allayed, continued the subject to which the\nconversation had led. Besides, he saw it would afford an opportunity of\ntouching on a point he did not wish to introduce directly.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d he resumed, \u201cbravery and courage are not the same thing. What proves\nit is that the most timid woman can be as courageous as we when occasion\nrequires it, and often more so.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I acknowledge it.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor example,\u201d continued Adelardi, looking at him attentively, \u201cmore than\none of your companions in misfortune have had a signal proof of such\ncourage to\u2010day.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow so?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you not know that their wives have fearlessly and unhesitatingly\nrequested and obtained the favor of sharing their lot? Some are to\naccompany them in their sad journey; others will follow them.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd have their husbands accepted such a sacrifice?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey who inspire such great devotedness can generally comprehend and\naccept it. It was only yesterday, one of them conversing with a friend\nadmitted to see him, as I to see you, said: \u2018I can submit to anything now;\nI can endure my fate without murmuring; I shall not be separated from her.\nThe only intolerable sorrow in life will be spared me. I am grateful to\nthe emperor, and will no longer complain!\u2019 I must add that he was recently\nmarried, and adores his wife.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe only sorrow,\u201d repeated George slowly\u2014\u201cthe only one!\u2014that is really\nsomething I cannot understand. To love a woman to such a degree as to feel\nher presence could alleviate such a lot as ours, and that never to behold\nher again, would be a misfortune surpassing that which awaits us! No, I do\nnot understand that, I frankly confess.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet,\u201d said Adelardi, with some eagerness.\u2014But he stopped and did not\ncontinue his thought\u2014that one can accept and admire heroic affection, but\nnot suggest it.\n\n\u201cAnd yet,\u201d continued George, smiling, \u201chow often you have seen me in love,\nyou were going to say. Yes, I acknowledge it, though perhaps I was\nsincerely so but once, only once, and yet\u2014shall I confess it, Adelardi?\nLove even then was a holiday in my life; it added to its brightness; it\nwas an additional enjoyment, another charm. Her beauty; her rare, na\u00efve\nintelligence; even her virtue, which gave a mysterious attraction to the\npassionate tenderness sometimes betrayed, in spite of herself, by her\neyes, so innocent and frank in their expression; Oh! yes, that time I was\nin love and ready to commit a folly I am now glad to have avoided. Poor\nFleurange! If I had married her, what a fate I should have reserved for\nher, as well as for myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor her! Yes, indeed; it was a very different lot your affection promised\nher when you displayed it without any scruple; but if she\u2014she, charming,\ndevoted, and courageous, were there with you, do you not imagine she could\nsweeten yours?\u201d\n\n\u201cMine?\u2014my lot?\u2014the frightful lot that awaits me?\u201d asked George, with a\nbitter laugh. Then he resumed the previous tone of their conversation.\n\n\u201cNo, no; I am not one of those men whom love alone can suffice\u2014stripped of\nall that outwardly adorns and adds to its value. In short, think of me as\nyou please, Adelardi, but I do not resemble in the least my companion in\nmisfortune you have just referred to. No human affection could make me\nendure the life I lead here; judge how it would be elsewhere.\u201d\n\nHe rose, and began again to walk around in an excited manner. Adelardi\nremained silently absorbed in anxious, painful thoughts. George soon\nresumed, in a kind of fury: \u201cHere, Adelardi, speak to me only of one\nthing; give me only one hope\u2014death! death! that is all I desire.\u201d And\ntouching, with a gesture of despair, the black cravat negligently fastened\naround his neck, he said, in a hoarse voice: \u201cThis will be a last resort,\nif in a week I do not succeed in finding some means more worthy of a\ngentleman of escaping from their hands.\u201d\n\nHis friend preserved a gloomy silence. What could he say? What reply could\nhe make at a time when every earthly hope failed, and there was none felt\nin heaven? Adelardi was now fully conscious; he had a lively sense of what\nwas wanting. He was born in a land where the impressions of childhood are\nalways religious, and the longest period of indifference or forgetfulness\nseldom effaces them completely from the soul in which they were profoundly\ngraven in early life.\n\n\u201cMy dear friend,\u201d said he, with a melancholy gravity not habitual to him,\n\u201cto be of service to you at such a time, I feel I should be different from\nwhat I am. Yes, George; in the fearful temptation that now besets you, in\nyour despair in view of the frightful lot that awaits you, there is only\none resource, and but one. I feel unworthy of suggesting the only remedy.\u201d\nHis voice faltered, as he continued, with emotion: \u201cGeorge, you must\nbelieve\u2014you must pray.\u201d\n\nGeorge was for a moment surprised and affected. After a pause, which\nneither seemed disposed to interrupt, he said, in a softened tone: \u201cWell,\nAdelardi, let it at least be permissible, in praying, to implore a favor\nnot refused to a man more guilty than I: Fabiano is dying.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know he cannot recover from his wound.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut perhaps he would not be in immediate danger had he not been violently\nattacked with typhus fever the day before yesterday. I hoped something\nmyself from the contagion; but, doubtless afraid of shortening our heavy\nchain, they sent him last night to die at a hospital, I know not where.\u201d\n\nAt that moment the bolt flew back, the hour had elapsed, and they were\nobliged to separate, but with an effort scarcely lessened by the thought\nthat it was not a final farewell, and that this sad interview would be\nrepeated more than once before the last.\n\nAs the marquis was about to leave the prison, the warden said in a low\ntone, as he was opening the last door:\n\n\u201cI do not think I am acting contrary to my duty in confiding this letter\nto you, sir. The dying prisoner who was taken away last night gave it to\nme one day, begging me to forward it to the address after his departure.\nHe has gone away, and I wish to fulfil the poor fellow\u2019s request.\u201d\n\n\u201cGive it to me,\u201d said Adelardi, as he took it. \u201cI will see that it is\nforwarded.\u201d\n\nAfter leaving the fortress, he looked at the letter confided to him, and\nwas greatly surprised to find it addressed to _Mademoiselle Gabrielle\nd\u2019Yves, at Professor Dornthal\u2019s, Heidelberg_.\n\n\nLVII.\n\n\nThe Marquis Adelardi entered the sledge awaiting him at the gate of the\nfortress, but gave no orders to his coachman, uncertain where he should\ngo. Fleurange by this time must have returned from the palace. Should he\ngo to see her, as was agreed upon the evening before, to learn the result\nof the audience, and at the same time remit the letter confided to him?\nThis was the plainest course to pursue, and, if he hesitated, it was\nbecause his interview with George had left a certain dissatisfaction or,\nat least, uneasiness which he feared to betray. In the singular mission\nconfided to him, he began to feel that the love and courage of the two\nparties were unequally divided, and he would have anxiously questioned\nwhether it was certain that the gratitude of one would finally correspond\nto the devotedness of the other, had he not been reassured by several\nreflections.\n\nIt was not, perhaps, very surprising that George depreciated a happiness\nhe considered beyond his reach. But if she whom he was by no means\nexpecting suddenly appeared in his prison, would he then complain that his\nbride was too beautiful? The marquis thought not. He knew better than any\none else how Fleurange once charmed him. No woman had ever held such\nempire over George\u2019s mobile heart, and he was sure the very sight of her\nagain would suffice to revive the powerful attraction. As to this, his\nperfect knowledge of his friend\u2019s character prevented all doubt, and\ntherefore, though wounded by his coldness in speaking of Fleurange, he\ncame to the conclusion his indifference would vanish like snow before the\nsun as soon as she appeared. She would never perceive it or suffer from\nit. He regarded this as the most important point.\n\nThe interest Fleurange inspired him with was one of the best and purest\nsentiments he had ever experienced in his life. Without suspecting it, and\nwithout aiming at it, she exercised a beneficent influence over him. A\nthousand early impressions, effaced and almost stifled by the world, awoke\nin the pure atmosphere that surrounded this young girl, and he welcomed\nthem with a feeling that surprised himself. Therefore, from the time of\nmeeting her again, he seriously assumed, more for her sake than George\u2019s,\nthe quasi\u2010paternal _r\u00f4le_ the Princess Catherine had entrusted to him with\nrespect to both.\n\nThe considerations referred to having, therefore, completely reassured him\nrespecting George\u2019s probable if not actual dispositions, he returned to\nhis first intentions, and gave orders to be taken to the house on the\nGrand Quay. He had scarcely descended and asked to see Mademoiselle\nd\u2019Yves, when he saw Clement crossing the hall. He bethought himself it\nmight be better to consult him first.\n\nClement was gloomy and preoccupied. He had just seen his cousin return\nfrom the palace in all the brilliancy that dress and the joy resulting\nfrom success added to her beauty. But the marquis had not time to notice\nthe young man\u2019s physiognomy, nor the effort with which he replied to the\nfirst questions addressed him as soon as they were alone together in a\nroom on the ground floor.\n\n\u201cI wish to speak to. you, Dornthal, about an unexpected incident. But\nfirst, has your cousin returned from the palace?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you know whether she is satisfied with the audience?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; the empress promised to have her petition granted by to\u2010morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not doubt it. The empress is always so kindly disposed to grant a\nfavor; and, were it otherwise, the sight of her who presented the petition\ncould not fail to ensure its success.\u201d\n\nClement made no reply to this observation. \u201cYou said, Monsieur le Marquis,\nthat an unexpected incident\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I am coming to it. I must first tell you what perhaps you are\nignorant of.\u2014That miserable Fabiano Dini, who so cruelly compromised\nGeorge, and was confined with him\u2014\u201d\n\nClement, surprised, interrupted him with emotion. \u201cThe unfortunate man is\nactually dying, Monsieur le Marquis. He was removed from the fortress last\nnight, and\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201c_Parbleu!_ I know it; that was precisely what I was going to tell you.\nBut how did you find it out?\u201d\n\n\u201cI made inquiries respecting him.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou knew this Fabiano, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, a little, and was interested in knowing what had become of him.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you know now?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I know in what hospital he is, and that, thanks to his illness which\nmakes flight impossible, and the fear of contagion which keeps every one\naway from him, he is only guarded by the infirmarians. I hope to get\nadmittance to him to\u2010day.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know him?\u201d repeated the marquis after a moment\u2019s reflection. \u201cThen\nthat explains what seemed so mysterious. Your cousin Gabrielle, in that\ncase, perhaps knows him also?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, she knows him\u2014the same. as I.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat explains everything; and, since it is so, here, Dornthal,\u201d said the\nmarquis, giving him the letter of which he was the bearer, \u201chave the\nkindness to give her this.\u201d\n\nAt the sight of his cousin\u2019s writing, Clement was unable to conceal his\nemotion, and, seeing the marquis\u2019 observant eye fastened on him, it seemed\nuseless to conceal the truth. Without any hesitation, therefore, he\nbriefly related all the circumstances of the life of him who was now\nexpiating his faults by the final sufferings of a miserable death.\n\n\u201cI am not afraid, Monsieur le Marquis, to confide to you the secret of his\nsad life. You will keep it, I am sure, and will never forget, I hope,\u201d\nadded he in a faltering tone, \u201cthat it is _Fabiano Dini_, and not Felix\nDornthal, who will be delivered by death from an infamous punishment.\u201d\n\nThe marquis pressed his hand. \u201cRely on my silence, Dornthal.\u201d After a\nmoment, he continued: \u201cThis unfortunate man showed great courage during\nhis trial, and absolute contempt of danger for himself. He only seemed\npreoccupied with the desire of saving him whose destruction he had caused.\nGod forgive him!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, truly, God forgive him!\u201d gravely repeated the young man.\n\nAdelardi again extended his hand, and was about to leave the room when\nClement stopped him. \u201cMonsieur le Marquis, will you allow me now to ask\nyou a question?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, may I ask if Count George has been informed of Gabrielle\u2019s\narrival?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, not yet.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut he is doubtless aware of her intentions?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, my friend, he is likewise ignorant of them. Though I had no doubt as\nto Gabrielle\u2019s success in her interview with the empress to\u2010day,\nnevertheless, before giving George such a surprise, I wished to be\nabsolutely sure there was no uncertainty to apprehend.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! yes, I comprehend you. To lose such a hope, after once conceiving it,\nwould indeed be more frightful than death!\u201d said Clement, with a vivacity\nthat struck the other. He soon continued in a calmer tone:\n\n\u201cOne more question, Monsieur le Marquis\u2014an absurd question, I acknowledge,\nbut one I cannot resist asking at such a time. You know my position with\nregard to Gabrielle is that of a brother. Can you assure me that he whom\nshe loves, and is thus going to wholly immolate herself for\u2014can you assure\nme on your honor that he is worthy of her?\u2014that he loves her?\u2014that he\nloves her as much as a man ever loved a woman? I certainly cannot doubt\nit, but then I must see her happy in return for so much suffering\u2014I must!\u201d\nrepeated he almost passionately, \u201cand I beg a sincere reply to my\nquestion.\u201d\n\nThe marquis hesitated a moment. Clement\u2019s vehemence struck him, and under\nthe impression of his recent interview with George, he did not at first\nknow how to reply. Should he betray his friend? Ought he to deceive him\nwhose noble, upright look was fastened upon him? He remained uncertain for\nsome moments; at length, he decided to be frank, and reply as candidly as\nhe was questioned.\n\n\u201cYou ask for the truth, Dornthal. Well, it is not in my power to affirm\nthat George\u2019s love is at this moment all you desire. According to my\nimpression, Gabrielle is now only a sweet dream of the past. But be easy,\nmy dear friend; as soon as this dream becomes a reality, as soon as she\nappears before him\u2014is with him\u2014his\u2014oh! then there is no doubt but the\nalmost extinguished flame will revive and become as brilliant as it once\nwas, and this charming creature will have no cause to suspect a shadow of\nforgetfulness had ever veiled her image. What do you expect, Dornthal? As\nto love and constancy, women far surpass us, and they are not the less\nhappy for that. Adieu! my dear friend, till to\u2010morrow.\u201d\n\nClement only replied by taking the hand the marquis again extended before\ngoing out. He listened to him, pale and shuddering, but, as soon as he was\nalone, he exclaimed, endeavoring with an effort to suppress the sobs that\nstifled his breast:\n\n\u201cAh! my God!\u2014my God!\u2014Is that love?\u201d\n\n\nLVIII.\n\n\nFleurange, to the great regret of Mademoiselle Josephine, laid aside the\nrich dress which seemed to realize the old lady\u2019s dreams of the previous\nnight, and had just reappeared clad in the simple high\u2010necked dress of\ndark cloth which was her usual costume, when Clement, who had told her he\nshould not return till late in the evening, suddenly re\u2010entered the salon\nhe left only half an hour before. His intention was to consecrate the\nremainder of the day to the sad duty he felt he owed his cousin, and\nthought it useless to mention it to Gabrielle, from whom he concealed all\nhe had learned respecting Felix. But the letter just given him altered the\ncase, and made it indispensable to inform her at once.\n\nHe therefore explained to her without much preamble the actual situation\nof their unhappy cousin; he informed her of the attempt he was about to\nmake to see him, and then related what he had learned from the Marquis\nAdelardi, giving her the letter of which he was the bearer. It was not\nwithout lively emotion Fleurange broke the seal and hurriedly read it\naloud:\n\n\n    \u201cCOUSIN GABRIELLE: I am condemned to the mines for life, but as,\n    at the same time, I am dangerously wounded, I shall probably have\n    long ceased to exist when this letter reaches you, if it ever\n    does. I regret the misfortunes I have brought on so many, and\n    especially on my last benefactor, and I particularly regret this\n    on your account, for it will perhaps be a source of suffering to\n    you. I should have thought of this sooner, but, seeing you\n    unexpectedly pass by in a cal\u00e8che one evening at Florence, I\n    waited at the door of the hotel where I saw you stop, and yielded\n    to the irresistible desire of making you think of me by throwing\n    you some lines concealed in a bouquet. A few days after, my\n    patron, who was very far from suspecting my acquaintance with the\n    original, imprudently showed me his beautiful Cordelia. I confess\n    I was seized with a keen desire to tear him away from\n    contemplating it, which irritated me. Lasko opportunely arrived.\n    But I did not think that would go so far. As to the rest,\n    Gabrielle, believe me, my love which you rejected (and I confess\n    you acted wisely) was perhaps more worthy of you than his; for I\n    feel if I had met you sooner, and you could have loved me, you\n    would have made me better, whereas he!\u2014But it is too late to speak\n    to you either of him or myself!\u2014It is all over. It is to you\u2014you\n    alone, dear cousin, I address these last words; you must repeat\n    them to all to whom they are due; uttered by you they will be\n    heard. _Forgive_ and _Farewell_.\n\n    F. D.\u201d\n\n\nFleurange wiped away the tears that filled her eyes. The letter affected\nher in more than one way, and Clement, it may be imagined, did not listen\nto it with indifference. But now one thought overruled all others, and,\nafter a moment\u2019s silence, he said: \u201cThis letter was written when he\nexpected to die from his wound. Illness is now hastening his end, and\nperhaps he is no longer living while we are talking. This evening, at all\nevents, you will know whether I found him dead or alive.\u201d\n\nFleurange interrupted him: \u201cClement, listen to me. If Felix is still\nalive, as is by no means impossible, I should like to see him again, and\nwill go with you.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou!\u2014no, that cannot be; the danger from contagion is too great. That\nhospital! you cannot go there; it is a place provided for criminals and\nmiserable creatures of the lowest grade. I cannot expose you to so much\ndanger. I will not.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, perchance,\u201d said Fleurange, \u201cthis preference, this sort of sympathy\nhe has always expressed for me in his way, might give me the power of\nconsoling the last moments of his wretched life. Who knows but my voice\nmight utter some word to soothe the despair of his last agony? Clement,\nClement, do you dare tell me I should not attempt it? Can you\nconscientiously venture to dissuade me from it, because thereby I shall\nincur some danger?\u201d\n\n\u201cGabrielle,\u201d said Clement, with a kind of irritation, \u201cyou are always the\nsame! Do you not understand that you are merciless towards those that love\nyou?\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, reflect a moment,\u201d persisted she, \u201cand answer me, Clement.\u201d\n\nA moment of silent anguish followed these words. Then, with a troubled\nvoice, he said: \u201cBe quick; lose no time. You may perhaps have an influence\nover him no one else could have. Make haste, I will wait for you.\u201d\n\nBefore he ended, Fleurange was gone from the room. In less time than it\ntakes to relate it, she returned wrapped in her cloak, her velvet hat on\nher head, her face concealed by a veil, ready to go. They went down\nwithout speaking a word. Clement\u2019s sledge was waiting at the door. He took\na seat beside her, and they set off with the almost frightful rapidity\nwhich is peculiar to that mode of conveyance. It was no longer light,\nbeing after four o\u2019clock, but the brilliant clearness of the night,\nincreased by the reflection of the snow, sufficiently lighted the way, and\nthe horses went as fast as in the daytime. The place of their destination\nwas on the opposite bank of the Neva, much lower down than the Princess\nCatherine\u2019s house. They therefore crossed the river diagonally, following\na road traced out by the pine branches which from time to time indicated\nthe path. They were thus transported in the twinkling of an eye from the\nsplendor of the city into the midst of what looked like a vast white\ndesert. In proportion as they descended the river, the palaces, the\nnumerous gilded spires of the churches, with the immense succession of\nbuildings whose effect was heightened by the obscurity, were lost in the\ndistance, and, when they at length stopped at the very extremity of a\nfaubourg on the right bank of the river, they found themselves surrounded\nby wooden hovels, with here and there some larger buildings, but all\nindicating poverty, and none more than a story high. Clement aided his\ncousin in alighting, and looked around for the person he expected as his\nguide. A man approached.\n\n\u201cM. Clement Dornthal?\u201d said he in a low voice.\n\n\u201cIt is I.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are not alone.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat difference does that make?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no permission, and a woman\u2014it is forbidden.\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose, however, more than one has entered the place?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! yes, but they must have permission\u2014or else\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cHere,\u201d said Clement in a low tone, \u201cmine will answer for both.\u201d\n\nThe guide seemed to find the reply satisfactory; he pocketed the gold\npiece Clement slipped into his hand and made no further objection. They\nwalked swiftly after him towards one of the buildings just referred to\nwhich was the best lighted. As they approached, they saw the light\nproceeded from a large fire kindled in the open air, around which quite a\nnumber were warming themselves, some squatting down, others standing, and\nsome asleep near enough to the fire not to freeze to death; all lit up\nwith the wild light which revealed their bearded faces, their angular fur\ncaps, and their sheep\u2010skin caftans. Here and there were some venders of\nbrandy, who furnished them with a more efficacious means of resisting the\ncold even than the fire in the brazier.\n\nClement and his companion passed rapidly by this group, not, however,\nwithout being assailed by some annoying words. A vigorous blow from\nClement sent a curious winebibber flying back who attempted to lift\nFleurange\u2019s veil. This lesson was sufficient, and they arrived without any\nfurther annoyance at the door of the building decorated with the name of\nhospital, which was only a long, spacious wooden gallery.\n\nThey entered. Passing thus suddenly from the light of the great fire, and\nthe sharpness of the extreme cold, into the obscurity and warmth of the\nambulance, their first sensations were caused by the darkness and stifling\natmosphere. Fleurange hastily threw back her veil, then took off her hat\nand unclasped her cloak, for she could not breathe; she felt nearly ready\nto faint from the effects of this sudden transition, but she almost\nimmediately recovered. Clement was alarmed at first, but soon saw she was\nable to continue their sad search. As soon as their eyes became accustomed\nto the dim light around them, they saw the long row of pallets on which\nlay, in all the frightful varieties of suffering, nearly two hundred human\nbeings whose mingled groanings rose on all sides like one sad cry of pain,\nenough to chill the veins with horror, and excite the pity of the most\ncourageous and most hardened heart.\n\nThat of Fleurange beat painfully as they slowly advanced through the\nobstructed space. Clement was remorsefully regretting his consent to bring\nher to such a place, when all at once a moan, followed by some words\nindicative of delirium, checked every other thought, and kept them\nmotionless where they stood. They listened\u2014which of these unfortunate\nbeings had uttered those words? They looked around as well as the poor\nlight permitted, but on all these sick\u2010beds so close to each other they\ndid not perceive one whose features bore the least resemblance to those of\nthe unhappy man whose voice they thought they recognized.\n\n\u201cI beg you to lend me your light only for a moment,\u201d said Fleurange, in a\nlow, supplicating tone to an infirmarian to whom she had just heard some\none speak in German, and who was rudely passing by her, lantern in hand.\n\nThe infirmarian stopped at hearing his language spoken, and looked at the\nyoung girl with surprise, then, as if softened by her aspect, he gave her\nthe lantern, saying: \u201cYou can have it while I am gone to the other end of\nthe ward; I will take it when I return.\u201d As Clement took it, the light\nflashed across Fleurange\u2019s face and uncovered head. Instantly there was a\ncry, an almost convulsive movement, and Gabrielle\u2019s name was pronounced by\nthe voice they had just heard. This indicated which of the miserable beds\ncontained him whom they sought. They both approached with full hearts. By\nthe aid of the lamp they gazed at the dying man. Was it really he?\u2014was\nthat Felix? His voice and words left no doubt, and yet there was nothing\nin that face, disfigured by agony and a horrible wound, to recall him whom\nthey saw last in all the fulness of strength and the pride of youth. After\nhis exclamation, he fell back almost lifeless, and Clement trembled as he\nbent down to ascertain if he still breathed. His heart was beating, though\nfeebly and irregularly.\n\n\u201cFelix,\u201d said he, \u201cdo you hear me? Do you know me?\u201d\n\nFelix opened his eyes. \u201cWhat a strange dream!\u201d murmured he. \u201cIt seems as\nif they were all here. That vision a moment ago, and now this voice\u2014O my\nGod, would I might never awake!\u201d\n\nFleurange took the dying man\u2019s hand, and bent over him to catch his words.\nHer features thus became distinctly visible in the light, and his eyes\nfastened with frightful tenacity on those of the young girl.\n\n\u201cIt is impossible!\u201d said he. \u201cBut what illusion is this which makes me see\nand hear what cannot be?\u201d\n\n\u201cFelix,\u201d said Fleurange, with a penetrating accent of sweetness, \u201cit is\nnot an illusion. We are here. God has sent us that you may not die alone\nwithout a friend to pray for you, without begging and obtaining pardon and\npeace.\u201d\n\nA ray of perfect clearness of comprehension now lit up his eyes, hitherto\nfixed or wandering. He seemed to comprehend, but did not reply. Clement\nand Fleurange were afraid to break the solemn silence. Felix\u2019s eyes soon\nwandered from one to the other, and, taking the young girl\u2019s hand and that\nof Clement, he pressed them together upon his heart, saying: \u201cO my God!\nwhat a miracle!\u201d Then he added in a feeble voice: \u201cWhat a comfort that it\nis he, and not the other!\u201d\n\nThey both understood his mistake, but were not equally affected. Fleurange\nslightly blushed, and withdrew her hand with a faint smile, but Clement\u2019s\nface became almost as pale as that of the dying man. But graver thoughts\nprevailed over both at such a time. After a short silence, Fleurange again\naddressed Felix some words, but he made no reply, and his head, which she\ntried to raise, fell on his shoulder. He continued faint for some moments,\nthen opened his eyes, and saw her beside him.\n\n\u201cGod be praised!\u201d said he. \u201cThe vision is still here!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I am here, Felix,\u201d said Fleurange in a fervent tone: \u201cI am here to\npray with you. Listen to me,\u201d continued she, speaking softly and very\ndistinctly. \u201cSay with me that you repent of all the sins of your life.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf all the sins of my life!\u201d\u2014repeated the dying man.\n\n\u201cAnd if your strength were restored, you would make a complete and\nsatisfactory avowal of them, with a sincere repentance. Do you understand\nme?\u201d\n\nThe hand she held pressed hers. A tear ran down Felix\u2019s cheek. A voice\nwhich was a mere whisper repeated the words: \u201cA sincere\nrepentance\u201d\u2014another faintness seemed to announce his end. \u201cO my God!\u201d said\nFleurange, fervently raising her eyes to heaven, \u201cif the sacred absolving\nwords could only be pronounced over him!\u201d\n\nAt that moment the infirmarian returned and abruptly took the lantern from\nClement\u2019s hand. \u201cExcuse me, I need it for some one who has come to visit a\npatient.\u201d\n\nIn the narrow space that separated the two rows of beds, there could be\nindistinctly seen a person of majestic, imposing appearance, whose long\nbeard and floating hair, whose ample robes of silk and gold cross, clearly\nindicated his character; he was, in fact, a priest of the Greek Church. He\nhad not, however, come to this sad place to exercise his ministry. One of\nthe poor men suffering from the contagious disease was the object of his\ncharity, and he had come to visit him. He was passing along without\nlooking around, even turning his eyes away as much as possible from the\nsad spectacle that surrounded him, when Clement\u2019s hand on his arm stopped\nhim as he was passing Felix\u2019s bed.\n\n\u201cWhat do you wish of me, young man?\u201d he asked, with surprise.\n\n\u201cI implore you,\u201d said Clement, \u201cto come to this dying man who is truly\ncontrite for his sins, with a sincere desire to confess them if he had the\nstrength. Have the kindness to give him sacramental absolution!\u201d\n\nIn spite of the place, the hour, the awful solemnity of the moment, the\nyoung Catholic girl started at hearing these words; her large eyes opened\nwith an expression of the keenest surprise, and turned towards Clement\nwith a mute glance of anxiety. He understood her, and, while the\ninfirmarian was interpreting his words which had been heard but not\nunderstood, he replied: \u201cThis is a priest, Gabrielle, invested with all\nthe authority of Holy Orders. In the presence of death, we can avail\nourselves of it, without regard to anything else.\u201d\n\nHe knelt down. Fleurange did the same. The dying man clasped his hands,\nand, whilst the word \u201cforgive\u201d once more trembled on his lips, the Greek\npriest raised his right hand with a majestic air, and pronounced over him\nthe merciful, divine words of holy absolution!\n\nTo Be Continued.\n\n\n\n\nCologne.\n\n\nWhat is more familiar than the name of Cologne? What is more delicious\nthan the perfume of the veritable Jean Maria Farina? What is more\ndelightful than the receipt of a box, with the stereotyped picture on the\ncover of the Rhine lazily flowing under the bridges, of the cathedral\nlooming up to the sky, of the houses clustering around it as though for\nprotection?\n\nNo one need be ashamed to avow his or her love of it; it is acknowledged\nto be indispensable. Bishop or priest, sage or philosopher, can use it\nwithout being thought undignified. Imagine a pope, or cardinal, or bishop,\nor priest, or senator, or judge scented with \u201cMille Fleurs,\u201d or \u201cJockey\nClub,\u201d or \u201cBouquet de Nilsson\u201d! The bare thought is revolting! To be sure,\nfor some years, \u201cBouquet d\u2019Afrique\u201d has been the fashion among the\n\u201cpotent, grave, and reverend seigniors\u201d at Washington who make our laws\nand amuse themselves by adding \u201cFifteenth Amendments\u201d to the highly\nrespectable and ever\u2010to\u2010be\u2010respected Constitution of the United States.\n\nBut that will pass away with Time, the healer and destroyer; the\nreconstructionist will make all right; the \u201cFifteenth\u201d will be amended\nwith the \u201cSixteenth\u201d; and, with the sway of lovely woman, Cologne, without\nwhich no well\u2010bred, well\u2010dressed woman\u2019s toilette is complete, will resume\nits reign over heads and hearts; and \u201cBouquet d\u2019Afrique\u201d will perhaps\nreturn to the hot and happy home where the indefatigable Stanley recently\ndiscovered the wandering, long\u2010sought Livingstone\u2014who did not care to be\nfound, as he certainly appeared perfectly content among dusky dark\u2010browed\nbrothers and sisters, hunting lions and tigers, and imagining each little\nrivulet and lake the source of the Nile, or Congo, or Niger, or any other\nmeandering river taking its rise in the great water\u2010shed by the Mountains\nof the Moon.\n\nIf mothers are to be judged by the character of their sons, the mother of\nNero, in whose honor Cologne was named, could not have been the mildest\nand gentlest of her sex. Says Lacordaire, \u201cThe education of the child is\ncommenced in the womb of the mother, continued on her breast, completed at\nher knees.\u201d Sweet must have been the reveries, refreshing the\ninstructions, edifying the conduct of Julia Agrippina, who brought into\nthe world the finished despot that drenched the soil of Rome with the\nblood of the Christian martyrs, who persecuted unto death the heroes of\nthe faith that now people heaven.\n\nCologne owes its origin to a Roman camp established by Marcus Agrippa. The\nEmperor Claudius, at the request of his wife, Julia Agrippina, daughter of\nGermanicus and mother of Nero, sent a colony of Roman veterans, A.D. 50,\nnamed the town after her _Colonia Agrippina_, and it then became the\ncapital of the Province of Germania Secunda. Vitellius was here proclaimed\nEmperor of Rome, A.D. 69; Trajan here received from Nerva the summons to\nshare his throne; the usurper Sylvanus was also proclaimed emperor here in\n353; a few years later Cologne was taken by the Franks; Childeric made it\nhis residence in 464; and Clovis was here proclaimed king in 508.\n\nDuring the reign of Pepin, it was the capital of the kingdoms of Neustria\nand Austrasia. Bruno, Duke of Lorraine, was the first of its archbishops\nwho exercised the temporal power, with which he was invested by his\nbrother, Otho the Great. From that time the town increased rapidly in\nwealth and splendor, and shortly after became one of the principal\nemporiums of the Hanseatic League; the commerce of the East was here\nconcentrated, and direct communication with Italy constantly kept up. In\n1259, the town acquired the privilege by which all vessels were compelled\nto unload here and reship their cargoes in Cologne bottoms.\n\nAt this period it had a population of 150,000, and could furnish 30,000\nfighting men in time of war. In the XIIIth century, there was a mutiny\namong the weavers; 17,000 looms were destroyed; the rebellious workmen\nwere banished from the city; and that, together with the expulsion of the\nJews in 1349, did great injury to the town, the number of whose\ninhabitants was reduced in 1790 to 42,000, of whom nearly one\u2010third were\npaupers. Then came the devastating wars which succeeded the maelstrom of\nthe French Revolution, when in the general upheaval empires and kingdoms\ndisappeared, new political combinations were made which changed the map of\nEurope, and the Rhine became the frontier of the French Empire.\n\nCologne was nominally French, but the hearts of the people were German\u2014as\nGerman as the most ardent worshipper of the \u201cNew God,\u201d as Von Bolanden\ncalls the new Empire, the child of Bismarck and Von Moltke. After\nWaterloo, the Holy Alliance made another partition of the kingdoms and\npeoples, and Cologne shook off the French yoke, and returned to her\nnational ways and customs. One great cause of its decay had been the\nclosing of the navigation of the Rhine, which restriction was removed in\n1837, and, since then, trade has greatly revived, and the town been much\nimproved.\n\nMany of the old streets have been widened and paved, and a considerable\nportion of waste ground covered with new buildings. The opening of the\nrailways to Paris, Antwerp, Ostend, Hamburg, and Berlin has greatly added\nto its commercial prosperity, and Cologne bids fair to resume its former\nposition among the chief cities of Europe. Cologne was formerly called the\n\u201cHoly Cologne,\u201d and the \u201cRome of the North\u201d\u2014titles which she owed to the\nnumber of relics and churches she possessed.\n\nAt one time, the city contained 200 buildings devoted to religious uses.\nThese gradually diminished, until in 1790 their number was reduced to 137.\nDuring the French Revolution, they were shamefully plundered, the convents\nsuppressed, and their property confiscated; so that at present there are\nnot more than twenty churches and seven or eight chapels; but many other\necclesiastical buildings still remain, used as warehouses and chapels.\n\nMaria im Capitol, so named from its having been built on the site of the\nRoman capitol, stands on an eminence reached by a flight of steps. The\nFrankish kings had a palace close by, to which Plectruda, the wife of\nPepin, retired in 696, having separated from her husband on account of his\nattachment to Alpais, the mother of Charles Martel. In 700, she pulled\ndown the capitol, and erected a church on its site, to which she attached\na chapter of canonesses. Until 1794, the senate and consuls repaired\nhither annually on S. John\u2019s day to assist at Mass, when the outgoing\nBurgomasters solemnly transferred the insignia of office to the newly\nelected, who were each presented with a bouquet of flowers by the abbess.\n\nThe convent no longer exists, but there is a large cloister of the XIth\ncentury at the west end of the church, which was restored a few years ago.\nIn this church, there are mural paintings of the early Cologne school,\nrepresenting the wise and foolish virgins, numberless saints, the raising\nof Lazarus, and the founders of the church with their children. As in duty\nbound, Plectruda is properly conspicuous; her effigy in basso\u2010rilievo\nbeneath the great east window is a very interesting work of the Xth\ncentury, and, on one of the towers, her sculptured figure appears between\ntwo angels, who are conducting her to her eternal home.\n\nAll the churches are more or less interesting, none more so than that of\nS. Gereon, founded in the IVth century. S. Gereon was the commander of a\nRoman legion, and he and his companions, 700 in number, were murdered by\norder of Diocletian upon the spot where the church was built by the\nEmpress Helena, the mother of Constantine.\n\nThe style is Byzantine, and very singular. The body of the church,\npreceded by a large portico, presents a vast decagonal shell, the pillars\nof whose internal angles are prolonged in ribs, which, centring in a\nsummit, meet in one point and form a cupola, one of the latest examples\nknown. A high wide flight of steps, rising opposite to the entrance, leads\nto an altar with an oblong choir behind it, from whence other steps again\nascend to the sanctuary, a semicircular apse, belted, like the cupola, by\nan open gallery with small arches and pillars resting on a panelled\nbalustrade.\n\nThe rotunda is surrounded by ten chapels, in which are the tombs of the\nmartyrs. The walls are encrusted with their skulls, and, in the\nsubterranean church, the pavement and walls are formed by the tomb\u2010stones\ncovering the holy dust. In the lower church is the tomb of S. Gereon, and\nin one of the chapels is a mosaic pavement laid in the time of the Empress\nHelena. Behind the stalls of the clergy are hangings of Gobelin tapestry,\nportraying the history of Joseph and his brethren.\n\nThe baptismal font of porphyry, immensely large, was a present from\nCharlemagne; and, as the lid is too ponderous for any one to lift, there\nis a little machine that takes it off when required. We remained a long\nwhile in this very delightful church, and, by the time we left, what with\nHelen and Constantine, Diocletian and Charlemagne, we felt quite like an\nanimated verd\u2010antique, so intensely Roman and Catholic had we become.\n\nAfterwards we proceeded to S. Ursula\u2019s, where the cruel Roman emperor was\nexchanged for the barbarian Huns. S. Ursula\u2019s history was done in English\nby the old sexton, who finished every sentence by assuring us that S.\nUrsula and her eleven thousand virgins met with their untimely fate from\nthe barbarian Huns, who massacred them in cold blood. We made a stride of\na few centuries, became Gothic, and extended our hatred to the barbarian\nHuns. As in S. Gereon, the bones of the martyrs are built in the walls for\na space of two feet the whole extent.\n\nIn the Golden Chamber we saw the shrine of S. Ursula, the relics of S.\nMargaret, a thorn from the crown of Our Lord, and one of the vases used at\nthe marriage feast of Cana, that witnessed the first miracle of the God\u2010\nman. Link by link we were carried to the days when Our Lord was incarnate\non the earth; we do not need such testimony to assure us of the truth of\nour holy faith, but, when we touch the vase that has been touched by Our\nLord, our senses are awed by the thought of the God\u2010like condescension of\nhim who became man, who lived like us, who mingled in our joys and\nsorrows, that we might become greater than the angels.\n\nThe Cathedral of Cologne, the queen of pointed architecture, erected on\nthe site of a church founded in 814 by Archbishop Hildebold, and more\nbeautiful than even we could imagine it, familiar as we were with it by\npicture and description, was commenced in August, 1248, by Archbishop\nConrad, of Hochstaden. The works were for some years pushed on with great\nactivity under the direction of Master Gerard von Rile, a builder of whom\nnothing more is known than that he died before 1302.\n\nIn 1322, the choir was completed and consecrated; then the building went\nslowly on until 1357, when the works were discontinued for a long time. In\n1796, the cathedral was converted by the French into a warehouse, and it\nhad very nearly become a ruin in 1807, when the brothers Sulpice and\nMelchior Boisser\u00e9e drew attention to it by their illustrated work on its\nhistory. In 1824, the work of restoration was commenced, but little\nprogress was made until, in 1842, the idea of completing the cathedral was\nconceived, and an association was formed to collect subscriptions for this\npurpose; and now the entire edifice will soon be finished if the works are\ncarried on as zealously as they have been of late.\n\nThe glorious roof, arching 150 feet in the air, is magnificent; every day\nnew beauties are added; four hundred men are daily at work, the stones are\nall cut, and in ten years at least this triumph of genius will be ready to\nreceive the homage of all true lovers of art. The shrine of the Three\nKings is superb\u2014gold adorned with precious stones. There are the heads of\nthe three men who came in faith, and bowed in all their pride and majesty\nbefore the infant Jesus in the manger; their names, Gaspar, Melchior, and\nBalthazar, are encrusted in rubies above the crowns that encircle their\nbrows. Their bodies were brought from S. Eustorgio, in Milan, by the\nEmperor Frederick Barbarossa, after the taking of that city, and presented\nby him to Archbishop Rainoldo, who deposited them in the ancient cathedral\nJuly 23, 1164; from whence they were removed into the present chapel in\n1337.\n\nAmong the treasures of the cathedral is a splendid ostensorium, one of the\nfinest in the world, presented by some sovereign; another, not so\nhandsome, sent by Pius IX.; and the cross and ring, given to the present\narchbishop by Kaiser William; both are of diamonds and emeralds, the ring,\nan immense emerald, surrounded by four circles of diamonds. The man who\nshowed the church prided himself upon his English; would call the\narchbishops architects: \u201cThis is the statue of Engelbert, the first\n_architect from_ Cologne.\u201d And when we innocently inquired if the\narchitects wore mitres and copes, he impressively repeated his remark; so\nwe are still in doubt whether the archbishops built the cathedral or the\narchitects dressed like bishops!\n\nWandering one day through the aisles of the cathedral, we paused for a\nwhile to gaze upon something beautiful that attracted our attention. It\nwas behind the high altar; we were standing between it and the Chapel of\nthe Magi, when, by chance, we looked down, and on the slab at our feet we\nsaw in large letters, \u201cMarie de\u2019 Medici\u201d\u2014no date, no epitaph. So much for\nhuman greatness! Under that stone, trodden daily by hundreds, was the\nheart of Marie de\u2019 Medici, one of the powerful family that gave to the\nchurch Leo X. and Clement VII., the descendant of Lorenzo the Magnificent,\nthe widow of Henri Quatre, the mother of Louis XIII., the ex\u2010Regent of\nFrance. Banished from France, the inexorable hostility of Richelieu\npursued her wherever she sought refuge. No crowned head dared shelter her.\n\nOne heart was true, one man was found who remembered in her adversity that\nshe had favored him in the days of her prosperity. When, in the zenith of\nher power, she built the Luxembourg, she sent for Rubens to adorn it with\nthe creations of his genius; she loaded him with favors, sent him on\ndiplomatic missions to restore peace between Philip IV. of Spain and\nCharles I. of England. Both monarchs responded to her wishes, showered\nhonors upon the artist\u2010diplomat, and Charles I. knighted him, and then\npresented him with the sword which had been used for the ceremony.\n\nGenius is a power. Richelieu could command kings on their thrones, and the\nrefugee queen was abandoned by all\u2014by those who should have been bound to\nher by the ties of kindred, of position, by the claims of misfortune.\nEngland, Spain, Holland, refused her entrance; only in the free city of\nCologne could she find sanctuary, and that sanctuary was the house of the\nnoble, chivalric artist, Pierre Paul Rubens, whose brave heart quailed not\nbefore the wrath of the most powerful man of his age.\n\nWith loving care and respect he watched over her, soothed her in her dying\nagony, and held her in his arms when she breathed her last sigh. The house\nof Rubens still remains, and the room in which Marie de\u2019 Medici died is\npreserved with the greatest care. When we visited it, we felt as though we\nwere treading on holy ground, as in a shrine made sacred by a noble deed;\nfor what more royal, more heroic, more Christian, than the brave, grateful\nheart that dared power to shelter misfortune?\n\nMeanwhile that Marie de\u2019 Medici lived and died in poverty in Cologne,\nRichelieu was at the apogee of his glory. King, nobles, courts, cowered\nbeneath his glance. The conspiracy of Cinq\u2010Mars was quelled; his head had\npaid the penalty of his youthful folly. Richelieu, satisfied and avenged,\nleft Lyons for Paris, carried on the shoulders of his attendants in a kind\nof furnished room, for which the gates of the cities through which he\npassed were demolished if they were too narrow to admit it. But the\ntriumph was short\u2010lived. A few months after the death of Marie de\u2019 Medici,\nher relentless persecutor followed her to the tomb, and her poor wearied\nbody was removed to France and buried in S. Denis; but the heart was left\nin the Cathedral of Cologne\u2014a mausoleum sufficiently splendid for any\nmortal dust.\n\nSoon after leaving the house of Rubens, we came to another famous in\nCologne; a large building, where, from one of the windows of the third\nstory, two stone horses were contemplating the busy scene in the Neumarkt\nbelow; and then we heard the legend of the horses. Once upon a time this\nhouse was the residence of the wealthy family d\u2019Andocht. Richmodis, the\nwife of Herr Mengis d\u2019Andocht, died during the plague of 1357, and was\nburied with great pomp in the Church of the Apostles on the Neumarkt.\n\nHer dressing attracted the notice of the sexton. He fancied he would like\nto have some of the gold and silver adornments; so the night after she was\nput into the vault he descended into it, opened the coffin, and took off\nsome of the jewels. One of the rings would not move. To make the task\neasier, he cut her finger; she was only in a trance, and this summary\nprocess restored her; she sat up; the man rushed off affrighted. She\nmanaged to get out of the coffin. In his haste he had left his lantern\nbehind; with it she made her way out of the church, and reached her home\nnear by.\n\nShe knocked at the door; a servant opened it, and scampered off half dead\nwith terror. She went to her husband\u2019s room. He thought she was a ghost or\ndevil; she told him she was his wife, as surely as that their horses would\ncome up\u2010stairs and jump out of the window. As she spoke, the horses\ngalloped up\u2010stairs, threw themselves out of the window; whereupon the\nhusband acknowledged her to be his veritable wife. She soon recovered her\nhealth, lived for many years, and, to commemorate the wonderful event, the\nhusband had the two horses done in stone and put in their respective panes\nof glass, where they have ever since remained, looking out of the window.\n\nNow the house is a hospital, and we hope the patients are as much amused\nas we were at the effigies of the two well\u2010bred, obedient horses, who were\nas good at vouching for identity as Dame Crump\u2019s little dog. In the Church\nof the Apostles, a faded Lent hanging is still preserved that was\npresented by Richmodis in gratitude for her wonderful deliverance from a\nliving death.\n\nThe Rathhaus or Town Hall is a curious building, erected at different\nperiods; the Hansa\u2010Saal is a fine room on the first floor, in which the\nmeetings of that once powerful mercantile confederation were held; and at\none end of it are nine statues holding escutcheons emblazoned with the\narms of the Hanse Towns.\n\nThe _Mus\u00e9e_, a comparatively new creation, erected partly by the\ngovernment, and partly by private subscription, contains many works of\nart. In the lower story are numerous Roman antiquities, found in or near\nCologne; amongst them are busts of C\u00e6sar, Germanicus, Agrippina, a\nstatuette of Cleopatra, and a very fine head of Medusa, said to be larger\nand more beautiful than the Medusa Rondinini in the Glyptotheca at Munich.\nOne gallery is filled with exquisite specimens of stained glass; the upper\nrooms are devoted to statuary and paintings, many of which are of the\nD\u00fcsseldorf school.\n\nWe were particularly struck with one, the \u201cTriumph of S. Michael over\nLucifer.\u201d S. Michael is radiant, his sword flaming; and Lucifer, who is\nsinking into darkness, is terrible. There he is\u2014no horned demon, but the\nbeautiful fallen archangel, majestic and powerful; profound despair and\ngloom on his noble features, as the darkness overshadows him, and hell\nopens to receive him.\n\nThe people of Cologne are gay and sociable; in the afternoons, the\nZoological Gardens are filled with children and nurses admiring the\ngiraffes, elephants, and every other kind of animal belonging to earth,\nair, or water. An immense lion was a particular object of interest, as he\nhad distinguished himself the day before we had the pleasure of seeing him\nby devouring his keeper. The Flora or Winter Garden is charming\u2014a crystal\npalace, filled with fragrant plants, green vines garlanding the sides and\nroof, fountains playing, beautiful music well rendered by a good\norchestra, and hundreds of people drinking coffee and smoking, who don\u2019t\nbother themselves by receiving at home, but meet and gossip in the Flora,\nor the Opera House, to which they generally adjourn.\n\nThe Opera House is very pretty but miserably lighted, only two feeble gas\u2010\nlights by the door. Prussian officers, however, abounded, and the\nglittering uniform shone in the _clair\u2010obscur_ like fire\u2010flies in Florida\non summer evenings. Perhaps it was to add to the effect of \u201cLa Dame\nBlanche,\u201d which was the opera we chanced to hear, that we were kept in\nsuch gloomy darkness; but, as the music was well executed, the time passed\npleasantly.\n\nOne extraordinary event must be chronicled\u2014we did not buy one bottle of\nCologne in Cologne; we left the city of Jean Maria Farina, and only saw\nthe outside of his shop. What with Gothic churches and relics, Roman\ntowers and antiquities, time flew, and we found ourselves also flying off\nfrom Cologne on an express train, without one drop of the veritable _Eau\u2010\nde\u2010Cologne_ in our possession. _Mirabile dictu!_\n\n\n\n\nJohn.\n\n\nIn beauty, not above criticism; in courage, undaunted; in love, most\ngenerous and most forgiving; in patience, rivalling Job; in constancy,\nunswerving; in humility, without an equal.\n\nAfter the above enumeration of qualities, it should be superfluous to add\nthat John is a dog. It would be ridiculous to expect so much of a man. He\nis, moreover, a Skye\u2010terrier, well\u2010born and well\u2010bred.\n\nTo announce to John\u2019s acquaintances that one was about to eulogize the dog\nwould be to incur and deserve some such reply as that made by the Spartan\nto a rhetorician who announced his intention to pronounce an eulogium on\nHercules: \u201cAn eulogium on Hercules?\u201d repeated the Spartan. \u201cWho ever\nthought of blaming Hercules?\u201d\n\nOur reply would be that we write, not for those who deny, but for those\nwho never heard.\n\nThere is no shifting of scenes in our little drama. The unities are\npreserved with almost Grecian strictness; the writer, however, as chorus,\nclaiming the privilege of being occasionally discursive.\n\n_Scene._\u2014A suburban summer residence in that most magnificent of seasons,\nautumn, \u201cin that month of all months in the year,\u201d October; furthermore,\nthe most perfect of Octobers. The stone\u2010colored house is the only neutral\nbit in the landscape; all else is a glow of color. The fresh greensward\nrecedes under flower\u2010bosses of solid brilliancy. A flower carpet, gayer\nthan any loom of Turkey, Brussels, or France ever wove, lies under the\nclump of evergreens in a far corner of the estate. Tapestries of woodbine\nhang over balconies, and porches, and bay\u2010windows; and the noble trees\nthat stand, two and two, in stately pairs, all about the place, and up the\navenue, are a torchlight procession, which sunshine, instead of quenching,\nfires to a still more dazzling blaze. It is that picturesque time when\nladies throw gay scarfs over the summer dresses they still wear; when the\nsky shakes out her violet mists to veil the too divine beauty of earth;\nthat season of exquisite comfort when one has open windows and open fires;\nthat delicious season when fruit is brought to the table still warm with\nthe sunshine in which it finished ripening five minutes before. Above all,\nit is that season when people who are at all sympathetic are inclined to\nsilence.\n\nMrs. Marcia Clay was not at all sympathetic. She was simply herself, a\nfrivolous woman, with a strong will, and a Chinese wall of selfishness and\nself\u2010complacence built up on all sides of her. The soft \u201cHush!\u201d on the\nlips of the Indian summer, when the soul of Nature plumes her wings for\nflight, she heard not. The suspense, the regret, the melancholy, the\nfleeting rapture of the season she perceived not. To her it was surely the\nfall of the year, when people get ready for the winter, lay in coal, buy\nnew clothes, and go back to town.\n\nFlounced to the waist in rattling silk, her fair hair furbelowed all over\nher head, and, apparently, pounds of gold hanging from her ears, thrust\nthrough her cuffs, dangling at her belt, strung about her neck, and\nfastened to the pin that held her collar, this lady sat in one of the\npleasant parlors of her house, and talked as fast as her tongue could run.\n\nThe woman who listened was of another kind, one who might have come to\nsomething if she had been possessed of will and courage, but who, having a\nsmall opinion of herself, was only somebody by little spurts, which did no\ngood, since they were always followed by unusual self\u2010abasement. She was\nnot without a despairing sense of this incongruity, and had more than once\nbewailed in her own mind the fact that she was neither fish, flesh, nor\nfowl, but inclined to each in turn; had little wings which, as she spread\nthem, changed to little fins, which, as she moved them, became little\nfeet, that, when she would have walked, collapsed utterly, and left her\nfloundering\u2014a woman without moral vertebr\u00e6, who had been all her life the\nprey of people in whom the moral vertebr\u00e6 were in excess. She was nothing\nin particular, physically, either, being gayish, oldish, tallish, weakish,\nand dressed in that time\u2010honored, thin plain black silk gown which is the\ninfallible sign of genteel poverty, and which, at this instant, adorns the\nform that owns the arm that moves the hand that holds the pen that writes\nthis history.\n\n_Mrs. Marcia Clay._\u2014\u201cIt is very provoking, my dear, but it can\u2019t be\nhelped. If I should intimate to him that our trunks are all packed to go\nin town, he would leave instantly. He is the most touchy of mortals. To be\nsure, I have invited him here again and again, but I expected him in\nsummer\u2010time, not when we were on the point of moving, and had our very\nbeds half made in the city. There\u2019s nothing for it but to unpack, and\npretend to be delighted. Fortunately, he amuses himself.\u201d\n\nThe uncertain person in the black silk gown ventured to suggest that Mr.\nBently might accompany them to town, and was met by a little shriek which\nmade her jump.\n\n\u201cFancy him in my blue satin or pink satin chamber! Why, my dear, he\nsmokes, and\u2014_chews! chews_, dear! Between you and me, he is a bear in his\nhabits, a positive bear. If you will believe me, I have seen him wear\nslipshod shoes and crumpled linen. You should see him at home, in his den.\nAn inky dressing\u2010gown that he wipes his pens on, old slippers with holes\nin them, books piled all about, and dust that you could write your name\nin! In that state he sits and writes hour after hour.\u201d\n\nAh! Mrs. Clay & Co., who look at littleness through magnifying glasses,\nand are blind to all true greatness, the sole of this man\u2019s slipshod shoe\nis cleaner than your tongue. There is no dust on his thoughts; there are\nno holes in the fabrics his brain weaves; and when he writes, far\u2010away\nlands that know you not, and kindred greatness nearer by, feel the\nelectric spark that slips from his pen\u2019s point.\n\n\u201cWhat a shocking person he must be!\u201d says Miss Uncertainty, meaning to\nplease. \u201cI don\u2019t wonder you won\u2019t have him in town.\u201d\n\n\u201cGoodness gracious, Miss Bird!\u201d cried the lady, coloring up. \u201cWhat can you\nbe thinking of! Why, Mr. Bently is famous. He can afford to be eccentric.\nIt is an honor to have him in one\u2019s house. People have turned and looked\nat me when they heard that I am his cousin; and his name opens to me\nplaces that\u2014well, everybody can\u2019t enter. Then it is a very fine thing to\nhave a gentleman in one\u2019s parlors who can talk to those lions whom one\ndoesn\u2019t know what to say to, and who can tell what one\u2019s pictures, and\nbronzes, and marbles mean, and translate from every language under the\nsun. I well remember a time when he won for me a perfect triumph over Mrs.\nEverett Adams. It was delicious. Mrs. Everett Adams is always picking up\nlions, especially learned and scientific ones, and, when Professor Porson\ncame here, she monopolized him at once. You cannot conceive how odiously\nshe behaved, nor what airs she assumed. One heard nothing but Porson,\nPorson, till I was sick of the name; and it was impossible to go anywhere,\nto theatre, opera, or concert, without seeing her sail down to the most\nconspicuous place, after everybody was seated, with Prof. Porson in her\ntrain. Well, one evening she brought him to our house, just to plague me,\nand we had half a dozen or so persons to meet him. It was an evening of\ntorment, my dear. The professor was in the clouds, with Mrs. Everett Adams\nfluttering behind him, like a tail after a kite, and all the rest were in\nraptures, except me\u2014I was extinguished. The professor knew what every\nbronze and marble was, and who made it, and if it was an original or a\ncopy; and, in short, everything I had seemed as common as possible. As a\nlast desperate resort, I brought out some old books in foreign languages\nthat poor dear Clay had picked up. He was always collecting things of that\nsort. The professor turned them over with the tips of his fingers, and\nread a word here and there. Oh! he knew all about them. Yes; he had read\nthem when he was a boy. But I had begun to suspect him. My poor husband\nused to say that, when a man will not own that there is anything he\ndoesn\u2019t understand, root and branch, he was always sure that that man was\nan impostor. So I took up two of the books that I saw he had passed over,\nand asked him to translate a passage for me. They looked about as much\nlike a printed language as the figures on my carpet do. To my joy, he had\nto own that he couldn\u2019t. They were Chaldaic, he said, and he had made but\nlittle study in that language. Mrs. Adams glanced angrily at me, and I\nsmiled. Just at that moment, as good luck would have it, the door opened,\nand in came Cousin Bently. I flew at him with the books. Triumph, my dear!\nNever did I have such a rapturous moment. Cousin took the books up in his\nslow way, put up his eye\u2010glasses, and looked them over in such a superior\nmanner that really my hopes rose. They were Arabic, I\u2019ve forgotten what\nabout, and he read out some passages, and translated them, all the company\nlooking on. My dear, the Porson and Adams stock sank to less than one per\ncent. in an instant. The professor was red, and Mrs. Adams was pale. I\ncould have hugged Cousin Bently on the spot, though his boots were not\nblacked, and his collar was in a positively shocking state.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow charming it must be to have him visit you!\u201d says Miss Bird, wheeling\nabout as the wind veered.\n\nPoor thing! She did not mean to be insincere. She merely wanted to say the\nright thing, and didn\u2019t care a fig about the matter, one way or the other.\n\n\u201cCharming!\u201d repeated Mrs. Clay, with emphasis. \u201cIt gives a _tone_.\nBesides, it draws some people one likes to know. You should see Madame de\nSoi, the most exclusive of women, flutter round him like a butterfly round\na\u2014round a\u2014well, really, I am at a loss for the word. It is impossible to\ncall Cousin Bently a flower, unless one should make a pun about the seedy\ncontents of his valise. I studied botany once, and I know a pun can be\nmade of it. Madame knows no more and cares no more about his learning than\na cat does, but she has tact, and does contrive to smile at the right\ntime. I never could do that. When I smile, Cousin Bently is sure to push\nout his under lip, and stop talking. But she will look and listen with\nsuch rapture that you would positively think he were describing the dress\nthe empress wore at the last ball; and sometimes she even says something\nthat he will seem pleased with. That very evening of the Porson collapse\nshe talked with him half an hour of _molecules_, whatever they are. I\nactually thought they were speaking of people. Fancy being called a\nmolecule! Yes, Cousin Bently is a great credit, and a great convenience to\nme. Why, but for him, I couldn\u2019t have gone to those stupid exclusive\nlectures of Mr. Vertebrare\u2019s, where I yawned myself to death among the\nvery cream of society.\u201d\n\nThe lady paused for breath, and her companion, feeling obliged to say\nsomething, faltered out that she always feared those very clever persons.\n\n\u201cI should think you would after the experience you had with that dragon,\u201d\nreplied Mrs. Clay significantly.\n\nMiss Bird colored, and was silent. \u201cThat dragon\u201d was a rather difficult\nold lady, a Miss Clinton, with whom she had lived and suffered many years,\nand who had lately died.\n\n\u201cAnd so,\u201d Mrs. Clay summed up, \u201cI have Cousin Bently on my hands for a\nweek or ten days, and must make the best of it. And\u201d\u2014suddenly lowering her\nvoice\u2014\u201cspeak of angels\u2014ahem! Cousin Bently, allow me to make you\nacquainted with Miss Bird, an old schoolmate of mine.\u201d\n\nMiss Bird rose with a frightened air, dropped her eyes, blushed deeply,\nhalf extended her hand, and half withdrew it again, and stammered out,\n\u201cGood\u2010morning, sir!\u201d which was not a very felicitous greeting, the time of\nday being near sunset.\n\nMr. Bently acknowledged the introduction with rather a stately bow, gave\nthe person before him a calm and exhaustive glance, protruded his under\nlip very slightly, without meaning to, and walked to the further end of\nthe room.\n\n\u201cWhy need people be such fools?\u201d he muttered, half philosophical, half\nimpatient. He had been, as all learned and even merely clever people must\nbe, too much looked on as an ogre by the simple. It was rather provoking\nto see people shaking at his approach, as if he were going to compel them\nto talk Greek and calculus, or have their lives.\n\nAs the gentleman seated himself in an arm\u2010chair before a delightful bay\u2010\nwindow, and facing the window, there was another addition to the company,\nand\u2014enter our hero!\n\nReader, John!\n\nA longish, curly\u2010haired quadruped with bright dark eyes full of merriment\nand kindliness, and teeth so beautifully white and even that it would be a\nprivilege to be bitten by them. Of course he has undergone those\nimprovements which man finds it necessary to make in the old\u2010fashioned\nplan of the Creator, and his clipped ears stand up pointed and pert, and\nhis clipped tail is indeed less a tail than an epigram. But the bounding\ngrace of his motions no scissors can curtail.\n\nDo not imagine that John has entered the room properly, and stood still to\nbe presented and described. Far from it. He bounced in through the window,\nas though shot from a mortar, and, while we have been writing this brief\nsketch of his person, has flown into the learned gentleman\u2019s arms, kissed\nhim enthusiastically a dozen times, pawed his hair into fearful disorder,\nmade believe bite his nose and hands, with the utmost care not to hurt him\nin the least, pulled one end of his cravat out of knot, and threatened to\noverturn him, chair and all, by drawing back and rushing at him again like\na little blue and yellow battering\u2010ram. His manner was, indeed, so\noverpowering that Mr. Bently had half a mind to be vexed, and could not\nhelp being disconcerted. His affection for dogs was entirely Platonic, and\nhe had a theory that bipeds and quadrupeds should have separate houses\nbuilt for them; but this creature had struck him as being the most honest\nand sensible being in the house, and had, moreover, taken to him.\n\nMiss Bird looked askance at the scene in the bay\u2010window, and Mrs. Clay\nlooked askance at Miss Bird, and wondered at her impudence and folly. Bird\nhad blushed and dropped her eyes when she was introduced to the gentleman,\nand she was now watching him out of the corners of her eyes. Bird was an\nold maid, with a moderate annuity; Mr. Bently was an old bachelor, with\nnext to nothing beside brains and a name. Bird must be set to rights. So\nmuch the lady\u2019s actions told of her thoughts.\n\n\u201cI wish I dared send for Marian Willis here,\u201d she whispered\nconfidentially, watching the effect of her words. \u201cNothing would please me\nbetter than to bring those two together again. But Cousin Bently would\nsuspect my drift, and, as likely as not, start off at once. Nothing annoys\nhim so much as to see that any one is trying to get him married. Marian is\nin every way suitable, and between you and me, dear, I think they would\nboth be glad to have a mediator, only they are too proud to own it.\nEverybody thought about ten years ago that they were engaged, and they\ncertainly were in a fair way to be, when some lovers\u2019 quarrel occurred,\nand they parted. You have never seen Miss Willis, have you?\u201d\n\nYes; Bird had seen her at Miss Melicent Yorke\u2019s wedding, and she was the\ngrandest looking lady there. She wore a black velvet dress, buttoned up\nhigh with diamonds, and not another jewel about her. She had a pink half\u2010\nopen camellia in her bosom, and a wide\u2010open one in her hair. Clara Yorke\nsaid that the beautiful plainness of Miss Willis\u2019 toilet made everybody\nelse look all tags and ends. She gave the bride a rare engraving of some\npicture of The Visitation, which Miss Melicent didn\u2019t half like, because\nthe S. Elizabeth was on her knees, and because there was a crown carved in\nthe frame just over the Virgin\u2019s head. But the bridegroom had reconciled\nher to it, saying that motherhood is a crown to any woman. Mrs. Edith\nYorke, Carl\u2019s wife, who is now abroad, was very fond of Miss Willis, and\nused to call her \u201cYour Highness.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! their intimacy was because Mr. Carl Yorke was a Catholic,\u201d interposed\nMrs. Clay rather abruptly.\n\nWhen Bird got talking of the Yorkes, she never knew when to stop; and the\nsubject was not pleasant to her listener. Mrs. Clay had tried to be\nintimate with the family, and had signally failed. Always kind and\ncourteous, there still seemed to be an invisible crystalline wall between\nthem and her.\n\n\u201cMarian\u2019s religion is her one fault. It may be possible that she and\nCousin Bently disagreed about that, though it would be hard to find out\nwhat he believes, or if he believes anything. He defends every religion\nyou attack, and attacks every religion you defend.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut do you think she would marry him?\u201d asked Bird incredulously; and her\nglance toward the window became depreciatory and critical, instead of\nawful.\n\nMr. Bently, as a learned man, was to be regarded with fear and admiration;\nbut as a bridegroom\u2014that was another thing.\n\n\u201cWhy, she is handsome and rich.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat if she is?\u201d asked the other tartly. \u201cIt only makes her more\nsuitable. But she is not rich, though she lives with a rich old uncle, who\nmay leave her something. She is in every way suited to Cousin Bently. He\nwould never marry an inferior woman.\u201d\n\nThis last assertion Mrs. Clay made very positively, for the reason that\nshe was mortally afraid it was not true. Her private opinion was that Mr.\nBently must have been very lonely in his bachelor lodgings before he came\nto visit her, and that he might easily be induced to marry even Bird,\nrather than live alone any longer.\n\nMeantime, the object of their conversation, having put the vociferous John\naway, and induced him to lie at his feet, instead of pervading his neck\nand face, sat gazing out through the window. He certainly was not an\neminently beautiful man, neither was he a pink of nicety in his dress,\nthough he abhorred untidiness in others, particularly in women. His form\nwas rather fine, but his features were too strong for grace, his hair was\ngrowing gray, and his teeth were discolored by his odious beloved tobacco.\nThere was something a little neglected in his appearance. Evidently he\nneeded some one with authority to remind him, when occasion demanded, that\nhis cravat was horribly awry, that he had forgotten to smooth his hair\ndown since the last time he combed it up with his ten fingers, and that,\nreally, that collar must come off. In fine, he needed an indulgent wife,\nwho would look out for him constantly, but with discretion, never\nintruding the cravat and collar question into his sublime moments.\n\nWas he conscious of something lacking in his life, that his expression was\nless the gravity of the man of thought than the sadness of the lonely man?\nSomething ailed him\u2014physical sickness, no doubt, for his face was flushed,\nand his eyes heavy\u2014but some trouble of the mind also. He looked across the\nlawn, that was bounded by a dense line of autumn\u2010colored trees, with a sky\nof brilliant clearness arching over. Betwixt sapphire and jasper the low\npurple dome of a mountain pushed up, making a background for a shining\ncross that might be suspended in air for any support visible to him who\ngazed on it. But he had seen that cross before, and his mind, leaping over\nthe few intervening miles, followed down from its sunlighted tip and\ntouched a slim gray tower and a vine\u2010covered church, and, looking through\nthe gay rose\u2010window over the chancel, saw a tiny lambent flame floating in\nand fed by sacred oil of olives. Mentally he stood before the church door,\nsaw the grove of beeches that hid it from the road, saw through those\nheavy boughs the green slope of a lawn near by and the mansion that\ncrowned its summit. But in one respect the eyes of the seer were less true\nto the present than to the past, for they beheld roses, instead of autumn\ncolors, wreathing pillar, porch, and balcony.\n\nIn this house Marian Willis lived. He sat and recollected all his\nintercourse with her, from the first pleasant dawn of friendly regard and\nsympathy, growing up to something brighter and closer, yet scarcely\ndefined, to its sudden extinguishment. His acquaintance with her had been\nlike a day that breaks in silent and cloudless light, and is shut in by a\ncold and smothering fog before its noon. What had been expressed to her of\nall that sweetness he found in her society? What to him of the pleasure\nshe seemed to feel in his? Nothing that had other utterance than silent\nlooks and actions. What had separated them? A mist, a fog, an impalpable\nyet irresistible power. Some tiny wedge had been inserted that gave a\nchance for pride to rush in and thrust their lives apart. There had been a\nslight reserve that grew to coldness and thence to alienation. Who does\nnot know how those many littles make a mickle? Possibly a certain gallant\nofficer, just home from the wars, with his arm in a sling, and a sabre\u2010\nscar across his temple, had had something to do with the trouble.\nCertainly the last mental picture Mr. Bently had carried away from his\nlast visit at Mr. Willis\u2019 was of this same officer walking in the garden\nwith Marian Willis leaning on his sound arm, and listening to the tale of\nhis adventures as women always do and always will listen to soldiers who\nbring their wounds to illustrate their stories.\n\nOn that occasion, Mr. Bently had returned to his cousin\u2019s house and\nbehaved in what he considered a very reasonable manner. He locked himself\ninto his chamber, let in all the light possible, placed himself before the\nmirror, and critically examined the reflection he saw there. There was no\nglorious sabre\u2010wound across his temple, showing where he had once wrestled\nwith death, and come off conqueror; but, instead, there were long, faint,\nhorizontal lines beginning to show on his forehead\u2014mementoes of the silent\ncombat with time, and of anxious quest in search of hidden truth. There\nwere no crisp, fair curls shining over his head; the brown hair was\nstraight and short, and here and there a white hair rewarded the search\nfor it. The soldier\u2019s large violet eyes flashed like jewels; but these\neyes in the mirror were no brighter than wintry skies, a calm, steady blue\nthat a planet might look through, perhaps, but that were not used to\nlightning. The soldier was clad in a trim uniform that set off well a form\nof manly grace, the stripe that glimmered down the leg, the band, like a\nlady\u2019s bracelet, that bound the sleeve, the golden eagle outspread on\neither shoulder, all helping to make a gallant picture; the raiment\nreflected with pitiless fidelity by the mirror before him was decidedly\nneutral. No one could call it picturesque nor even elegant of its kind. It\nwas simply calculated to escape censure.\n\nHaving made a full survey and, as he thought, a fair comparison, this\nself\u2010elected judge then pronounced sentence on the person whose reflection\nhe gazed at.\n\n\u201cYou are a fool!\u201d he said, with a conviction too deep for bitterness.\n\u201cWhat is there in you that a fair and charming woman could prefer? Bah!\nShe prizes you as she does those vellum Platos and Homers that she admires\nbecause others do, but cannot read a word of. When she sinks into her arm\u2010\nchair for that hour of rest before dressing for dinner, does she take with\nher a book of Greek or of logic? No; she reads the poet or the novelist.\nYou have nothing to do with her more intimate life.\u201d\n\nThus had the scholar decided, gazing at his own reflection in the mirror,\nseeing there only the shell of the man, and that not at its best, at its\nworst rather. The kindling of intelligence, the scintillating of sharp\nintellectual pursuit, the soft radiance which dawning love gave him when\nhe was shone upon by the beloved object\u2014those he saw not. He saw only a\nfool.\n\nSo far, so good. But he had not finished the work. A fool may be\nmiserable, may be ruined by his folly, even while owning it. He must not\nonly prove the vanity of hoping, but the vanity of loving. He must remove\nthe halo from his idol\u2019s brow, not rudely, but with all the coolness and\ngentleness of reason. What, after all, were beauty and grace, a sweet\nvoice and smile, and gracious speaking? He set himself to analyze them,\nphysiologically, chemically, and morally.\n\nSo the botanist analyzes a flower, and when he has destroyed its ravishing\nperfume, and that exquisite combination which constituted its\nindividuality\u2014a combination man can separate, but which only God can\nform\u2014he points to the fragments, and says, \u201cThat is a rose!\u201d\n\nBut suppose that, even while he speaks, those withering atoms should stir\nand brighten, the anthers should gather again their golden pollen, and\nhang themselves once more on each slender filament, the petals blush anew,\nand rustle into fragrant crowding circles, and a most rosy rose should\nrise triumphantly before him!\n\nSome such experience had Mr. Bently when he had finished his work of\ndemolition. Turning coldly away from the ruins of what had been so fair,\nhe walked to the window to take breath, and saw there before him the\nliving woman complete, her soul welding with immortal fire every\ncharacteristic and mood into a being irresistibly lovely, baffling,\nand\u2014disdainful. She stood in the garden where Mrs. Clay had purposely\ndetained her beneath his window, and she stood there unwillingly. Only a\nsocial necessity had brought her to the house, and she had determined that\nshe would not, if it could be helped, meet that gentleman who, from being\na daily visitor of her own, had suffered three days to pass during which\nhe had once or twice talked with her uncle over the gate, but had never\napproached her.\n\nSince that hour when, looking from his window, he had seen her sail past\nwithout raising her eyes, Mr. Bently had been haunted at times by two\nantagonistic visions\u2014the rose dissected, which he viewed with\nindifference, succeeded by the rose full\u2010blown, triumphant in unassailable\nsweetness.\n\nHe thought it all over now as he sat looking out of Mrs. Clay\u2019s eastern\nbay\u2010window. And having thought it over once, it began to go through his\nmind again, and still again. The various scenes passed, one by one,\nslowly, like persons in a procession, and he gazed at them from first to\nlast; and there was the first again! He had had enough of it, but it would\nnot stop. His head was aching, and feeling somewhat light besides. He\npressed his forehead with his hands, and tried to think of something else,\neven if it were no more pleasant subject than the cold he must have taken\nto make him so sore from head to foot. But still that procession moved\nwith accelerating speed. He spoke to John, tired and annoyed himself a\nlittle with the creature\u2019s antics, then leaned back in his chair, and let\nhis brain whirl.\n\nCertainly he was ill; but nothing else was certain. Whether to go or stay,\nto speak or remain silent, he could scarcely decide. When dinner was\nannounced, instinct kept him conventional. He ate nothing, but he went\nthrough all the proper forms, with no more abstraction than might be\nattributed to his intellectual oddities. But dinner, with its inanities,\nover, he made haste to escape to his own room.\n\n\u201cGoing out for a walk, cousin?\u201d asked Mrs. Clay, as he passed her.\n\nHow the trivial question irritated him! He bowed, afraid to utter a word,\nlest it should be an offensive one. His nerves felt bare, his teeth on\nedge.\n\nMiss Bird looked more deeply than her friend had, and in the one timid\nglance she gave the gentleman saw a painful trouble underneath his cool\nexterior.\n\n\u201cI hope he didn\u2019t hear what we were saying of him before dinner,\u201d she\nremarked apprehensively.\n\n\u201cNo, indeed!\u201d was the confident response. \u201cHe scarcely hears what you say\nto him, still less what is said of him.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut he looked displeased,\u201d persisted the anxious Bird.\n\nMrs. Clay cast a sarcastic glance on her subordinate. \u201cMy dear,\u201d she said\nwith decision, \u201cthe less you occupy yourself with my cousin\u2019s feelings,\nthe better for you. Your solicitude will be quite thrown away.\u201d\n\nBird sighed faintly, and resigned herself to being snubbed.\n\nMr. Bently walked up\u2010stairs slowly, dreading to be alone, and shut himself\ninto his room; and, when there, desolation settled upon him. It is not\npleasant to be sick in one\u2019s own home, with loving and solicitous friends\nsurrounding one with their cares, and taking every task from the weak\nhands; it is still less pleasant when, though friends are near, they are\npowerless to lift the burden which only those helpless hands can carry;\nbut how far more miserable, how far more cruel than any other desolation\non earth, is it when sickness falls upon one who must work, and the sick\none is not only oppressed by the burden of duties unperformed, but is\nhimself a burden, coldly and grudgingly tended, or tended not at all? Mr.\nBently knew well the extent of his cousin\u2019s friendship, and the worth of\nher Chinese compliments, and he would far rather have fallen in the\nstreet, and been left to the tender mercies of strangers, than fall ill in\nher house.\n\nMorning came, and it was breakfast\u2010time, by no means an early hour. Mrs.\nClay had put off the meal half an hour on her cousin\u2019s account. \u201cHe has at\nleast one polite habit\u2014he does not rise early,\u201d she said. \u201cBut then he is\nas regular as a clock in his late hour.\u201d\n\nHe was not prompt this morning, however, for they waited ten minutes after\nbreakfast was on the table, and rang a second bell, and still their\nvisitor did not appear.\n\nMiss Bird suggested that he had looked unwell the evening before, and\nmight be unable to come down.\n\n\u201cReally, how thoughtful you are!\u201d Mrs. Clay said with cutting emphasis. \u201cI\nhad quite forgotten. Perhaps, my son, you will go up and see if Miss Bird\nis right.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy son\u201d objected to being made a messenger of. \u201cIf the old fellar wanted\nto sleep, let him sleep. Don\u2019t you say so, Clem?\u201d\n\nClementina always agreed with her brother; the two prevailed, and the \u201cold\nfellar\u201d was left to sleep, or toss and moan, or be consumed with fever and\nthirst, or otherwise entertain himself as he or fate should choose, while\nthe family breakfasted at their leisure.\n\nIt is scarcely worth while to put Clementina and Arthur Clay in print.\nThey are insignificant and, in a small way, disagreeable objects, and\ntheir like is often met with to the annoyance of many. The mental\nignorance and lack of capacity which we lose sight of when they are\novermantled by the loveliness of good\u2010will, in such as these become\ncontemptible by being placed on pedestals of presumption and ill\u2010nature,\nand hateful when they are set as obstacles and stumbling\u2010blocks in the way\nof souls who would fain walk and look upward.\n\nBreakfast over, and no Mr. Bently appearing, Mrs. Clay felt called on to\nmake inquiries, and, accordingly, dispatched a servant to her cousin\u2019s\ndoor, while she herself listened at the foot of the stairs. She heard a\nknock, but no reply, then a second knock, followed by the servant\u2019s voice,\nas if in answer to some one within.\n\n\u201cPaper under the door, sir? Yes, sir!\u201d\n\nShe was half way up the stairs by this time, and snatched the slip of\npaper which the man had found pushed out under Mr. Bently\u2019s door. \u201cWhat in\nthe world can be the matter? Where are my eye\u2010glasses? Cousin Bently is\nsuch a frightful writer that, really\u2014\u201d\n\nWhile the lady is adjusting her glasses, and her children and companion\nare gathering about her, we will read this document, for there will be no\ntime afterward. It is short, and is strongly scented with camphor.\n\n\u201cI am ill, and, it is possible, may have small\u2010pox. It has been where I\nwas a fortnight ago. Keep away from me, and send for a doctor.\u201d\n\nConfusion ensued. Screams resounded from the parlor; orders and counter\u2010\norders were given, only one fixed idea penetrating that chaos\u2014to get away\nfrom the house as quickly as possible. Carriages were got out, silver and\nvaluables piled into them by Bird, who alone would go upstairs, and who\nwas made to do everything, and in less than half an hour the whole family\nstarted for the city. The servants, all but the gardener, had already\nfled.\n\n\u201cBut who is to take care of Mr. Bently?\u201d Bird asked, pausing at the\ncarriage door.\n\n\u201cI shall give the gardener orders to get a doctor and nurse,\u201d Mrs. Clay\nsaid impatiently, fuming with selfish terror.\n\n\u201cBut I\u2019m not afraid,\u201d Bird hesitated. \u201cI\u2019ve been vaccinated. And it\u2019s hard\nto leave him alone.\u201d\n\n\u201cNonsense!\u201d cried the lady. \u201cI shall allow nothing of the sort. It is not\nnecessary, and, besides, it is not proper. Do get in, if you are going to\ntown. It really seems to me, Miss Bird, that you are altogether too much\ninterested in Mr. Bently.\u201d\n\nThen, at last, Bird perceived what was in the speaker\u2019s mind, and, as most\nwomen would in such circumstances, laid down her better impulses at the\nfeet of meanness. Crushed and ashamed, and, at the same time, weakly and\ndespairingly angry, she took her place in the carriage, and listened in\nsilence to the lamentations and complaints of her companions.\n\n\u201cHow could Cousin Bently do such a thing? How could he come to me when he\nknew he had been so exposed?\u201d\n\nThat Mr. Bently had only learned from the paper of the evening before to\nwhat he had been exposed, and had only thought during the night what might\nbe the meaning of his illness, the lady did not inquire into.\n\nAt the garden gate stood James, the gardener. Mrs. Clay stopped long\nenough to give him hurried directions to get a doctor and nurse, and do\nall that was necessary for the invalid, then ordered the coachman to drive\non.\n\n\u201cI hope John isn\u2019t with us,\u201d one of the young ones said presently. \u201cHe was\nround Cousin Bently all day yesterday.\u201d\n\nNo; Bird, recollecting that fact also, had shut John into one of the\nchambers, and left him there. She ventured to hope that he would not be\nleft to starve, but no one responded to her merciful wish.\n\nThe cause of all this terror and confusion had seen the departure of the\nfamily without being surprised at it. He had not undressed, but had lain\non a sofa all night, and, when morning came, had written the warning which\nproved so effectual, and then sank into an arm\u2010chair near the window,\nlonging for air. He expected the family to keep away from him, and was\nneither sorry nor indignant that they had removed themselves still\nfurther. Of course a doctor would be sent, and of course there was some\none to take care of him. He sat and waited for that some one to enter.\nPerhaps it was James. He saw the gardener shut and fasten the gate after\nthe carriage went out, and he heard the locking of the stable door. He\nwaited, but no one came. Well, the house must be attended to first, and he\nwould be patient, though thirst, and alternate fever and chills, and\nracking pains were tormenting him. He was annoyed, too, by John\u2019s efforts\nto escape from the next room, and would have gone to release the creature\nbut for the fear of spreading contagion.\n\nA distant door opened and shut; he heard a distant heavy step, and thanked\nGod that relief and companionship were at hand. But the sounds ceased, and\nno one came near him. He saw James, the gardener, laden with packages,\nhurry down the avenue, and disappear into the public road, and a thrill of\nfear shot through him. The scene outside swam before his eyes, and grew\ndark for a moment. Could it be that they had all gone away, and left him\nto die alone? No; he could not believe it! James had perhaps gone to bring\nthe doctor. He would wait patiently, since wait he must.\n\nAn hour passed, and no one came. There was no sound in the house but that\noccasional whining and barking from the next room; no sound outside except\nwhen a carriage rolled swiftly by in the road. He saw no person coming. It\nwas impossible to endure that thirst any longer. He went into the\nbathroom, and wet his hands and face, and drank of the tepid water there.\nHis head reeled at sight of the stairs, and he did not dare to attempt to\ndescend. Returning to his chamber, he fell on to the sofa, and, for the\nfirst time in his life, fainted; coming back to life again as though\nemerging from outer darkness, but not into light\u2014into a sickening half\u2010\nlight, rather. So hours passed, and he knew without a doubt that he was\nutterly deserted, and that a lonely and terrible death threatened him.\nCould he do nothing to avert it? He recollected that Mrs. Clay had a\nmedicine closet in the bathroom. Possibly, if he could reach it, something\nmight be found there to relieve, if not to cure, him. What mountains\nmolehills can change into sometimes! This man, so strong and full of life\nbut a day before, now lay and gave his whole mind to planning how he\nshould save himself a few steps in going to the bathroom again, how he\ncould avoid the stairs, lest he should fall, and whether he could this\ntime cross the corridor to release that troublesome, whining dog.\nWhenever, weary and confused, he lost himself a moment in a half sleep,\nthat whining and scratching assumed terrible proportions in his\nimagination, and became the fierce efforts of wild beasts to reach him. He\nstarted up now and then, with wide\u2010open eyes, to assure himself that he\nwas not in a menagerie; to fix in his mind the picture of that airy\nchamber, with its clear tints of green and amber, its open windows showing\nthe long veranda outside, and the bright perspective of foliage and sky.\n\nBut when his eyelids drooped again, and he sank back into half sleep and\nhalf fainting, back came the painful phantoms to torment him till they\nwere once more chased away for a time.\n\nToward evening he roused himself to make that difficult pilgrimage of\nfifty paces in search of healing and refreshment, bathed eagerly his face\nand head, and found his cousin\u2019s medicine closet. But when he had reached\nthat, his strength was nearly exhausted. He had only enough left to take\ndown the laudanum bottle, and get back to his room with it. Laudanum might\ndull this pain, and quiet the excited nerves. Once more John must wait. He\ncould not stop to release him.\n\nThe room in which the dog was confined had a window on the balcony that\nran past Mr. Bently\u2019s room. That window was open, but the blind was shut,\nand John, despairing of escape through the door, had turned all his\nefforts toward unfastening this blind, and had several times been near\nsuccess, when the spring, flying back, had defeated him.\n\nThe invalid\u2019s bath of cold water had refreshed him somewhat. He hated to\ntake the laudanum. He had never been an intemperate man, and had always\nshrunk from swallowing anything which could in the least degree isolate\nhis mind from the control of his will. He would bear the pain a little\nlonger.\n\nHe lay there and thought, and visions of happy homes rose up before him.\nAt this hour of early twilight, the lamps were being lighted, or people\nsat by firelight, and children, grown languid and sleepy with the long\nday\u2019s play, leaned silent on their mothers\u2019 laps. At this hour, men of\nthought, intellectual workers, laid aside the weightier labors of their\nprofession to indulge in an exhilarating contention of wits, so much\nhappier than other workers, in that their recreations do not retard, but\nrather accelerate their work. It is but dancing at evening with\nTerpsichore, or pacing with Calliope along the margin of the same road\nwhich he had travelled by day in a dusty chariot, or walked encumbered by\nhis armor. In their lighter intellectual contests, what sparks were\nsometimes struck out to live beyond the moment that gave them birth! What\nrandom beams of light shot now and then into seeming nothingness, and\nrevealed an unsuspected treasure!\n\nAll these scenes of social comfort and delight rose before the sufferer\u2019s\nmind with tantalizing distinctness, fairer and fuller in the vision than\nhe had ever known the reality to be. He felt like a houseless wanderer\nwho, freezing and starving in the street, sees through lighted windows the\nwarmth and joy of the home circle.\n\nMr. Bently was not a pious man. He had a deep sentiment of reverence, and\na firm belief that somewhere there is an inflexible truth that deserves an\nobedience absolute and unquestioning. But controversy had spoiled him for\nreligious feeling, which is, perhaps, too delicate for rough handling, and\nin the clash of warring creeds some freshness and spontaneity had been\nlost to his convictions. Reaching truth, winning battles for truth, he had\nbeen like a traveller at the end of a long journey, when he scarcely cares\nin his weariness for the goal attained, but must needs eat and sleep. He\nhad spent too much time and strength in wiping away the mire flung on the\ngarments of religion to be any longer quick in enthusiastic homage. \u201cPity\n\u2019tis, \u2019tis true.\u201d The butterfly you would save from the net loses the down\nfrom its wings with your most careful handling; the friend you defend from\ncalumny you dethrone even while defending. The feeling that dictated that\nbrutal egotism, \u201cC\u00e6sar\u2019s wife must not be suspected,\u201d dwells in a less\narrogant form in most human hearts, and rare indeed is that soul which\nsets its love as high, after even the most triumphantly refuted\naccusation, as it was before.\n\nDesertion and imminent death chilled this man\u2019s heart, and he had no mind\nto turn to God, save in a cold recognition of his power and wisdom. Love\nentered not into his thoughts, but despair did.\n\nThe pain increased, the dizziness came back. He stretched his hand for the\nglass and vial of laudanum, and tried with a shaking hand to pour out what\nhe could guess to be an ordinary potion. There was no reason why he should\nsuspect that that bottle might have been standing in the house so long as\nto have made even the smallest dose of its contents deadly. As he\nmeasured, and tried to recollect how much he should take, pouring out\nunknowingly what would have been for him Lethe indeed, a louder rattle and\nbang at the blind of the next room proclaimed the success of the four\u2010\nfooted prisoner. There was a scampering on the veranda, a dog\u2019s head,\neager and bright\u2010eyed, was thrust in at the window of the sick\u2010room, then,\nwith an almost human cry of joy, John flew at its occupant.\n\nAway went bottle and glass, breaking and spilling\u2014no laudanum for Mr.\nBently that day. Down went Mr. Bently among the sofa pillows, prostrated\nby the unexpected onset; and love, and delight, and absolute devotion, in\nthe form of an uproarious Skye terrier unconscious and uncaring for risks,\nnestled in the breast of the deserted man, were all over his face and\nneck, and through his hair, and speaking as plainly as though human speech\nhad been their interpreters.\n\nWhen the man comprehended, recovering from his first confusion, reason and\nendurance stood aside and veiled their faces, and a greater than they took\ntheir place.\n\nThrough a gush of tears which were but the spray of a subsiding wave of\nbitterness, this soul raised its eyes, and beheld a new light. It lost\nsight of the Almighty in a vision of the Heavenly Father.\n\nThe flight that followed was painful, but not unsoothed. The dog,\nperceiving at once that his friend was ill, became quiet. He lay with head\npressed close to the restless arm, and, if the sick man moaned, he\nanswered with a pitying whine. Once he left the room, and wandered through\nthe whole house in search of help, whined and scratched at every closed\ndoor, and, finding no one, came back with an air of distress and\nperplexity. Later, when Mr. Bently seemed very ill, John ran out onto the\nbalcony, and barked loudly, as if calling for relief.\n\nMorning came again, and the sick man\u2019s pain gave place to a deathlike\nfaintness, resulting from lack of nourishment. For thirty\u2010six hours\nnothing had passed his lips but water, and that no longer ran from the\nfaucet when he tried it. He crept down\u2010stairs, stair by stair, holding by\nthe balusters, like a little child. There was no water to be seen in the\ndining\u2010room, and he did not know where to find any. He reached the parlor,\nlay down on the floor, and prayed for death or for life\u2014anything to put an\nend to that nightmare of misery. It seemed that death was coming. His\nhands and feet grew cold with an unnatural chill, and, though the morning\nsunshine poured through the windows, all looked dim to his eyes. His\nsenses seemed to be slowly receding, without pain, without any power or\nwish on his part to recall them. He lay and waited for death.\n\nAnd while he waited, as one hears sounds in a dream he heard a door open\nand shut, then a quick, light step that ran up\u2010stairs. John, standing over\nhis friend, left him, and rushed to the parlor door, barking wildly, but\nwas unable to get out, the door having swung to. In vain he tried it with\nhis paws, and thrust his small nose into the crack. It was too heavy for\nhim to move.\n\nSuddenly, while Mr. Bently gazed with languid, half unconscious eyes at\nthe creature, the door was pushed wide open, and a woman stood on the\nthreshold. She was neither young nor old, but simply at the age of\nperfection, which is a variable age, according to the person. Her face was\na full oval, but white now as hoar\u2010frost. All its life seemed to centre in\nthe large hazel eyes that were piercing with a terrified search. She wore\nher fair hair like a crown, piled high above the forehead in glossy coils\nlike sculptured amber. Over one temple a black and gold moth was poised,\nas though it had just alighted there, its wings widespread. The long black\nfolds of a velvet robe fell about her superb form, sweeping far back from\nher swift but suddenly arrested step. Scintillating fringes of gold\nquivered against the large white arms, edged the short Greek jacket, and\nran in a single flash down either side of the train. A diamond cross lay\nlike a sunbeam on her bosom, a single diamond twinkled in each small ear.\n\nThere was but an instant\u2019s pause, then she crossed the room quickly, and\nknelt by him.\n\n\u201cMy God! my God!\u201d she murmured, and lifted his head on her arm. \u201cWhat\nfiendish cruelty!\u201d\n\nHer touch and voice recalled him to himself. He tried to put her away.\n\u201cLeave me, Marian, I beg of you! Do not endanger yourself for me!\u201d\n\nBut even while bidding her go, every nerve in him grew alive with the\njoyous conviction that he would not be obeyed, and that, danger or no\ndanger, she would not desert him. Here were strength, help, and the power\nto command. She brought the world with her, this queenly woman, who had\nnot even snatched the gloves from her hands since last night\u2019s ball, but\nhad hurried to seek news of him, after the first confused rumor, to call\ndoctor and nurse, to rush to him herself with all the speed her panting\nhorses could make.\n\n\u201cLeave you? Never!\u201d\n\nHe asked no questions, but resigned himself. How delightful the sickness,\nhow sweet the pain, that led to this! How thrice blessed the desertion\nthat gave her to him!\n\nIn half an hour, the doctor had come and given his decision. Mr. Bently\u2019s\nillness was merely a violent cold with fever, and a few days of careful\nnursing would make all right. In another half hour, he was established in\na pleasant chamber in Mr. Willis\u2019 house, with a nurse in close attendance,\nthe whole family anxiously ministrant, John an immovable fixture in the\nsick\u2010room; and, later, Mrs. Marcia Clay besieging the house for news of\npoor dear Cousin Bently, and protesting and explaining to the very coldest\nof listeners, declaring that nothing but her duty to her family, etc.; and\nwhat was the meaning of that broken bottle and glass, and ineradicable\nlaudanum stain on the carpet in her house? Was it possible that Cousin\nBently had thought of taking any of that terrible stuff that she meant to\nhave thrown away ages before? And would they bring down John? Arthur had\nasked for him.\n\nSome one went to Mr. Bently\u2019s room for John, but came back without him.\nThe invalid was reported to have flown into something like a passion on\nlearning the messenger\u2019s errand, and to have held the dog firmly in his\narms.\n\nJohn was his! No one else should have him. Whatever crime it might be\ncalled to refuse to give him up\u2014stealing, embezzling, false\nimprisonment\u2014he was ready to be accused and convicted of it, and would go\nto jail for it with the dog in his arms.\n\nMrs. Clay was enchanted to be able to oblige her cousin in such a trifle,\nand would he speak freely when he wanted anything? and then went home and\ntold all her family in confidence that Mr. Bently was a raving maniac.\n\nReader, according to our promises at the beginning of this history, we\nshould stop here. The scene has changed, the time already exceeds twenty\u2010\nfour hours, and only the characters remain the same. But we have not done.\nThere is something more which we are pining to tell. Shall we stop, then,\nand perish in silence, rather than transgress rules made by a people \u201cdead\nand done with this many a year,\u201d whose whole country, with themselves on\nit, could have been thrown into one of our inland seas without making it\nspill over? No! Perish the unities!\n\n_Scene II._\u2014Large parlor, rosy\u2010tinted all through with reflections from\nsunset, from firelight, and from red draperies. After\u2010dinner silence\npervading, open folding\u2010doors giving a view through a suite of rooms, in\nthe furthest of which an old gentleman sleeps in his arm\u2010chair. Or,\nperhaps, it is a picture of a library, with an old gentleman asleep in it.\nThe stillness is perfect enough for that. Mr. Bently, convalescent, first\ndinner down\u2010stairs since his illness, stands near a window looking out,\nbut watchful of the inside of the parlor, and of a lady who sits at an\nembroidery\u2010frame near the same window. The lady is superficially dignified\nand tranquil, but there is an unusual color in the cheeks, and a slight\nunsteadiness in the fingers, which tell her secret conviction that\nsomething is going to happen. This is the first time the two have met\nsince Miss Willis found the deserted man lying half senseless on Mrs.\nClay\u2019s parlor floor.\n\nHe is thinking of that time now, and that an acknowledgment is due, and\nwondering how it is to be made, half a mind to be angry, rather than\ngrateful, for the service. Such is man. All the bitterness of his lonely\nlife rises up before him. Gray hairs are on his head, lines of age mark\nhis face, but his heart protests against being set aside as too old for\nanything but dry speculation and love of abstract truth.\n\n\u201cI have been seeking for some proper terms in which to express to you my\ngrateful sense of your humanity in coming to me when I was left sick and\nalone, but I cannot find them,\u201d he said at length, facing her.\n\n\u201cThere is no need to say anything about it,\u201d she replied quietly, setting\na careful silken stitch. \u201cI could not have done otherwise.\u201d\n\nHaving begun, the gentleman could not stop, or would not.\n\n\u201cI am sure you meant well, but did you do well?\u201d he went on. \u201cCould you\nnot have been content to send the doctor, without coming yourself? Did you\nreflect that you were apparently incurring peril, and that for a man who\nhad a heart as well as a head, and, worse yet, for a man whose heart had\nfor years striven vainly to forget you? You have deprived me of the shield\nand support of even attempted indifference. I can no longer try to forget\nyou, or think of you coldly, without the basest ingratitude.\u201d\n\nWill the reader pardon Mr. Bently for expressing himself so grammatically?\nIt was through the force of a long habit, which even passion could not\nbreak. It is true that, according to Gerald Griffin, Juno herself, when\nangry, spoke bad Latin; but then, Juno was a woman.\n\n_Allons, donc._ We are ourselves interested in this conversation, and are\npleased to observe that, though the speaker\u2019s moods and tenses are not\nflagrant, his eyes and cheeks are.\n\nThe lady glanced up swiftly with that smile, half shy, half mirthful, with\nwhich a woman who knows her power, and means to use it kindly, receives\nthe acknowledgment of it.\n\n\u201cWhy should you think coldly of me, or forget me?\u201d she asked.\n\nMr. Bently met her glance with stern eyes. \u201cDoes a man willingly submit to\nslavery?\u201d he demanded. He had not suspected Marian Willis of coquetry.\n\nShe looked down at her work again, the smile fading, but the mouth still\nsweet, slowly threaded her needle with a rose\u2010pink floss, and said as\nslowly, \u201cI do not wish you to forget me.\u201d\n\nOne who has seen the sun strike through a heavy fog, stop a moment, then\nfling it asunder, all in silence, without breath of breeze, but making a\nbright day of a dark one, knows how Mr. Bently\u2019s clouded face cleared at\nthose words, and the look of her who spoke them.\n\nNo more was said then. Enough is as good as a feast, and both tasted in\nthat moment the full sweetness of a happiness the more perfect because\napparently incomplete.\n\nOn one point our mind is made up\u2014this story shall not end with a marriage.\nA marriage there was, at seven o\u2019clock one spring morning, in the little\nsuburban church, with only three visible witnesses; and the marriage feast\nwas\u2014be it said with all reverence and adoration\u2014manna from heaven, the\nBread of Angels!\n\nMrs. Clay was, of course, shocked at this affair. Where was the\n_trousseau_, where the fuss, the presents that might have been, the\nrehearsal at a fashionable church, the organ music, the crowd of dear\ncriticising friends, the reception, cake and wine, journey, what not\u2014all\nthe parade, weariness, and extravagance which have so often changed a\nsacrament into a ceremony? Where, indeed? They had no existence outside of\nthe lady\u2019s disappointed wishes.\n\nShe did not even see what she called this \u201cpositively shabby affair,\u201d and\nwe will not dwell on it. Turn we to the final scene.\n\nDoes the reader object that John bears too small a part in the story named\nfor him? On the contrary, the whole story is because of John. You have,\nperhaps, seen a painting of the procession at the coronation of George\nIV., pages and pages of magnificent persons, names, and costumes, the\nbrilliant pageant of the long\u2010extended _queue_, all because of one person\nin it. The figure is rather large, apparently, for use in this place, but\nonly apparently; for John\u2019s record is better than any king\u2019s, in that it\nis unstained.\n\nA year has passed. In the midst of a fair area of gardens and trees stands\na pleasant house. Only a window or two are open, for the spring is not yet\nfar advanced. Underneath a large old pine, tree not far from the porch, a\nhole has been dug, and at one side of it stands Mr. Bently, spade in hand,\nand at the other his wife. This little pit is lined with green boughs, and\nthe lady stoops and carefully and soberly adds one more. On the heap of\nearth thrown up rests a box.\n\nThis much is visible to a young man who comes strolling up the path from\nthe gate. He pauses, and looks on in astonishment. He recollects of having\nheard somewhere that Cousin Bently\u2019s dog John was accidentally shot, and\nthat Mrs. Bently cried about it. Can it be possible that they are making a\nfuneral over John? That would be too funny.\n\nMr. Bently stooped, took the box in his arms, and placed it carefully down\namong the green boughs. Standing upright then, he wiped his eyes, and\nmuttered a trembling, \u201cPoor fellow!\u201d\n\n\u201cGood\u2010morning!\u201d said a brisk voice at his elbow. \u201cI\u2019m sorry Johnnie met\nwith a mishap. Are you burying him here?\u201d\n\nThe vapid, mean, supercilious face gave them both such a shock that they\nreddened and frowned. No one could have been less welcome at that moment\nthan Arthur Clay.\n\nMrs. Bently answered his question with a brief, \u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! well, there are dogs enough in the world,\u201d said the young man,\nmeaning to be consoling.\n\n\u201cThere are puppies enough!\u201d muttered Mr. Bently, and began shovelling the\nearth savagely into the grave.\n\n\u201cPlease go into the house, and wait for us, Arthur,\u201d the lady said, with\npolite decision. She had no mind to have this last touching rite spoiled\nby such an intrusion.\n\nBut young Mr. Clay was in an obliging mood. \u201cThank you; I\u2019d just as lief\nstay, and rather. I never attended a canine funeral before.\u201d\n\nThere was a momentary silence, then Mrs. Bently spoke again, with still\nmore decision and far less suavity: \u201cOn the whole, you must excuse us from\nseeing you any longer this morning. If you had gone to the door, the\nservant would have told you that we do not receive any one to\u2010day.\u201d\n\nThe young man gave an angry laugh. \u201cOh! certainly! I wouldn\u2019t for the\nworld intrude on your sorrow. Good\u2010morning! It\u2019s a pity, though, that dogs\nare not immortal, isn\u2019t it? You might have John canonized.\u201d\n\nMr. Bently flashed his eyes round at the speaker. \u201cWhat!\u201d he thundered,\n\u201c_you_ immortal, and _my_ DOG NOT!\u201d\n\nIf they had been two Parrott guns, instead of two eyes and a mouth, Mr.\nArthur Clay could not have retreated more precipitantly.\n\nThe grave was filled in and covered over with boughs, two sighs were\nbreathed over it, then the couple walked, arm in arm, slowly toward the\nhouse.\n\n\u201cHe was a perfect creature!\u201d Mr. Bently said, after a silence.\n\n\u201cYes!\u201d assented the wife. \u201cOnly he would bounce at one so.\u201d\n\n\u201cMarian,\u201d said her husband solemnly, \u201cif it hadn\u2019t been for John\u2019s habit\nof bouncing at his friends, you would have had no husband.\u201d\n\nIt was well meant, but unfortunately worded. The lady pouted, being by no\nmeans an ideal, perfect, pattern woman, but only a natural and charming\none, with varying moods and whims playing, spraylike, over the deeps of\nprinciple and religion. \u201cDon\u2019t be too sure of that!\u201d she made answer to\nhim.\n\nMr. Bently never bristled with virtues when his wife made such remarks. He\nsmiled now, full of kindness. \u201cI meant to say that I should have had no\nwife,\u201d he corrected himself.\n\nAt that, the pout, which was only a rebellious muscle, not a rebellious\nheart, disappeared. \u201cIt means the same thing, you most patient of men!\u201d\nexclaimed his wife fervently.\n\nThey reached the porch, and stood there a moment, looking back to the\nmound under the pine\u2010tree.\n\n\u201cIt is a comfort to think,\u201d said the wife, \u201cthat for one year of his life\nwe made him such a happy dog.\u201d\n\nThen they went in, and the door closed behind them.\n\n\n\n\nThe International Congress Of Prehistoric Anthropology And Archaeology.\n\n\nFrom La Revue Generale De Bruxelles.\n\nThe International Congress of Prehistoric Anthropology and Arch\u00e6ology held\nits sixth meeting at Brussels, in 1872. The idea of this congress\noriginated in Italy. Some eminent Swiss, Italian, and French naturalists,\nassembled at Spezzia in 1865, resolved to hold the first session the\nfollowing year at Neufch\u00e2tel. This meeting, entirely confined to\nexplorations, created no sensation out of the scientific world, but it was\nagreed there should be another at the time of the International Exposition\nat Paris in 1867. The congress, thenceforth established, appointed a\ncommittee to organize the next meeting. More than four hundred savants\nresponded to the invitation. At Paris it was decided to meet again the\nnext year at Norwich, at the same time as the British Association for the\nAdvancement of Science. The programme of questions proposed for discussion\nat Norwich presents a striking similarity to that at Paris. The congress\nheld at Copenhagen in 1869 was distinguished by a more local and practical\ncharacter than the preceding. Finally, the Congress of Bologna, in 1871,\nenlarged still more the extent of its programme; according, however, the\nfirst place to objects that particularly interested Italy.\n\nThe programme of the Congress of Brussels was, so to speak, determined by\nM. E. Dupont\u2019s important discoveries in the caverns of the province of\nNamur, and the questions were drawn up from the Belgian point of view, in\norder to give our savants an opportunity of acquainting foreign scientific\nmen with the researches and facts relating particularly to our country.\nSimilar proceedings had taken place at Copenhagen and Bologna. But the\nprogramme of Brussels by no means excluded points of general interest.\nHere is the list of those proposed:\n\nI. What discoveries have been made in Belgium to attest the antiquity of\nprehistoric man?\n\nII. What were the manners and pursuits of the people who lived in the\ncaverns of Belgium? Did their manners and pursuits vary during the\nquaternary epoch? What analogy is there between their manners and\npursuits, and those of the troglodyte population in other parts of Western\nEurope and of the savages of the present day?\n\nIII. What were the pursuits of the people who inhabited the plains of\nHainault during the quaternary epoch? Can it be proved they held any\ncommunication with their contemporaries of the caverns of the provinces of\nLi\u00e9ge and Namur, or with the quaternary peoples of the valleys of the\nSomme and the Thames?\n\nIV. What characterized the age of polished stone in Belgium? What was its\nconnection with previous ages, and with the age of polished stone in\nWestern Europe?\n\nV. What were the anatomical and ethnical characteristics of man in Belgium\nduring the age of stone?\n\nVI. What characterized the age of bronze in Belgium?\n\nVII. What characterized the appearance of iron in Belgium?\n\nExcursions to the caverns of the valleys of the Lesse, the flint\u2010works of\nSpiennes and Mesvin, and the entrenched camp of Hastedon near Namur,\nformed a practical demonstration of the problems discussed at the meeting.\n\nMany illustrious co\u2010workers responded to the invitation of the Committee\nof Arrangements. England was represented by Messrs. Prestwich, Owen, the\ngreat pal\u00e6ontologist, Dawkins, Lubbock, Franks, the Director of the\nDepartment of Antiquities and Ethnography at the British Museum, etc.;\nFrance, by her most eminent anthropologists, arch\u00e6ologists, and\ngeologists, Messrs, Quatrefages, Broca, Belgrand, H\u00e9bert, De Mortillet and\nBertrand of the Mus\u00e9e de S. Germain, General Faid\u2019herbe, the Marquis de\nVibraye, Cartaillac, De Linas, Doctors Lagneau et Hamy, one President and\nthe other Secretary of the Society of Anthropology, Deshayes, Gaudry,\nGervais, the Abb\u00e9s Bourgeois and Delauny, one Superior and the other\nProfessor at the College of Pont\u2010Levoy, Oppert, the celebrated explorer of\nKhorsabat, and many others, among whom we must not omit the inevitable\nMlle. Clemence Royer, at least as a curiosity. The northern countries sent\nthe founders of prehistoric arch\u00e6ology in the North\u2014Messrs. Worsa\u0153,\nEngelhardt, De Wichfeld, Steenstrup, Waldemar\u2010Schmidt, from Denmark;\nMessrs. Hildebrand, Landberg, Lagerberg, Nillson, D\u2019Oliviecrona, from\nSweden; Italy was brilliantly represented by Messrs. Capellini, Fabretti,\nBiondelli, Count Conestabile, Gozzadini, etc.; Spain and Portugal by only\na few; Holland by several, among whom was M. Leemans, Director of the\nMuseum of Leyden; Austria by Count Wurmbrand; Germany by the Baron de\nDucker, Professors Fraas, of Stuttgart, Schafthausen, of Bonn, the\ncelebrated Virchow, of Berlin, Lindenschmidt, of Mayence; Switzerland by\nDesor, one of the founders of prehistoric arch\u00e6ology. Belgian science was\nrepresented in the committee by Messrs. d\u2019Omalius d\u2019Halloy, the venerable\nPresident of the congress, Van Beneden, De Witte, Dupont, with the \u00e9lite\nof our savants, attended by a constellation of arch\u00e6ologists _de\ncirconstance_ belonging to the various orders of the literary, artistic,\nand political world, and even the commercial; for philosophy does not\ndaunt M. Jourdain in these days. As for the rest, it was a spectacle of no\nslight interest to behold the extraordinary concourse of hearers that\nthronged the sessions at the ducal palace, attentively listening to\ndiscussions sometimes very abstract, and again participating in the\nexcursions of the learned assembly with a genuine interest apart from the\nmere pleasure of the excursions themselves. In proportion as man adds to\nhis knowledge of the globe he inhabits, instead of being satisfied, the\ngreater ardor and interest he manifests to know more. \u201cThe surface of both\nland and water explored in every sense of the word; mountains measured;\noceans sounded, and their secrets brought to light; inorganic substances\nand organized bodies analyzed and described; plants, animals, and the\nhuman races studied under every aspect; historical traditions investigated\nand revised; the dead languages brought into use, and the words derived\nfrom them traced back to their original roots\u2014all this is not enough.\nKnowing what he is, and with a thousand theories as to his destination,\nman wishes to pierce the mystery of his origin; he asks whence he came,\nand how he began the career so laboriously pursued, and into which he was\nthrust by a destiny of which he had no consciousness.\u201d(219) The truths\nthat we grasp in our day were perhaps only guessed at by the ancients.\nLucretius has drawn a very correct picture, for those days, of the\nwretched condition of the earlier races, their struggles with the\nelements, and even the primitive weapons of stone which they wrought\nbefore the age of bronze and iron. But this is only a poetical conception\nto which must be attached no more importance than it merits. The science\nof prehistoric ages then had no existence. This science, scarcely known\ntwenty years ago, has now quite a literature of its own, several reviews,\nand an annual International Congress (in future it will be biennial),\nsplendid museums in all our capitals, and a society whose labors have\ncontributed not a little to so prodigious a result\u2014the Society of\nAnthropology.\n\nSome persons are troubled at the discussion of grave and delicate\nquestions that seem to set revelation and science at variance. As for us,\nwho can never admit the possibility of a conflict between the Bible and\nnature\u2014those two divine revelations\u2014or that they ought ever to be\ncompletely separated, we deeply regret the complete absence of our clergy\nat these great sessions, while those of France and Italy were represented\nin a brilliant manner.\n\n\u201cI am well aware,\u201d says M. Chabas, in an able preface, \u201cthat the\nmaterialistic tendency of savants of very considerable attainments in\nanthropology and other branches of prehistoric research, withholds many\nmen whose concurrence would be of value to science from entering the arena\nwhere such points are discussed.\u201d But timid minds are becoming more\nreassured. Therefore, as the Abb\u00e9 Bourgeois happily remarked at the\nCongress of Paris, \u201cWe shall perhaps have to add to the antiquity of man,\nbut we ought also to detract from that of fossils.\u201d Besides, hitherto, in\nspite of so much research, man alone has been found intelligent and with a\nmoral sense of his acts; and in the animal kingdom there is not a single\nproof to confirm even remotely Lamarck\u2019s theory of transmutation revived\nby Darwin. When so many are appealing to science to the exclusion of God\nfrom the universe, it would be well for others to endeavor to make him\nmanifest by the aid of science.\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d exclaims Mgr. Meignan, in his brilliant work on _The World and\nPrimitive Man according to the Bible_, \u201cought the exegete to make no\naccount of the progress of human knowledge? Can the savant find neither\nprofit nor light in the wisdom of Holy Writ? We think otherwise. The\ntheologian who first studies nature will be better enabled to explain\ncertain passages of the Bible; and the naturalist and arch\u00e6ologist, in\ntheir turn, will find it advantageous to study the real meaning of\nGenesis.\u201d The human mind enters upon a course of examination more or less\nlegitimate in subjecting religion itself to the trial of controversy; it\nis almost a duty imposed on the conscience of all who are not vainly\nendowed with reason to enable themselves to give a reason for the belief\nthat is within them. \u201cThe task of the apologist,\u201d says the eminent prelate\njust quoted, \u201cis never at an end in our restless age.\u201d The disagreement\nthat some seem to apprehend only exists in superficial or sceptical minds.\n\nIf the Bible is not a scientific revelation, neither does it contradict\nscience, and especially in the bold outlines drawn by Moses. Science, as\nit progresses, sets up its landmarks, so to speak, beside the immutable\nbounds of faith; it is so with the laws of light, as well as the\nfundamental principles of geology. Revelation assigns no limits to the\nantiquity of the world, and allows _the beginning_ in which God created it\nto recede to as remote a period as is wished, and geology corroborates the\nScripture account of successive creations. Is not the unity of origin of\nthe human species, distinctly declared in both Testaments, connected with\nall the hypotheses that have excited so much opposition in our day? I do\nnot mean the unity of the human species, a doctrinal question very\ndifferent from the other, and not necessarily connected with it. But the\nunity of origin of the human race is now taught and demonstrated by the\ngreater part of those versed in natural history; it is a scientific truth.\nAs to the existence of man in the tertiary epoch, it is far from certain,\nthough sustained by many highly respectable men.(220) M. Evans, the\nSecretary of the Geological Society of London, whose name is an authority\non things pertaining to anthropology and pal\u00e6ontology, expressed himself\nin these terms at a meeting of the British Association at Liverpool last\nyear [1871]: \u201cWe cannot,\u201d said he, \u201cpossibly make any prediction as to the\ndiscoveries that still await us in the soil beneath our feet; but we\ncertainly have no reason to conclude that the most ancient traces of man\non the earth, or even on the soil of Western Europe, have been brought to\nlight. At the same time, I must confess that the existing evidence of man\nin the miocene period, and even in the pliocene, in France (it will be\nseen further on that this has since been asserted in Portugal), appears to\nme, after the most careful examination on the spot, very far from\nconvincing.\u201d\n\nBesides, the word _prehistoric_ has only a relative exactness of meaning.\nIn Belgium, prehistoric man comes down to the century before the Roman\nConquest. A vast number of the monuments and remains so discussed in our\nday might be included in the historic period. In most cases, too absolute\na signification is given to the word prehistoric, conveying an idea of\nremote antiquity far beyond the bounds of chronology. It is under the\ninfluence of this preconceived opinion that the most distinguished and\nindependent investigators have allowed themselves to be carried away with\nthe apparent revelation of an entirely new world. In hearing of the\nmillions of ages attributed to quaternary man, one feels greatly behind\nthe times, and asks himself anxiously if there really is a science that\nhas a good right to make man so old, and that affords means of\nascertaining, as has been stated, what our ancestors were observing in the\nheavens on the 29th of January, 11,542 years before Christ. This feeling\nof astonishment must be still livelier in those for whom the insoluble\nproblems of antiquity extend back to less than two thousand years. We do\nnot know the site of _Alesia_, and we pretend to know the habitat and\nmanners of villages of more than three hundred thousand years before the\ndownfall of the Gallic nationality! It should be confessed that the\nscience which has so recently sprung up, and which has for its object the\nstudy of human labor anterior to the use of metals, is neither so firmly\nestablished nor so positive in its deductions that we should blindly\naccept such bold theories. This is one of the reasons that should\nencourage more men of serious pursuits to take a part in these debates, as\nto which it is allowable to hope that the truth will some day be\ndiscovered at an equal distance from any exaggeration.\n\nWe shall have occasion to return to these questions which occupied the\nCongress of Brussels. This preamble appeared necessary as a justification\nfor confining ourselves to a plain, simple analysis of the proceedings of\nthe congress\u2014others can review them better than we.\n\nWe will only add one word more. The field for discussion had been prepared\nin a wonderful manner by the recent publication of the excellent work in\nwhich the learned and active director of our Royal Museum of Natural\nHistory has condensed his researches.(221)\n\nThe opening session took place the 22d of August. The day was spent in\nreceptions, speeches of welcome, replies, the installation of the board,\nand other official courtesies which we spare the reader. The following\ndays there were two sessions a day. The morning of the 23d of August was\ndevoted to the first question in the programme. There was no one better\nfitted to develop it than M. Dupont, the Chief Secretary of the congress,\nand the most active of its organizers. He had already given a clear\noutline of its history in his discourse at the first session of the day\nbefore. It was started in Belgium in 1829, and kept up by the researches\nof Schmerling, who may be regarded as the Champollion of prehistoric\nanthropology; but our illustrious fellow\u2010citizen was not encouraged in his\ndiscoveries, and it may be said that he was, to a certain degree, a martyr\nto the scientific prejudices of his time. His labors, occurring at a time\nwhen Cuvier\u2019s authority was at its height, could not counterbalance the\ninfluence of that great genius, who declared that man could not be found\namong fossils\u2019 bones, and that the vestiges of the human race in the\ncaverns came under the general rule. No one then could have dreamed of\nreferring these remains to the epoch of the mammoth, and it was scarcely\nadmitted, till within a dozen years, that man was contemporary with the\nanimals of the geological periods which preceded ours. Schmerling, but\nlittle befriended by circumstances, was deceived as to what caused the\nintroduction of this _d\u00e9bris_ into the caverns. He attributed it to sudden\ninundations. Some years later, Mr. Spring opened the way to the true\ntheory, which allows the reconstruction of the ethnography of geological\nepochs; but he could not continue his researches, and it was not till 1861\nthat Lartet\u2019s report concerning the caverns of Aurillac at length\nestablished a collection of decisive facts. In 1863, M. Dupont was\nappointed to explore the caverns of the province of Namur, which gave\npromise of discoveries of unusual interest; it was important that our\ncountry, after having taken so large a part in establishing the first\nprinciples of this new science, should not remain inactive in the movement\nto which it had led. The immense result of researches continued without\nrelaxation for seven years, summer and winter, and the valuable remains\nthus found, which are the ornament of our principal museum, prove that the\ndirection of the task could not have been confided to better hands.\n\nM. Dupont, laying aside the arbitrary classifications that had hitherto\nbeen adopted for determining the antiquity of remains found in caverns,\nintroduced the geologic method in his researches, which is founded upon\nprinciples almost incontestable and evidences of indubitable truth. The\nchronological data furnished by this method are generally of mathematical\nexactitude. \u201cWith this point to start from,\u201d says M. Dupont, \u201cI was sure\nof clearly determining the fauna and ethnographical remains of each epoch\nto which the objects discovered in the various subterranean explorations\nbelonged.\u201d(222) In pursuing the application of this method, our young and\nalready illustrious savant was enabled to show the evolution of physical\nand biological phenomena, and to reconstruct the ethnography of the age of\nstone. Whatever may be thought of the reality of the facts brought\nforward, it must be confessed that no ordinary mind could have formed such\nbold conceptions.\n\nAfter a communication from Dr. Hamy on the flint\u2010works of France and\nEngland at the time of the mammoth, the Abb\u00e9 Bourgeois discussed the\nquestion of tertiary man. The learned professor\u2019s clear, fluent language,\nthe distinction of his manners, and his open, animated countenance so\ncompletely won the goodwill of the audience that thenceforth, whenever he\nspoke, his appearance in the tribune was hailed with unanimous applause.\n\nThe Abb\u00e9 Bourgeois and M. de Launay, his colleague, are the true heralds\nof tertiary man. The chronological discussion they so boldly excite seems\nto embarrass them but little; on the other hand, they almost banish the\nhope some still seem to cling to of finding the man\u2010monkey. In 1866, M.\nBourgeois described and presented to the Academy of Sciences some wrought\nflints found in the tertiary deposits in the commune of Thenay near Pont\u2010\nLevoy (Loir\u2010et\u2010Cher). M. Desnoyers had already, in 1863, pointed out bones\nfound in strata incontestably pliocene, on which were stri\u00e6, or very\ndistinct and regularly marked incisions. Worked flints are beginning to be\nfound, we are assured, in the bottom of the calcareous deposits of Beauce;\nthat is to say, in chalk. They are identical in form with those found on\nthe surface; as in other places, there are utensils for cutting, piercing,\nscraping, and hammering. Many of these instruments have been injured by\nthe action of fire. Finally, says the Abb\u00e9 Bourgeois, \u201cI find in them\nalmost every proof of man\u2019s agency, to wit: after\u2010touches, symmetrical\ngrooves, grooves artificially made to correspond with natural ones, and\nespecially the multiplied reproduction of certain forms. This is a\npeculiar, unheard\u2010of fact of the highest importance, but, to me, an\nindubitable one.\u201d M. Bourgeois exhibited to the competent judges assembled\nat Brussels what he considered the proofs of the authenticity of his\ndiscovery. To him they are convincing, but what he seeks, above all, is\ntruth, and he asked that a special committee be appointed to elucidate the\nquestion. This committee pronounced a verdict two days after, without\ndeciding the point. Of thirty\u2010two specimens presented for examination,\nsome appeared to them evidently wrought, but most of them were unanimously\nrejected. There was no difference of opinion as to M. Bourgeois\u2019 sincerity\nof belief, but they were divided as to the authenticity of the deposit.\nThose who have seen the place had no doubts; the remainder were\nincredulous. M. Capellini proposed that a new committee be appointed to\nmake researches on the spot. The general conclusion was that no solution\nis at present possible.\n\nThe existence of prehistoric man in Greece next became the subject of\nlively discussion, giving rise to the most contradictory opinions. The\nconclusion was that there are no decided proofs. The same doubt was\nmanifested with respect to a skull from California, said to have been\nfound in tertiary formation. It is not even certain it is a human skull.\n\nThe second session of the day opened with an account from M. Rivi\u00e8re of\nthe discovery of a complete skeleton in a grotto at Menton, found among\nthe remains of various animals of the quaternary epoch, such as the lion,\nbear, rhinoceros, etc. Then M. de Mortillet gave a detailed description of\nthe fauna, and the utensils, arms, pursuits, manners, and even the first\nmanifestation of art, of man in the quaternary period, and he proposed a\nstill further subdivision of the classes than is now admitted. The speaker\nmentioned a very singular circumstance calculated to excite reflection\u2014an\ninexplicable hiatus between the last period of the age of cut stone and\nthe age of polished stone, in which new races appeared of greater industry\nand more intelligence, agriculture was developed, the industrial pursuits\nwere extended, and art disappeared. It is the era of lacustrine villages\nand of dolmens. M. de Mortillet\u2019s sketch of prehistoric civilization was\npicturesque but far from convincing.\n\nThe Abb\u00e9 Bourgeois did not think M. de Mortillet\u2019s classification correct,\nbecause the progress of civilization in France and Belgium was unequal.\n\u201cThe Belgians,\u201d he said, \u201cwere more advanced.\u201d And the orator added with\ncharming bonhomie: \u201cI cannot say it is otherwise now.\u201d\n\nM. Fraas, professor at Stuttgart, stated that he had made some\nexplorations in the grotto of Hollenfelz near Ulm, in W\u00fcrtemberg. The\n_Homo unius cavern\u00e6_ was refuted in his conclusions by M. H\u00e9bert, the\ncelebrated professor at the Sorbonne, and by other savants. M. d\u2019Omalius\nwas of the opinion that two geologists of different countries, desirous of\nidentifying beds contiguous to their fields of exploration, were never\nable to agree. Between two strata there are always deposits that partake\nof the distinctive characteristics of both.\n\nWe pass from the grave to the entertaining. The following day, at seven\no\u2019clock in the morning, all the learned assembly, glad, it may be\nimagined, to get away from the pretentious paintings of the ducal palace,\ntook flight by steam for the valley of the Lesse. We would be the first to\nconfess that, if the country excited the sincere admiration of the\nexcursionists, the latter were equally a delightful source of curiosity to\nthe native inhabitants. They will not readily forget the picturesque sight\nof our long caravan traversing the good town of Dinant all decked out with\nflags, parading in elegant equipages lost among the _coucous_, _fiacres_,\nand _cal\u00e8ches_ of wondrous construction, or perched on the imperials of\nthe most extraordinary vehicles, omnibuses, and _pataches_ truly\nprehistoric, filing along the banks of the Meuse towards the valleys amid\nlaughter, jests, joltings, and the vociferations of our _Automedon_.\nCharming landscapes, but detestable roads. This region has been so often\ndescribed that I need not attempt to depict it; it is with the pencil and\nbrush it should be undertaken. Sometimes the road winds around with\ndisagreeable undulations through the deep ravines bordered by apple\u2010trees\nwhose fruit\u2010laden branches sweep the imperials of the carriages,\nendangering the silken hat; sometimes rolling over broad grassy roads\nwalled in by immense cliffs crowned with ruins and verdure, or affording\nvistas through the neighboring valleys, lit up by the sun streaming\nthrough the woods with a mild radiance that recalls the Elysian Fields of\nmythological memory. At length we come to the Lesse, which bars the way\nwith its clear, rapid current. The carriages have to ford the capricious\nand petulant waters of the little winding torrent. The horses sheer in the\nvery middle of the stream, causing a deafening noise of laughter, shouts\nof alarm, and blows of the whip. All ends by crossing without any great\ndifficulty, but the same scene is reproduced five or six times with varied\nincidents; for there are that number of fords to cross. It was in one of\nthese places, where we were obliged to cross the river in boats in order\nto reach the grottoes, that we saw the overloaded skiff capsized that bore\namong others M. d\u2019Omalius and Mlle. Royer. The apostle of woman\u2019s\nemancipation clung with shrill screams to the neck of a small gentleman,\nher _chevalier servant_ for the time, and, when she found a footing with\nthe water up to her chin, she contributed somewhat to save her assistant\nby keeping his head out of water\u2014a fine opportunity for quoting La\nFontaine, with a kind variation: \u201cThat is nothing; it is not a woman that\nis drowning.\u201d The nonagenarian president of the congress was taken out\nsafe and sound, and it was with extreme difficulty he was induced to\nchange his _chaussures_, but nothing could prevail upon him to accept dry\ngarments. Happily, the weather was superb, and the shipwrecked travellers\ncould get dry in the sun.\n\nWe returned by way of the plateaux that overlook the valley. Nothing could\nbe imagined more fantastically beautiful than that immense panorama bathed\nin the purple light of the setting sun. The visitors, under the guidance\nof M. Dupont, had been through all the principal caverns described in his\nbook. His learned explanations were greatly relished, and added a keen\ninterest to an excursion of which the unexpected and the amusing had\nheightened the charm. We will not speak of the banquet that crowned so\ndelightful a day, or of the ovations that were lavished on the savants and\nothers. For such details, we refer you to the newspapers that published\nthe reports.\n\nTo Be Concluded In Our Next Number.\n\n\n\n\nThe See Of Peter.\n\n\n    Not unto hirelings, Prince of Shepherds, leave\n    This distant flock. The wolf, long kept at bay,\n    No longer in sheep\u2019s clothing seeks its prey,\n    Nor prowls at midnight round the fold\u2019s low eave,\n    Its weak, unwary victim to deceive;\n    But rampant in the flock at noon of day,\n    Careering leaps, to scatter, mangle, slay,\n    While from afar the banished shepherds grieve.\n    How long must sycophants wax blandly wise,\n    And meek\u2010faced aspirants rebuke the cries\n    Of outraged faith! On Peter, \u201cFeed my sheep,\n    My young lambs feed,\u201d the charge benignant lies,\n    And we whose vigils cheat the night of sleep,\n    On Peter, still, calm eyes expectant keep.\n\n\n\n\nAtlantic Drift\u2014Gathered In The Steerage.\n\n\nBy An Emigrant.\n\nTo most of the sons and daughters of Columbia the few days they pass in\nreturning from the Old Country represent but a period of wearisome\ndelay\u2014an interval sometimes nauseous and always irksome between the\npleasures of travel and those of their own fireside, passed perhaps in\nrecollection of the pleasures of Paris, the classic grandeurs of the\nEternal City, or the picturesque beauties of Switzerland and the Rhine;\nnot unfrequently, perhaps, by our belles, whose elegance and social value\nhave received their last gilding in the grand tour of Europe, in\nanticipation of the effect of their costumes at Newport or Saratoga, or of\ntheir adventures and experiences in the great circle of their country\nfriends. All that wealth and skill can do is lavished on the\naccommodations of ocean steamers, and nothing is spared to make the\ntraveller independent of the caprice or ill\u2010temper of the watery god; and\nnowadays a passage from the Mersey to our Empire City is to the ordinary\npassenger almost as comfortable and quite as devoid of unusual interest as\na sojourn of so many days at the St. Nicholas or the Fifth Avenue. There\nis, however, another class of voyagers whose hard\u2010earned savings form the\nstaple of the receipts of the owners of these splendid vessels; they\nusually belong to a sphere where literature hardly penetrates and whence\ncome few who wield a ready pen; hence perhaps the general ignorance that\nseems to prevail as to their treatment and accommodation. The cabin\npassenger sees them only in squalid groups, encumbering the decks of the\ngreat ship, beyond the middle enclosure reserved to the saloon; and if he\ndives into the close and half\u2010lit steerage, a very brief glance round its\ndim precincts satisfies his curiosity. Believing, however, that many of\nour adopted countrymen will feel some interest in knowing how the great\narmy of emigrants who flock in hundreds of thousands to our shores fare on\ntheir ocean transit, one of us lifts a voice from the steerage to relate\nsome of the realities of life in an emigrant ship. Naught have we\nextenuated or aught set down in malice, and, such as it is, our little\nnarrative is a true history of personal and actual experience.\n\nTo the reader it matters little what ill\u2010fortune cast from his quiet\nanchorage a London clerk who had already seen three decades, and whose\nlife had hitherto run in the tranquil groove of uniform official duty,\nsufficiently well remunerated to furnish the comforts of a middle\u2010class\nEnglish home. Unable to regain a similar position in his native land, he\ngoes to seek his fortune in the West, and, thither wending, finds himself\nin the steerage of one of our principal ocean steamers. Candor requires\nthis avowal, for those interested in the great liners think they dispose\nof the numerous complaints as to their treatment of their emigrant\npassengers, by retorting that they provide for the working\u2010classes, and\nnot for clerks out of place or penniless gentlemen. Hence what is here\nstated as to their discomfort deals not with the writer\u2019s own feelings,\nbut speaks of what he saw endured by others, and he gives voice not merely\nto his own opinions, but to the sentiments of the mechanics, artisans, and\nfarm laborers who were his fellow\u2010voyagers.\n\nEvery emigrant has to provide himself with bedding, plate, basin, drinking\nand water can, and a knife and fork. Our first experience of emigrant life\nconsisted in the purchase of these articles at a Liverpool slop\u2010shop; some\nten shillings covered the entire outlay, except for the blanket, the most\nindispensable of all; for this purpose, the dealer persuaded us to buy a\nhorse\u2010rug, which he solemnly assured us was worth double the money across\nthe Atlantic: as a copy of the _Times_ would give about as much warmth and\nshelter as the common covering sold with the bed, we invested in it. An\naddition to our comfort it certainly has been in the bunk, and in the long\nnights in the emigrant trains, and it still remains our property; no\nmarket have we been able to discover for the article, and we conclude that\na certain spice of Americanism had communicated itself to the mercantile\nmind of the seller. Many of the inmates of our steerage dispensed with all\nor most of these domestic utensils. One gentleman\u2019s luggage, whose world\u2010\nwide travels we may hereafter refer to, consisted of a limited brown\u2010paper\nparcel; in his subsequent oceanic career his Irish suavity usually\nprocured him the loan of one of the tins of an acquaintance; that failing,\nhe borrowed any neighboring utensil whose owner was not for the moment at\nhand; or, driven to his last resource, abjured coffee or soup and ate his\nportion of meat on a piece of brown paper. Some had but one vessel which\nserved indifferently for a drinking\u2010can, soup\u2010basin, plate, tea\u2010cup, or\nwash hand\u2010basin, while a few comfort\u2010loving people, more frequently,\nhowever, in the after or family steerage than in our bachelor quarters,\ncarried heavy loads of comfortable bedding and neatly\u2010arranged baskets of\ntable\u2010ware.\n\nNearly all this apparatus of bedding and tin\u2010ware is thrown overboard or\ngiven to the crew when the vessel arrives at its destination; only the\nfrugal Germans carefully preserve their vessels, and, shaking out its\nstraw or moss contents, preserve the ticking of the bed either as a\nwrapping for their baggage or some ulterior purpose. It certainly seems\nstrange that an expenditure of from two to three hundred pounds should be\nincurred by every ship\u2010load of emigrants for articles of such brief\nutility. Could not this outlay be converted to the benefit of the ship\u2010\nowners by the permanent provision of requisites of this description at a\nmoderate charge?\n\nThe great landing stage at Liverpool on the morning of our embarkation was\ncrowded with some two thousand persons\u2014the passengers of three mail\nsteamers, their friends, and the swarm of porters, carters, and pedlers in\nattendance on them. Everything was confusion; here mothers seeking a stray\nlittle one, there the husband anxiously gathering together his motley\nproperty of boxes, bedding, cans, baskets, and packages of every\ndescription, as they were roughly tossed out of the cart from some\nboarding\u2010house. The boxes had to be placed in one tender, the passengers\nand lighter luggage in another; porters drove greedy bargains with females\nhelplessly encumbered with immovable boxes. Women with baskets full of\narticles for sale\u2014combs and brushes, knives, scissors, and soap\u2014pushed\ntheir way here and there. To single men, careful of small change, it was a\nproblem how to move the box or trunk in one direction and yet secure the\nsafety of the other articles while doing so. We despaired of solving the\nproblem, and trusted to the honesty of a badge porter, who undertook for\nsixpence to place our box on the luggage tender; afterwards, nervous as to\nthe actual presence there of our little all, we spent two weary hours in\nwatching the baggage discharged into the hold. A thousand trunks and\nchests of every conceivable size, shape, color, and dimensions passed down\nthe hatchway before us\u2014handsome American boxes, ribbed and gay with bright\nnails; immense iron\u2010bound chests of unpainted deal, containing the whole\nhousehold goods of some Swedish or Norwegian family, directed in quaint\nletters to some far\u2010off town in Minnesota or Wisconsin; flimsy papered\ntrunks, with sides already creaking and gaping, threatening to disgorge\ntheir finery before they touch the ground in Castle Garden; and German\npacks of strong ticking or canvas about the size of a small haystack\u2014and,\nwith a sigh of relief, we at last saw our property shot with a crash into\nthe hold. Nearly two long hours did we spend on the open stage under a\ndrizzling rain, that soaked the beds and blankets before the tenders\nmoored alongside; then all made for the gangways, tugging their luggage\nwith them; produced their tickets as they passed on, and pushed, tumbled,\nand scrambled pell\u2010mell on board; a similar scene was enacted at the\nsteamer\u2019s side; and when at last we reached her spacious decks we felt\nlike soldiers passed unscathed through some hard\u2010fought field; not all\nunscathed, however; a considerable number of missing tins, blankets, and\neven beds attested the severity of the struggle and gave zest to the\nsatisfaction of the more fortunate.\n\nArrived at last on our floating home for the coming fortnight, we pushed\nour way into the steerages to find our berths and enter into possession:\nand here let us try to describe. The steamer was a magnificent vessel,\nadvertised to be of 3,700 tons, and celebrated for the luxury of her\nsaloon accommodation and her almost unrivalled speed\u2014qualities, as\nexperience taught us, attained somewhat at the expense of the comfort of\nher emigrant passengers. Right aft the forecastle or forward part of the\ndeck was roofed over with what sailors call a whale\u2010back, to the entrance\nof the forward steerage; a small deck house, with doors on each side, and\non one side a small closet with a half door and a few racks for clothes\nserved as a deck bar; behind it, that is, towards the stern, was the\nforward _fresh_ water pump; walking still sternwards, we next encounter\nanother small house containing the wash\u2010house for the forward steerage,\nentered from below, and two or three cabins for some of the officers or\npetty officers opening on the deck; on one side of this was a hot water\ntap; a few feet further is the main deck house, extending about half the\nlength of the ship; in the street\u2010like passages between its sides and the\nbulwarks\u2014open iron railings in our vessel\u2014are the doors to the galleys,\nboilers, engine\u2010rooms, officers\u2019 berths, and saloon, which, unlike most\nother steamships, is in this situated amidships; from the saloon a\nhandsome double staircase led on to the deck above, which, however, like\nthe tops of all the other deck houses, was tabooed ground to the\nemigrants. At the end of the main deck house was the entrance to the\nforward or sternmost steerage, and at the side of it the after fresh water\npump; still further aft another deck house contained the wash\u2010house\nbelonging to this steerage, and, as in case of the forward steerage,\nentered from below, and one or two officers\u2019 berths, and provided outside\nwith a second hot water tap; still further, the stern deck house contained\nthe wheel house, with the engine for working the rudder, the butcher\u2019s\nshop, ice and meat house, and vegetable storehouse; and between its\nsemicircular end and the bulwark round the stern ran a low gallery, always\nconsidered among us as the most desirable place to settle for the day. We\nwere free to ramble or squat ourselves on the deck where we listed, except\nthe extreme forecastle forward of the entrance to the sailors\u2019 cabin;\nthere an incautious intruder paid his footing with the penalty of a bottle\nor two of beer to the nearest sailor who could catch him. Under the\nwhaleback, also, either by custom or some rule of the ship, was forbidden\nground to children or the fair sex, and always the chosen resort of old\nhands who liked to smoke a quiet pipe sheltered from the wind, chat with\nthose of the crew who were off duty, and be comfortably near the deck bar.\n\nEnter the forward or bachelors\u2019 steerage\u2014the after one being reserved to\nmarried couples and single women; leaving the bright day, we can hardly\ndistinguish the objects in the dim light, and feel our way down the first\nflight of steps; this brings us on the main deck; here it is not open to\nthe sides of the ship, along which run the berths of the saloon\npassengers. Entered from the saloons at the fore part, where they\nterminate by the hospital, two neat rooms, each with three or four bunks\nwith bedding, wash\u2010basins, etc., similar to those of a saloon berth, and\nin one of which, in the absence of patients, our two stewards sleep; and\nat the other or after end a narrow flight of steps leads up to the wash\u2010\nhouse on deck. The main deck is lighted only by the stairs and the\nhatchway; when the wooden grating covering the latter is in its place, it\nis dim; when it is covered with tarpaulin to prevent the entrance of the\nrain or spray, too dark to see. We have still another flight of steps to\ndescend to reach the cavernous abyss of the steerage itself, which is\nsituated between\u2010decks; when our eyes grow accustomed to the obscurity, we\nsee a central open space about ten feet wide, running from end to end; in\nthis are three narrow wooden tables with benches, two lengthwise and one\ncrosswise, each capable of seating about twenty people; on each side are\nthe bunks, reaching to the roof, entered by narrow streets or passages\nleading off on either hand, and again benches in the central space all\nround the outer side of the bunks.\n\nEach street of bunks contained twenty upper and lower rows of five each,\non either hand; the inmates therefore, lay side by side, parallel with the\nship\u2019s length, with their feet to their own street, and their heads\nadjoining those of their neighbors in the adjoining street. The bunks\nthemselves consisted simply of shelves of unpainted boards, with an\nopening of about an inch between each, and were about six feet and a half\nwide, and divided into the spaces for each bunk, and fenced at the foot by\nupright boards about a foot high; in short, an emigrant\u2019s bunk means a\nslightly fenced off space of hard board rather more than six feet by two.\nThe lower row are about two feet from the ground; the upper about three\nfeet above the lower, and the same distance from the roof. They are not\nattached to the side of the ship, but to a framework a few inches from it,\nthe interstices of which served to stow hats or tins. Inside this\ncoffinlike area of the bunks you stow bed, bedding, cans, and all smaller\n_impedimenta_, while such boxes as found their way down are pushed under\nthe lower berths, piled in corners of the central space, or serve in the\nstreets as seats or footsteps to the upper berths. In our steamer the\nbunks seemed to have been just put up; they were free from vermin, the\ntimbers had nothing dirtier about them than sawdust; indeed, as we\nbelieve, the number of steerage passengers who cross eastwards is much\nless than in the other direction, the greater part of the boards are often\nknocked down on the ship\u2019s arrival in New York, and the steerage filled\nwith cargo, and then re\u2010erected when she is again prepared for the\nwestward trip. The berths next to the central space were the most in\nrequest, on account of their being nearer the fresh air, and the lower\nrange everywhere objected to; but nearly all the tickets had a number\naffixed, and no liberty of choice was permitted. Ours was in the upper\nberth in one corner, and consequently very far removed from any\nventilation; as a slight compensation, being next to the side of the ship,\nwe could look through the little window over the surging water, with which\nit was almost level and frequently covered. The gaps between the planks\nwere very annoying, as small articles readily fell through them, and if\nthey fell beneath the lower range it was too dark and the space too narrow\nto readily recover them. From about nine till twelve every day the\nsteerage was closed, all the inmates sent on deck, and the floor brushed\nand laid down with fresh sawdust; this process, we think, was confined to\nthe central space and the streets, and did not extend to the spaces\nunderneath the bunks; and it was daily inspected or supposed to be\ninspected by one of the doctors, of whom there were two on board.\n\nThe wash\u2010house to the forward steerage was of decent size, with tiled\nfloor, and contained eight closet pans, five wash hand\u2010basins, each with a\ntap of cold water and one with a hot water tap, and four sinks, also with\nsalt water taps: putting aside the absence of any privacy, the\narrangements were suitable, and the fittings generally clean; but, as in\nso many other instances, the carelessness or inattention of the crew made\nthe admirable equipments of the ship almost useless. Except early in the\nmorning there was rarely any water in the taps, and in the hot water\ncistern, which also supplied the hot\u2010water tap outside, often none for two\nor three days: the engineer, the steward told us, would not waste the\nsteam by putting his cistern into communication with the boilers; and then\noften, when turned on, the tap poured out so much more hot steam than\nwater that one was likely rather to get scalded hands than a full can.\n\nThe after\u2010steerage was similar in character to that of the single men, but\nmuch larger, occupying both the main and between\u2010decks; the married men\nand women slept on one side, the single women on the other; their privacy\nbeing supposed to be secured by a canvas curtain let down at night the\nwhole length of the cabin. In the other lines, we believe the men and\nwomen, married or single, are quite separated, but ours put it forward as\none of their attractions that husbands and wives are berthed together; as\nthis simply means that their bunks are allotted side by side, the wife is\nreally no more berthed with her own husband than with the spouse of her\nnext neighbor. Many of the more respectable women complained much of being\nmisled by the announcement, and of their being unable to undress to rest\nduring the whole of the voyage, as they might have done if a cabin had\nbeen really and exclusively reserved for children and females. To the\nafter steerage two wash\u2010houses were attached, one for the women with\nclosed private closets, and one for the men similar to ours.\n\nThe routine of one day\u2019s life may serve for all. As the mornings were\ngenerally damp and chilly, like most in our steerage we slept till towards\neight o\u2019clock, and did not rise till breakfast was announced; as dressing\nconsisted in knocking off the rugs and donning coat, waistcoat, and boots,\nit was not a long process; then we scramble down into our street, seize\nour can and wait; in our corner we are too far removed from the\ntables\u2014which would not seat half the number the cabin contains\u2014to try to\nobtain seats at them; so we sit in the bunks on the chests in our street,\nor stand till the steward comes round to the entrance, and sings out, \u201cWho\nis for coffee?\u201d Each holds out or passes on his can, and he ladles into it\nabout a pint of a boiling hot decoction, sweetened but without milk, and\nbearing a distant but still recognizable relationship to the article one\nhad hitherto known under the name. A few minutes afterwards he comes round\nwith the fresh bread, and over its distribution there were always much\nsquabbling and bad language, partly because the bakers disliked the\ntrouble of baking more than the strictly necessary quantity, and were\ngiven to restricting both the number and size of the loaves, and partly\nbecause many could neither eat the waxy potatoes nor hard sea\u2010biscuits; so\nthat all sorts of tricks were resorted to to secure additional loaves for\ntheir dinner or tea. Of all the articles of diet the warm fresh bread\nevery morning was decidedly the favorite, and any shortcoming in its\nsupply more resented than any other infliction; both in size and quality\nthe loaves varied very much according to the caprice of the bakers, but\nthey were generally good. Great pyramids of butter were placed in tins on\nthe tables; most of the men would not eat it on account of its tallow\u2010like\nflavor; for our own part, on obtaining our coffee and bread, we cut the\nlatter open, put a lump of butter to melt inside, and pressed it together\nto distribute it equally as it melted, and then proceeded on deck, and\nunder the influence of the keen sea air rarely failed to eat with a good\nappetite this not very luxurious fare in some quiet corner out of the\nwind. After breakfast, warmed with the steaming coffee, we obtained a can\nfull of fresh water from the pump, produced the toilet requisites from our\nsatchel, and in one corner of our street performed our ablutions; we\nalways took as near an approach to a sponge\u2010bath as circumstances\npermitted, and found the practice more refreshing even than sleep. Though\nthe steward never interfered with me, it was, however, we believe, against\nthe rules to wash elsewhere than in the wash\u2010house, or to use fresh water\nfor the purpose. The first day or two we had to wash in the wash\u2010house\nbefore breakfast, but the crowd there for various purposes was so great\nand there was so little convenience for putting down the different\narticles that we gave it up; and after breakfast there was rarely water\nfor the purpose.\n\nThe decks always presented a more crowded and busy appearance in the\nforenoon than in any other period of the day; the steerages were empty,\nand all their inmates perforce on deck, huddled here and there, wherever\nthe deck houses offer shelter from the winds, in compact groups three or\nfour deep. The German and Scandinavian mothers perform the ablutions of\ntheir numerous families deliberately and in public\u2014an amusing, if to some\ndisgusting, process; first, the white\u2010headed urchin is held between his\nmother\u2019s or perhaps his eldest sister\u2019s knees, and his poll carefully and\nmethodically examined with the fingers\u2014not a comb, and any strangers\nsummarily executed. Then he is taken to the scuppers by the side of the\nship, his head held over a tin of hot water and lathered till he is red in\nthe face and his eyes full of soap; then washed and taken back again, his\nhead combed down into smoothness, and released for the day with a weight\noff his mind, the process being varied in the case of a little girl by the\nplaiting of her long flaxen locks into ribbon\u2010adorned tails. The majority,\nhowever, treated their abode on shipboard as a time when the ordinary\nrules of civilized life were temporarily suspended, and eschewed washing,\nshaving, and all the vanities of dress until they again felt themselves on\nterra firma.\n\nDinner took place at twelve; we mustered as for breakfast, but with a more\ncareful marshalling of cans, for two, if not three, were necessary, and a\nsharp watch was requisite to prevent some hungry but tireless prowler from\nsummarily appropriating the nearest ware; first came the soup, dealt out\nas the coffee at breakfast\u2014a hot compound with a faint reminiscence of\ngravy and mutton bones, some grains of barley, and fragments of celery and\ncabbage; sometimes, instead, a thick mixture of ground peas; such as it\nwas, with plenty of salt which one of our street usually fetched from the\ntable for the general benefit, it was the most reliable part of the\ndinner; it was always drinkable, and many came down to obtain it who would\ntaste no other article provided by the ship beyond the soup and bread.\nNext came the meat, cut up into chunks in an immense tin, and shovelled\nout by the steward with a saucer on to the tin plates. Sometimes it was\neatable; say, perhaps, on five out of the ten days a hungry stomach and a\nstern will could manage it; and once or twice we had fresh beef as good,\nallowing for the roughness with which it was served, as any one could\ndesire; the salt junk and salt fish, however\u2014and the latter, in deference\nto the feelings of the Catholic passengers, always appeared on Friday\u2014were\nvile; the junk could not be cut with a knife, and had to be torn into\nshreds along the grain, while the fish in taste and smell was simply\nabominable.\n\nThe potatoes were one of our standing grievances; as there were but two\nstewards to assist some hundred and sixty people, they had to form a\ncourse of themselves, or the meat got cold while waiting for them; and\ninstead of being boiled, they were steamed by some hasty process into the\ntaste and consistency of a tallow candle. To the natives of the Emerald\nIsle, accustomed to consider their potato the _pi\u00e8ce de resistance_ of\ntheir humble fare, this misusage of their favorite food was particularly\naggravating, and their complaints were loud and endless. Boiled rice was\ngenerally served after the potatoes with coarse sugar or treacle; as long\nas the latter lasted it was palatable, but the sweetening generally bore\nthe same relation to the rice as did Falstaff\u2019s bread to his sack, and our\ningenuity had to be taxed to procure a double or treble allowance of the\nsugar by changing places while the serving took place or holding the plate\nover the shoulders of the steward who carried it. On Sundays plum duff, a\nheavy pudding pretty liberally supplied with raisins, was dealt out, and\nto stomachs accustomed to steerage fare seemed something faintly\napproaching the luxuries of the table appropriate to the day. The tea,\nwhich took place at five, may be dismissed in two words: taste it had\nnone, and its smell was beastly; however, it was always boiling hot, and\nin the cold, damp evenings anything warming was grateful. With it we had\nbiscuits and butter.\n\nWithout a detailed notice of that indispensable and omnipresent article\nthe sea\u2010biscuit, any account of our food would be incomplete; a barrel of\nthem always stood at the head of the staircase on the main deck, and any\none could help himself as often and as liberally as he thought proper;\nthey formed our sole fare at tea, and our _dernier ressort_, when the\ndinner was, as it usually was every other day, altogether uneatable. More\nfortunate than most of our fellow\u2010passengers, we could combine recreation\nand humble fare by gnawing at their hard sides. Of wooden consistency they\ncertainly were; to make any impression on their hard edges it was\nnecessary first to break them with a smart blow of the fist, put a piece\nbetween two sound molars, shut your eyes, hold fast to one of the\nstanchions of the bulwarks, and bring your jaws together with a determined\nand persevering grind! The result, to our taste, was not unsatisfactory;\nthey were perfectly sweet, and when once pulverized not ill tasted; and on\nseveral occasions, when we found the other provisions inedible, two or\nthree biscuits, washed down with a bottle of porter, served us for a\ntolerable meal. Few, however, shared our liking or would touch them,\nexcept at the last extremity, and by those whose teeth were not in first\u2010\nrate order they were unassailable. As a souvenir, we pocketed a couple on\nleaving the ship, and as we munched them on the following night on the\nplatform of the emigrant car jolting along the side of the broad and mist\u2010\nclad Hudson, hoped that Dame Fortune would never reduce us in the Far West\nto more unpalatable fare.\n\nOn the whole, it was possible to subsist on the ship\u2019s provisions,\nparticularly when the transit was regarded in a purgatorial or penitential\nsense; and that statement, too, must be qualified by the admission of the\nnecessity of malt liquor: without two or three bottles of beer or porter a\nday, we could not have survived; they served as a tonic, which made greasy\nmeat digestible, and biscuits possible to swallow; few, however, lived\nentirely on the steerage fare, nor must it be supposed that the grumblers\nor discontented were generally those who had, as it is termed, seen better\ndays. Men of that class were slow to complain, because ignorant of what\nthey ought to tolerate or endure in their altered circumstances. It was\nthe well\u2010to\u2010do artisans or workingmen who showed the greatest disgust and\nwere the bitterest in their complaints. Many families were provided with\nwell\u2010filled baskets of good bread, ham, and bottles of preserves, and had\ntheir own store of tea and sugar, for which they obtained hot water from\nthe galley; while others bought the whole of their food.\n\nBuying, begging, and stealing food was one of the most interesting and to\nsome the most engrossing of occupations; it required a little money, a\ndeal of diplomacy, and very hardened feelings, and was accomplished in\nvery various ways. At the commencement of the voyage, little cliques were\nformed of four or five people, who made up a purse of two or three pounds\nfor one of the cabin stewards, who in return sold to or stole for them a\nregular supply of cabin provisions; we were asked to join a little party\nof this sort, but declined; nor did we observe much of their subsequent\nfortune, except that they professed to have plenty of good food, and\nseemed to spend most of their time in watching for the opportunity when\ntheir steward could safely convey it to them; others peeled potatoes or\napples and carried water for the galleys, and got fed in return; some\nreduced it to a system, bought meat from the butchers, and got it cooked\nin the galley, or, for a consideration, got liberty to go in at an idle\ntime and cooked it themselves; the ordinary way, however, was to buy a\nbottle of beer at our deck\u2010bar, hand it in to one of the cooks with a tin,\nand ask him to give you something, the best time being immediately after\nbreakfast, when the hot scouse or Irish stew\u2014far better food than any\nprovided for us\u2014was served out for the sailors\u2019 breakfast, or after the\nsaloon dinner; you then slunk about the galley door, cursed for being in\ntheir way by all the cooks except the recipient of the beer, until that\ngentleman saw the head cook or chief steward out of the way, filled the\ntin with anything at hand\u2014generally scouse in the morning, cold beef and\nchicken in the evening\u2014shoved it under your coat, and told you to clear\nout instantly. One\u2019s feelings suffered much in this process; but a few\ndays of steerage fare blunt the sensibilities and whet the animal appetite\nto an extent that requires to be experienced to be appreciated.\n\nAnother want that is keenly felt in consequence of the salt food and dry\nbiscuit is that of something green or succulent. One craves an apple or an\norange or lemon; and so well aware were the experienced travellers among\nus of this want that fresh fruit generally occupied a large space in their\nwell\u2010stuffed baskets. We had only the slender resource of pulling pieces\nof celery through the grating of the vegetable store, peeling them and\neating them as an addendum to the coffee and bread of our breakfast.\nUnfortunately either the demand for that cool vegetable was unexpectedly\ngreat in the saloon, or we emigrants were too successful in extracting it\nthrough the bars of the always open store; for before the voyage was half\nover the supply was exhausted, we then had raw carrots and onions from the\nsame source, but the result was not satisfactory.\n\nMany of the passengers who had no money suffered much from their inability\nto cope with our daily fate. One young man of about twenty\u2010two or three\nyears of age particularly attracted our attention. Short and slight, of\nperfectly gentlemanly manners and quiet address, he had little of the\ntypical American about him, though as we afterwards learned from himself\nhe belonged to a Western family engaged in commerce and of considerable\nmeans. Some strange star must have presided over his birth, for he had the\nrarest of all dispositions in the New World, a dislike to traffic and\nmoney\u2010making, and an unconquerable yearning for a life of literary labor.\nHe was returning westward after residing in Dresden and Florence, full of\nenthusiasm for Goethe and Schiller, Tasso and Dante, and proudly conscious\nof a vocation himself as a dramatic poet. He had shot, he said, in the\nlakes of Minnesota, hunted in the Adirondacks, become familiar with the\nmost beautiful and intellectual of the European capitals, and now felt\nthat his endowment for his career was enriched by the novel experiences of\nthe steerage of an emigrant ship. Fine conceptions, except perhaps among\nsaints or hermits, do not thrive on an empty stomach.\n\nOur poet looked daily more pallid and spiritless. He listened\nuninterestedly to everything except prospects of better fare or prophecies\nof the speedy diminution of the irksome voyage. One night one of the cooks\nin the emigrant galley gave us a tin crammed to overflowing with fragments\nof meat and fowl, and, additionally armed with a bottle of porter and a\nbiscuit, we had settled in a quiet leeward corner to make a hearty supper,\nwhen we thought of the famishing poet. We found him tending a little\nsinging\u2010bird he was taking out with him, and invited him to share our\nmeal; and the enjoyment with which he ate the broken meat\u2014a biscuit\nserving for a plate, and a clasp\u2010knife for an instrument\u2014was quite\nrefreshing. We took alternate pulls at the porter, and felt pleased with\nourselves and the world. His inner man refreshed, our poet became another\nperson. The charm of his conversation well repaid our little sacrifice,\nand we talked art and literature, music and the drama, until the\nloneliness of the deck, the chill night breeze, and the bright moon\nmounted high in the star\u2010spangled heaven warned us of the approach of\nmidnight. A few hours after we had landed in New York, we met our poet in\nBroadway, in all the elegance of clean raiment, and happily conscious of a\nwell\u2010lined purse. Though our rough garb assorted ill with his gentility,\nhe insisted on our drinking glasses together to the memory of our meeting.\nAs we drank, he expatiated on the advantages of a varied experience of the\nmany\u2010sided life of our poor humanity. Nevertheless, we opine, to cross the\nAtlantic in the steerage of an emigrant ship with an empty pocket, is one\nof those phases of existence which he will never voluntarily again\ninvestigate. Another instance of suffering was that of an Englishman\u2014a\nquiet\u2010visaged, silent man, past middle age, whose velveteen coat and\ncorduroy trowsers bespoke him a ploughman or gamekeeper from some Old\nWorld country neighborhood. He had with him his little daughter, a fair\u2010\nhaired, sweet\u2010faced little girl of about twelve, genteelly dressed.\nNeither he nor his child could eat the ship\u2019s food, and the little girl\nused to sit all day quietly pining by her father\u2019s side. They met,\nhowever, worse fortune on shore. Bound to some town in Ohio, he was\napparently ignorant that a long journey separated it from their landing\u2010\nplace, and landed in Castle Garden penniless. Too shy or too proud to beg,\nthe man and his little girl starved for a day, until some fellow\u2010passenger\naccidentally found out their condition and supplied them with food.\n\nNo account of a sea voyage would be faithful without noticing the dread\nmalady, the sufferings of which form the traveller\u2019s introduction to the\ndomain of Neptune; but it is a life over which we must perforce draw a\nveil. To the voyager who has a comfortable berth, every convenience that\nwealth can produce, attentive stewards, and the command of each luxury\nthat his fancy or fears can suggest, the horrors of sea\u2010sickness are\nsufficiently nauseous. What they are in the steerage of an emigrant ship,\nwhere your pangs are intensified by the maladies and filth, the groans and\ncurses, of some scores of other victims, can be better imagined than\ndescribed; it is too disgusting. For the first two or three days, to eye,\near, and nose our steerage was insufferable; there was no remedy but to\navoid it as much as possible, and either abandon the meals altogether, or\nrush down, snatch a hasty portion of whatever came nearest to hand, and\nbeat a hasty retreat to the fresh air of the deck before your rising gorge\nadded you to the ranks of the inconsolable.\n\nBut this rough initiation had its practical advantage. Many of the younger\npassengers of the better class at the commencement of their voyage\nendeavored to keep up appearances in spite of all difficulties, and to\npresent themselves on deck fresh from a careful toilette and in all the\nneatness of clean linen and well\u2010arranged dress; but, when they had once\nsuccumbed to the qualms of the malady, their vanity went overboard.\nLanguid and weary, they crowded on deck, unwashed and uncombed, muffled in\na waterproof, or huddled in twos and threes in a corner in the warm folds\nof a blanket or horse\u2010rug; and as their spirits revived they thought no\nmore of struggling against adverse circumstances, and were content to \u201cpeg\nalong\u201d (pardon, kind reader, the expression) until their feminine\ninstincts revived at the welcome sight of the wished\u2010for land.\n\nTo Be Concluded In Our Next Number.\n\n\n\n\nA Daughter Of S. Dominic.\n\n\nIf she had been condemned to have her life written, and been given the\nchoice of a name under which to appear before the world, this would\nprobably have been the one she would have taken. But who could have\npersuaded the humble child of the grand S. Dominic that such a fate was in\nstore for her, or induced her humility to accept it? Well, it matters\nlittle to her now whether men speak of her or for her, she is alike beyond\nthe reach of their hollow praise and their jealous criticism. But to us it\nmatters much. The teaching of such a life as Am\u00e9lie Lautard\u2019s is too\nprecious to be lost; it is a lesson to be sought out and hearkened to, for\nit is full of beauty, and light, and encouragement to those whom she has\nleft behind.\n\nAm\u00e9lie was born at Marseilles on the 12th of April, 1807. Her father was a\nmedical man, eminent in his profession, an honorable man, and a good\nChristian. She lost her mother at the age of seventeen. Early in life she\nmet with an accident which injured her spine so seriously as to render her\nby degrees quite humpbacked; the progress of the deformity was slow and\nvery gradual, but even when it had grown to its worst it never looked\ngrotesque or repulsive, nor did it, strange to say, take away from the\nsingular dignity of her appearance or from the grace of her movements. In\nperson she was tall and dark, not handsome, though her features had so\nmuch charm and expression that most people considered her so. Her\nintelligence was of a very high order, and pre\u2010eminently endowed with that\ndelightful and untranslatable gift called _esprit_. From her earliest\nchildhood she began to develop an angelic spirit of piety and a\nsensitiveness to the sufferings of others that is generally the outgrowth\nof maturer years. The sufferings of the poor claimed her pity especially,\nbut not exclusively. The range of her sympathies was wide enough to\nembrace every kind and degree of sorrow that came within her knowledge.\nThis characteristic of her charity, as rare as it is attractive, may be\nconsidered as the keynote of her life, and explains, humanly speaking, the\nextraordinary influence she exercised over all classes indiscriminately.\n\nAfter her mother\u2019s death Am\u00e9lie became the chief delight and interest of\nher father, and she repaid his tenderness by the most absolute devotion.\nOffers of marriage were not wanting for the accomplished and _spirituelle_\nyoung lady, but Am\u00e9lie turned a deaf ear to them all; filial duty as much\nas filial love had wedded her to her father, and she declared her\nintention never to separate from him, or let any other love and duty come\nbetween those she had vowed unreservedly to him. It was probably at this\nperiod of her life that she bound herself exclusively to the service of\nGod by a vow of perpetual virginity.\n\nDuring many years Dr. Lautard\u2019s health was such as to require constant and\nunremitting care. Am\u00e9lie nursed him with the tenderest affection, never\nallowing her devotions or her work amongst the poor to interfere with her\nfirst duty to him. He expired in her arms, blessing her and declaring that\nshe had been the model of filial piety, the joy and solace of his\nwidowhood. Am\u00e9lie generously made the sacrifice of this one great\naffection to God, she drank the chalice with a broken heart, but with an\nunmurmuring spirit, and entered bravely on the new life that was before\nher. Hers was to be the mission of an apostle, and she must go forth to it\nunshackled by even the holiest and purest of natural ties. She had long\nbeen a member of the Third Order of S. Dominic, to whom from her childhood\nshe had had a great devotion. To her previous vow of virginity she now\nadded a vow of poverty, which, in the midst of abundance, she observed\nrigorously to the end of her life. Dr. Lautard, knowing her propensities,\nand suspecting rightly that, if her fortune were left completely in her\nown power, she would despoil herself of everything and leave herself\nwithout the means of subsistence, tied it up in annuities which could not\nbe alienated. But while binding herself henceforth to the practice of the\nmost rigid austerities, Am\u00e9lie did not break off from her accustomed\nintercourse with her friends. She continued to receive them as hitherto in\nher father\u2019s house. Dr. Lautard used to say that hospitality was a virtue\nwhich it behooved Christians living in the world to exercise towards each\nother, and he imbued Am\u00e9lie with the same idea. Mindful of his precepts\nand example, she went on inviting her friends, and enjoyed having them\nwith her, and surrounding them with attentions and seeing them well and\nhospitably served; at table she endeavored to disguise her own abstinence\nunder a semblance of eating, or would sometimes apologize on the plea of\nher health, which had always been extremely delicate, for not setting them\na good example.\n\nSome rigid persons, unable to reconcile this frank and genial sociability\nwith the crucifying life of penance and prayer and unremitting service of\nthe poor and the sick which Am\u00e9lie led, ventured to remonstrate with her\non the subject. She replied with unruffled humility that it was a pleasure\nto her to continue to cultivate the friendships contracted for her and\nbequeathed to her by her father, and that she felt satisfied there was\nnothing wrong in her doing so, and that it did neither her nor them any\nharm; on the contrary, hospitality was often a means to her of doing good;\na worldly man or woman who would fly from her if she approached them with\na sermon, accepted an invitation to dinner without fear or _arri\u00e8re\u2010\npens\u00e9e_, thus enabling her to bring them under desirable influences in a\nway that awoke no suspicion and roused no antagonism, and often led to the\nmost salutary results; a friendly dinner was, moreover, not unfrequently\nan opportunity of bringing people together and reconciling those who were\nat variance; in fact, Am\u00e9lie pleaded so convincingly the cause of\nChristian hospitality as it was practised in the Rue Grignan, that the\ncritics withdrew thoroughly converted and rather ashamed of their\ncensoriousness. This thirst for doing good was, moreover, so unobtrusive\nand so free from anything like an assumption of superiority, that it was\nimpossible to resent it; the tact and simplicity that accompanied all her\nefforts to benefit others prevented their ever being looked upon as\nindiscreet or meddling. She had a way of rousing your sympathies in a\ncharitable scheme, or your indignation against some act of injustice or\ncruelty, and drawing you into assisting in the one or redressing the other\nwithout your suspecting that she had laid a trap for you; never preaching,\nnever dictating, she had that rare grace, whose absence so often foils the\nmost praiseworthy intentions, of doing good without being disagreeable.\nHer conversation was so sympathetic, and, owing to her mind being so\nabundantly stored by reading under her father\u2019s direction, could be, when\nthe opportunity occurred, so brilliant, that the most distinguished men\ndelighted in it, and flocked to the Rue Grignan, counting it a privilege\nto be invited to its unpretending hospitalities. Amongst the many\nillustrious men who admired Am\u00e9lie\u2019s _esprit_ and virtues and who courted\nher co\u2010operation in their apostolic labors, one of the most prominent was\nthe P\u00e8re Lacordaire. The history of their first work in common deserves\nspecial record, not only because of its being associated with \u201cthe cowled\norator of France,\u201d but because it is peculiarly identified with the\nhistory of Provence, that land so dear to us all as the birthplace and\ncradle of the devotion to S. Joseph. \u201cBeautiful Provence! It rose up in\nthe west from your delightful land like the cloud of delicate almond\nblossoms that seems to float and shine between heaven and earth over your\nfields in spring. It rose from a confraternity in the white city of\nAvignon, and was cradled by the swift Rhone, that river of martyr\u2010\nmemories, that runs by Lyons, Orange, Vienne, and Arles, and flows into\nthe same sea that laves the shores of Palestine. The land which the\ncontemplative Magdalen had consecrated by her hermit life, and where the\nsongs of Martha\u2019s school of virgins had been heard praising God, and where\nLazarus had worn a mitre instead of a grave\u2010cloth, it was there that he\nwho was so marvellously Mary and Martha combined first received the glory\nof his devotion.\u201d We all know the passage by heart, but we quote it not so\nmuch for its sweetness as because it so appropriately introduces the story\nof the work in question, viz., the restoration of the pilgrimage of Ste.\nBaume, a pilgrimage once so celebrated throughout Christendom, but of late\nyears fallen into neglect and almost total oblivion. Tradition tells us\nthe story of its origin, its growth, its glories, and its decay. Its\norigin dates from a little bark that eighteen centuries ago came floating\ndown the sunny waters of the Nile and rode into the blue Mediterranean,\nfreighted with a legacy from Palestine to France, bearing in its frail\nembrace none other than the family who had their dwelling on the shores of\nthe Lake of Galilee, and whose names have come down to us with the halo of\nthat simple and unrivalled title, \u201cFriends of Jesus of Nazareth.\u201d\nVillagers and the simple folk of the place welcomed the exiles more\nkindly, let us hope, than Bethlehem had welcomed the Virgin Mother and\nreputed father of their Friend some five\u2010and\u2010thirty years before; at any\nrate, Lazarus and his sisters remained in Provence. The people gathered\nround the dead man whom Jesus had wept over and raised to life, and\nhearkened to his teaching; he planted the cross upon their soil, and sowed\nthe seeds of the Gospel in their hearts, and in return they thanked him as\nthe Jews had thanked his Master, by putting him to death. Lazarus opened\nthe first page of the martyrology of France. Martha on her side withdrew\nto Avignon, where, on the ruins of a pagan temple situated on the Rocher\ndes Doms, she built a Christian church, and dwelt there in the midst of a\nschool of virgins, teaching the Gospel. She died at an advanced age,\nvenerated as a saint, and renowned as much for her sublime gift of\neloquence and her bountiful hospitality as for the austere sanctity of her\nlife. We are not told how far, if at all, Magdalen shared the apostleship\nof her brother in Marseilles; the only trace of her that remains in that\ncity is an altar in the vaults of the Abbey of S. Victor. These vaults are\nlike catacombs, and the most ancient monument of Christian faith that\nMarseilles possesses. The legend says that Magdalen, immediately on\nlanding on the shores of Provence, took up her abode upon the rocky\nheights of Ste. Baume and lived there for thirty years, her life divided\nbetween agony and ecstasy, between tears that had never ceased to flow\nsince that day when at Simon\u2019s house she broke the alabaster vase over the\nfeet of Jesus, and heard from his lips those words that have been the\nstrength and the hope of sinners ever since: much had been forgiven her\nbecause she had loved much, and kept long vigils that were but a\ncontinuation of her faithful watch under the cross and at the door of the\nsepulchre. It seems strange, when we think of it, that she should have\nleft the country where Jesus had lived and died, the home at Magdala that\nhe had hallowed so often by his presence, and whose friendly hospitality\nhad often been a rest and a comfort to him in his weary journeys round\nJerusalem; that she should, above all, have torn herself from the\ncompanionship, or at least the neighborhood, of his Mother and the\ndisciple whom he loved; for surely the one remaining solace of her\npurified passionate heart must have been to speak of her brother\u2019s Friend\nand her own dear Saviour with those who had known and loved him best, to\nrevisit the places he had frequented, the site of his miracles and his\nsufferings, and that hill of solemn and stupendous memories where she and\nthey had stood together in a common agony of woe, hushing their breaths to\ncatch the last throb of his sacred heart. But perhaps this voluntary exile\nfrom those beloved associations was the last sacrifice, the crowning act\nof renunciation, that Jesus asked of her before he bade her farewell?\nPerhaps he expressed a wish that she and Lazarus should be in a humble way\nto the West what Mary and S. John were to be to the East, and that they\nshould forsake the land and the friends of their youth and go forth\nbearing the good news of his Gospel to France? He had raised her once to\nthe rank of an apostle that morning after the resurrection, when he gave\nher a message to the disciples and bade her go and tell them and Peter\nthat he was risen, and before ascending to his Father he may have told her\nonce more to go and be the harbinger of his resurrection to disciples who\nknew him not and were yet dwelling in darkness. We shall one day know,\nplease God, what her motive was, but meantime we may reverently conjecture\nthat there was some such understanding between Our Lord and Magdalen which\ninduced her to leave the country that was so full of the fragrance of his\ndivine humanity, and where his Immaculate Mother still lingered in\nchildless desolation. Magdalen came to Provence, and withdrew to a wild\nand barren spot, upon a mountain called, in memory no doubt of her first\ninterview with Jesus, Ste. Baume; it rises above a valley that runs\ntowards the Alps from the busy city of Marseilles. Here she dwelt in\nsolitude, communing only with her Saviour, and shut away from cruel men\nwho had crucified him. Many and beautiful are the legends grouped by the\nsimple piety of the inhabitants around the lonely watcher of Ste. Baume;\nthey tell you still in reverent and awestricken tones how seven times a\nday the saint was rapt into ecstasy, and carried from her cave in the\nmountain side to the summit of the mountain, and held there suspended\nbetween heaven and earth by angels, but seeing more of heaven than of\nearth, and hearing the music of the angelic choirs. The peasants show you,\neven in these unmystical days of ours, the precise spot of an abrupt sally\nof the mountain where the angels used to come every day at their appointed\nhours to commune with the penitent and lift her off the earth. For thirty\nyears she lived here in penance and expectation, then the term of her\nexile closed, the day came when she was to be set free from the bondage of\nthe flesh, and admitted once and for ever into the presence of her risen\nLord. Perhaps Jesus himself whispered the glad tidings to her in prayer;\nor perhaps it was only the angels who were charged with the message; but\nanyhow, tradition tells us\u2014and who dreams of doubting it?\u2014that Magdalen\nknew by divine inspiration when the hour of her death was at hand, and\nthat she was filled with a great longing to receive the body and blood of\nher Redeemer before entering his presence as her Judge. S. Maximin, who\nhad been the companion of Lazarus and shared his labors and his\npilgrimage, dwelt in the narrow plain which forms the base of the three\nadjoining mountains, Ste. Baume, St. Aurelian, and Ste. Victoire\u2014Ste.\nVictoire under whose shadow Marius fought and defeated the Teutons and the\nCimbrians. The dying penitent was unable to traverse herself the distance\nthat separated her own wild solitude from the hermitage of S. Maximin, so\nthe kindly angels came and performed a last office of love for the friend\nof their King, and bore her across the hills and the floods and the\nvalleys to the oratory of the saint: he too had been warned, and was ready\nwaiting for her. He heard her confession, pronounced again the words of\npardon that had been spoken first to her contrite soul by Jesus himself,\nand gave her the holy communion. Then she died, and S. Maximin laid her in\nan alabaster tomb that stood ready prepared for her in his oratory. The\npiety of the faithful surrounded the tomb with enthusiastic reverence and\ndevotion; pilgrims flocked from all parts of the world to venerate the\nremains of the queen of penitents, and to visit the grotto where she had\nlived and the oratory where she died. Cassian, the monk, who was himself a\nnative of Marseilles, after graduating in the school of the Egyptian\nanchorites, returned to his native city, and raised the Abbey of S. Victor\nover the crypt where Lazarus slept. Ste. Baume and St. Maximin soon drew\nhim with irresistible attraction; he founded two noble monasteries there,\nand he and his monks kept vigilant guard for a thousand years, from the\nIVth to the XIIIth century, over the ground where Magdalen had wept, and\nover the tomb where she rested. At the beginning of the VIIIth century,\nthe Saracens invaded the fair land of Provence, and for nearly three\nhundred years it was a prey to their devastating fury. During this long\nperiod of invasion, the Cassianites, terrified lest the precious remains\nof Magdalen should be discovered by the enemy and desecrated, thought best\nto remove them from the place where they were known to be to one of\ngreater secrecy and safety. They took the body, therefore, out of its\nfamous alabaster tomb and laid it in the tomb of S. Sidonius, having\npreviously translated elsewhere the relics of the holy bishop. With a view\nto future verification, the monks placed on the coffin an inscription\ntestifying to the two translations, and narrating the manner of their\naccomplishment and the circumstances which led to it. The entrance to the\ncrypt itself was then walled up with plaster, and overlaid further with a\nquantity of rubbish. But six centuries were to roll over the arid heights\nof St. Maximin before the entrance was to be broken open and the written\ntestimony of the Cassianites invoked. When the wars of the Saracens were\nover, and men began to breathe in peace, and turn their thoughts once more\nto the worship of God and the veneration of his saints, the fact of the\ntranslation of the body of Magdalen from its original resting\u2010place to the\nsarcophagus of S. Sidonius had faded from their recollection; it was only\nrepeated in a vague sort of way that the illustrious penitent had been\nremoved to a place of safety, which was supposed to be at a distance; some\nlocal coincidences pointed to the Abbey of Vezelay as the spot which had\nbeen privileged to receive and shelter her. By degrees this belief took\nroot in the public mind, and the stream of pilgrims began to flow once\nmore and with renewed enthusiasm towards the venerable old Abbey of\nBurgundy; crusaders met there to invoke before starting for the defence of\nthe Holy Sepulchre the protection of her whom the evangelists had handed\ndown to us as the heroine of the Sepulchre; kings and prelates, warriors\nand poets, sinners and saints, flocked to the supposed tomb of Magdalen,\n\u201ctill,\u201d in the words of a chronicler of the time, \u201cit seemed as if all\nFrance were running to Vezelay.\u201d God is slow to tell his secrets. It was\nnot until the close of the XIIIth century that the illusion, which had\nevoked so much piety and so many manifestations of faith from Christendom,\nwas dispelled, and the truth revealed. This is how it happened. We will\ntranslate from the P\u00e8re Lacordaire, whose _Sainte Marie Madeleine_ has\nsupplied us almost exclusively with the foregoing details:\n\n\u201cS. Louis had a nephew born of his brother, Charles of Anjou, King of\nSicily, and Count of Provence. This nephew, who was likewise called\nCharles, and who on the death of his father became king of Sicily and the\ncounty of Provence, under the title of Charles II., had for S. Magdalen a\ntenderness which he inherited from his race, and which, though common to\nall the chivalry of France, attained in him the highest degree of ardor\nand sincerity. While he was still Prince of Salerno, God inspired him with\na great desire to solve the mystery which for six centuries had hung over\nthe grave of her whom he loved for the sake of Jesus Christ. He set out\ntherefore to St. Maximin without any display, and accompanied only by a\nfew gentlemen of his suite, and having interrogated the monks and the\nelders of the place, he caused the trenches of the old basilica of Cassian\nto be opened. On the 9th of December, 1279, after many efforts which up to\nthat time had been fruitless, he stript himself of his chlamyde, took a\npickaxe, and began to dig vigorously into the ground with the rest of the\nworkmen. Presently they struck upon a tombstone. It was that of S.\nSidonius, to the right of the crypt. The prince ordered the slab to be\nraised, and it was no sooner done than the perfume which exhaled from it\nannounced to the beholders that the grace of God was nigh. He bent down\nfor a moment, then caused the sepulchre to be closed, sealed it with his\nseal, and at once convoked the bishops of Provence to assist at the public\nrecognition of the relics. Nine days later, on the 18th of December, in\nthe presence of the archbishops of Arles and of Aix, and of many other\nprelates and gentlemen, the prince broke the seals which he had prefixed\nto the sarcophagus. The sarcophagus was opened, and the hand of the\nprince, in removing the dust which covered the bones, encountered\nsomething which, as soon as he touched it, broke with age in his fingers.\nIt was a piece of cork from which fell a leaf of parchment covered with\nwriting that was still legible. It bore what follows: \u2018L\u2019an de la Nativit\u00e8\ndu Seigneur 710, le sixi\u00e8me jour du mois de D\u00e9cembre, sous le r\u00e8gne\nd\u2019Eudes, tr\u00e8s pieux Roi des fran\u00e7ais, au temps des ravages de la perfide\nnation des Sarrasins, le corps de la tr\u00e8s ch\u00e8re et venerable Marie\nMadeleine a \u00e9t\u00e9 tr\u00e8s secr\u00e8tement et pendant la nuit transf\u00e9r\u00e9 de son\ns\u00e9pulchre d\u2019alb\u00e2tre dans celui\u2010ci, qui est de marbre et d\u2019o\u00f9 l\u2019on a retir\u00e9\nle corps de Sidoine, afin qu\u2019il y soit plus cach\u00e9 et \u00e0 l\u2019abri de la dite\nperfide nation.\u2019(223) A deed setting forth this inscription and the manner\nof its discovery was drawn up by the prince, the archbishops, and bishops\npresent, and Charles in great joy, after placing his seals again upon the\ntomb, summoned for the fifth of May of the following year an assembly of\nprelates, counts, barons, knights, and magistrates of Provence and the\nneighboring counties to assist at the solemn translation of the relics\nwhich he had been instrumental in raising from the obscurity of a long\nseries of ages.\u201d\n\nThe news of the event was hailed with a shout of joy by all Christendom;\nkings and prelates vied with each other in doing honor to the new\u2010found\ntreasure; gold and precious stones poured in in quantities to adorn the\nshrine which was destined to replace the alabaster tomb of S. Maximin.\n\u201cWhen the appointed day arrived,\u201d continues the P\u00e8re Lacordaire, \u201cthe\nPrince of Salerno, in the presence of a vast and illustrious assembly,\nopened for the third time the monument which he had sealed, and of which\nthe seals were certified to be intact. The skull of the saint was whole\nexcept for the lower jaw\u2010bone, which was wanting;(224) the tongue\nsubsisted, dried up, but adhering to the palate; the limbs presented only\nbones stripped of the flesh; but a sweet perfume exhaled from the remains\nthat were now restored to light and to the piety of souls.... The fact had\nalready been made known of a sign altogether divine having been seen upon\nthe forehead of Magdalen. This was a particle of soft, transparent flesh\non the left temple, to the right, consequently, of the spectator; all\nthose who beheld it, inspired at the same moment by a unanimous act of\nfaith, cried out that it was there, on that very spot, that Jesus must\nhave touched Magdalen when he said to her after the resurrection, _Noli me\ntangere!_ There was no proof of the fact, but what else could they think\nwho beheld on that brow so palpable a trace of life which had triumphantly\nresisted thirteen centuries of the grave? Chance has no meaning for the\nChristian; and when he beholds Nature superseded in her laws, he ascends\ninstinctively to the Supreme Cause\u2014the Cause that never acts without a\nmotive, and whose motives reveal themselves to hearts that do not reject\nthe light.... Five centuries after this first translation, the _noli me\ntangere_, as that instinct of faith had irrevocably named it, subsisted\nstill in the same place and with the same characters; the fact was\nauthenticated by a deputation of the Cour des Comptes of Aix. It was not\nuntil the year 1780, on the eve of an epoch that was to spare no memory\nand no relic, that the miraculous particle detached itself from the skull;\nand even then the medical men who were called in by the highest authority\nin the county certified that the _noli me tangere_ had adhered to the\nforehead by the force of a vital principle which had survived there.\u201d\n\nThe piety of Charles of Anjou raised a stately temple to the penitent of\nBethany on the site of the oratory of S. Maximin. Boniface VIII., who had\nbeheld with his own eyes the miraculous presence of the _noli me tangere_,\nendowed the basilica munificently, and authorized the king to transfer the\ncustody of the relics from the Order of Cassianites, who had formerly held\nit, to that of the Sons of S. Dominic, since become renowned through the\nworld under the name of _Fr\u00e8res pr\u00eacheurs_. A great number of popes\nvisited the shrine, and every king of France held it a duty and a\nprivilege to come to S. Maximin and Ste. Baume, and invoke the aid and\nprotection of the saint; up to Louis XIV., hardly a sovereign neglected\nthis public tribute of respect and devotion to her; but with the _Grand\nMonarque_ the procession of royal pilgrims came to an end. The red tide of\nrevolution arose, and waged war against men\u2019s faith, and destroyed its\nmost touching manifestations and its noblest monuments. It broke, however,\nharmless, at the foot of S. Maximin. Not a stone of the grand old pile was\ntouched, not an altar profaned, not even a picture stolen from the mouldy\nand unguarded walls; the most precious part of its treasure, the relics of\nMagdalen, which had been carefully concealed, were found intact, and duly\nauthenticated as before. Ste. Baume was less fortunate; the storm that\nrespected the tomb showed no mercy to the grotto which had witnessed\nMagdalen\u2019s ecstatic communings with her Lord; the hospital, the convent,\nand the church adjoining it were completely destroyed; nothing remained\nbut a barren rock and a portion of the neighboring forest. In 1822, a\npartial restoration was effected; the vast and massive monastery was\nreplaced by a temporary building of the lightest and cheapest materials,\nlittle better than a lath and plaster shed, to keep the monks under cover;\nthe grotto itself, once so sumptuously adorned by the piety of pilgrims,\nwas left in a state of nakedness and neglect, its costly lamps once\nabundantly fed with aromatic oils were gone, their lights extinguished,\nlike the faith that had kindled them. The church was rebuilt in the same\nsuperficial style as the convent, and solemnly reconsecrated in the\npresence of forty thousand souls assembled in the forest and down in the\nplain. But the material temple, great or small, is more easily rebuilt\nthan the spiritual one; the temple of stone was raised up again, but where\nwas the temple of the spirit which had animated it? Where was the\narchitect who would rebuild this, who would collect the scattered\nfragments, and breathe upon the dead bones, and make them live, and bind\nthem as of yore into a body of devout and simple\u2010hearted worshippers?\nMany, remembering the bygone glories of Ste. Baume, wished that a prophet\nwould arise and work this wonder in Provence. Perhaps the wish took the\nform of a prayer in some loving hearts, and so brought about its\naccomplishment. The valiant\u2010hearted son of S. Dominic, the P\u00e8re\nLacordaire, was to be the prophet of their desires. He rose up and\nupbraided the people of Provence for their ingratitude to the memory of\ntheir illustrious patroness, and for their decayed faith, and exhorted\nthem to stir up the dead embers of a devotion that had formerly been the\nedification and joy of Christendom to repair and beautify the deserted\ngrotto of Mary Magdalen, and rekindle its lamps, and restore the\npilgrimage of Ste. Baume in its ancient fervor. The work was one that\nappealed strongly to the sympathies of the Marseillese; but this was not\nenough to ensure its success. In order to make the sympathy effectual, the\nP\u00e8re Lacordaire needed a helpmate who would go about amongst the people\nand put their good\u2010will into a practical form for him\u2014some one who would\nsecond his exertions by docile and zealous and intelligent co\u2010operation.\nHe looked around him, and his choice fell upon Am\u00e9lie. He knew her, and\nthought she was of all others the person best suited to his purpose. It\nwas no easy or pleasant task the setting on foot of a movement such as\nthis; the preliminaries were sure to be full of difficulties, often of the\nsort that make self\u2010love wince and smart; there was plenty of ridicule in\nstore, a goodly harvest of sneers and snubs to be garnered at the outset,\nrude opposition to be endured from those who had no faith at all, and\nchilling indifference from those who looked upon anything like a return to\nthe forms and symbols of the middle ages as poetic enthusiasm not\npracticable in the XIXth century. It was just the kind of work to put the\ndaughter of S. Dominic to. She did not disappoint the P\u00e8re Lacordaire; but\nresponded as promptly to the call as his own fiery spirit could have\nwished. It was in Am\u00e9lie\u2019s house that the eloquent Dominican inaugurated\nthe _\u0153uvre_ of S. Baume, and told the story of the great penitent\u2019s life\nand death. From the salon in the Rue Grignan the burning words of the\norator went forth to all Provence and stirred many hearts. A committee was\nsoon formed for raising the necessary funds towards the restoration of the\ngrotto as a preliminary to the reopening of the pilgrimage. The P\u00e8re\nLacordaire, as if the more prominently to record the services Am\u00e9lie had\nrendered in the work so far, and to associate her name with its progress,\ndesired that the meetings should be held at her house; and so they were,\nand continued to be regularly until she left Marseilles for Rome. She\nlived to see their joint labors crowned with success; the grotto assumed\ngradually something of its ancient beauty; an inn was built on the plain\nat the foot of the mountain for the accommodation of travellers who came\nfrom a distance, pilgrims were once more seen toiling in great numbers up\nthe steep paths of the forest leading to the grotto, and filling the glade\nwith the sound of canticles, and the feast of S. Magdalen, the 22d of\nJuly, was again celebrated with something of the pomp and fervor of olden\ntimes.\n\nBut events of this stirring and, so to speak, romantic interest were rare\nin Am\u00e9lie\u2019s life. Her path lay rather along the valleys than upon the\nheights above. The doors of the Rue Grignan were often open indeed to the\nwise and learned, and occasionally to the great ones of the earth; but the\nvisits of these were few and far between compared to those of the poor and\nhumble, who besieged it at all hours of the day and night. The poor looked\nupon it as a centre of their own, where they had a right to come at all\ntimes and seasons and make themselves at home. They did this at last so\ncompletely that Am\u00e9lie was sometimes obliged to slip out by a back door in\norder to escape from their precious but pitiless importunity. But no\nimportuning, however persistent or unseasonable, could ruffle her\nunalterable sweetness, or surprise her into a sharp answer or an abrupt\nungraciousness of manner. Hers was the charity that is not easily\nprovoked: it made her stern to self, but long\u2010suffering towards others,\nslow to see evil, softly forbearing to the weaknesses of all.\n\nThis home work was only an episode in her everyday labors. There was not a\nmission, or a hospital, or a refuge, or a good work of any sort in the\ntown, that she had not to do with in one way or another. Just as we often\nhear it said of a woman of the world, \u201cShe is of every _f\u00eate_,\u201d so it used\nto be said in Marseilles of Am\u00e9lie, \u201cShe is of every charity.\u201d One of the\nmost venerable fathers of the Society of Jesus declared that it was\nchiefly to her zeal and intelligent exertions that the Jesuits owed the\nestablishment of their mission at Marseilles. The P\u00e8re de Magdalon looked\nupon her as his right hand; he enlisted her co\u2010operation in all his\nundertakings, and he used to say that it was to her he owed in a great\nmeasure the success of the Maison de Retraite of S. Barth\u00e9l\u00e9my, the last\nwork of his apostolate, and which he lived to see blessed with such\nabundant fruits. The _Filles de la Charit\u00e9_ were long the special objects\nof her liberality and devoted exertions; then came the Sisters of Hope,\nwhose services to the sick are so praiseworthy, and whose presence amongst\nthem was hailed so gratefully by the Marseillese. When the _Petites S\u0153urs\ndes Pauvres_ were in any difficulty, they looked to Am\u00e9lie to help them\nout of it, and they speak with effusion still of the many proofs of\ngenerosity they received from her, and of her unfailing readiness to\nassist them whenever they appealed to her. She seemed to hire herself out\nas a beast of burden to do the work and the bidding of every one who\nwanted her. When there was a question of establishing the _Fr\u00e8res\nPr\u00eacheurs_ at Marseilles, she multiplied herself tenfold. No obstacles\ncould deter her in the service of the sons of her beloved S. Dominic; she\nfound a house for them, and paid all the expenses of their installation.\nBut whatever the work was that came under her hand, she did it, and as\npromptly and earnestly as if it were the one of all others she most\ndelighted in; there was no exclusiveness, no narrowing of her sympathies\nto an _id\u00e9e fixe_ either in piety or in charity; those who had the\nprivilege of being her fellow\u2010laborers for many years declare they never\nonce knew her charity to flag or fail to answer a fresh demand upon it;\nthe supply was inexhaustible, and seemed to increase in proportion as it\nspent itself. Her health was wretched and kept her in almost constant\nphysical pain; yet her activity was extraordinary, and, considering the\nchronic sufferings she had to contend with for the greater part of her\nlife, the amount of work she contrived to get through may be regarded as\nlittle short of miraculous. She rose habitually at five, spent several\nhours in prayer, and assisted at the Holy Sacrifice before beginning the\nactive duties of the day. These lay wherever there were sick to be tended,\nand sorrowing ones to be comforted, and sinners to be converted. She was a\nmember of the Congregation of S. Elizabeth for visiting the hospitals, and\ngave a good deal of time to this work, for which she had a particular\ndevotion. Her gentleness and singularly attractive manner fitted her\nespecially for dealing with aching bodies and sorrowing hearts, and it was\nnot a very rare thing to see Am\u00e9lie succeed in melting the heart of some\nobdurate sinner with whom the entreaties and repeated efforts of the\nchaplain and the nuns had failed. The same sympathetic responsiveness that\nshe threw into so many different good works marked her intercourse with\nindividuals; those whom she was tending or consoling or advising always\nfelt that for the time being they were the chief object of interest to her\nin life, and that she was giving her whole heart to them. She made this\nimpression perhaps more especially on the poor, to whom the sympathy of\nthose above them has such a charm and such a gift of consolation. An\namusing instance of it occurred once in the case of an old woman whom\nAm\u00e9lie had been nursing for some time; she put so much goodwill into all\nshe did, and performed the offices of a sick\u2010nurse so affectionately, that\nthe poor old soul believed she had inspired her with some unaccountable\npersonal attachment; she returned it enthusiastically, and was never tired\ntestifying her gratitude and love. One day, however, Am\u00e9lie arrived in the\npoor little garret\u2014tidy and clean, thanks to her\u2014but, instead of being\nwelcomed with the usual smiles and embraces, the old woman set her face\nlike a flint, and preserved a sullen silence. For some time she\nobstinately refused to say what was amiss with her, but finally, shamed by\nthe coaxing and evident distress of her nurse, she confessed that the day\nbefore she had had a bitter disappointment. \u201cI thought,\u201d she said, \u201cthat\nyou loved me, but I find I was under a delusion; you don\u2019t care a straw\nfor me; they tell me you do for every sick body in the town just what you\nhave been doing for me.\u201d It was with great difficulty that Am\u00e9lie was able\nto console her and obtain her forgiveness for being so universal in her\ncharity.\n\nBut though her creed dealt in no exclusions, there were two classes of her\nfellow\u2010creatures who above the rest had a decided attraction for Am\u00e9lie:\nthese were prisoners and soldiers. She yearned towards the former with the\ntrue spirit of him who loved the publicans and sinners, who gave the\nfirst\u2010fruits of his death to one of them on Calvary, and who prayed for\nthem all with his last breath, saying: \u201cFather, forgive them, for they\nknow not what they do!\u201d The wonders that Am\u00e9lie worked in the gloomy cells\nof the Fort St. Nicholas, the sudden and admirable returns to God that she\nobtained from the condemned, are not to be counted; not by men, at least.\nDay after day she was to be found in the midst of them, teaching old men\ntheir catechism, comforting and exhorting all, preparing them for death,\nwashing and dressing their sores, combing their hair, performing\ncheerfully and affectionately the most disgusting offices. Her labors in\nbehalf of the troops are perhaps the most remarkable part of her life. She\nhad for many years been very zealous in her endeavors to promote religious\ninstruction amongst the soldiers, but her mission in this direction dates\nchiefly from the Crimean war. During this brilliant campaign, which\nbrought so much glory and cost so much blood to the Allied armies, the\nthought of the sufferings of the soldiers in the trenches and on the\nbattle\u2010fields filled Am\u00e9lie\u2019s heart to the momentary exclusion of all\nother interests and preoccupations. Her whole time was spent working for\nthem, and begging and praying for them. She inspired all who came near her\nwith something of her own ardor and tenderness in the cause. She set up\nsocieties among her friends for making clothes and lint for the sufferers,\nand for collecting money to procure all that could comfort and alleviate\nthem. Her efforts were crowned with abundant success. Now, as on many\nother occasions, money flowed in to her from all sides, sometimes from\nstrangers at a distance, for the fame of her charity had spread much\nfurther than the humble daughter of S. Dominic herself suspected, and many\nbenevolent people who wished to give, and knew not how to apply their\nofferings, sent them to her, satisfied that they would be well and wisely\nemployed. The way in which large sums of money sometimes dropped into her\nlap, as it were from the sky, at some opportune moment when she was in\ndire want of it for some case of distress, led many of her humble\n_prot\u00e9g\u00e9s_ to believe that it came to her miraculously. But, while mindful\nof their bodies, Am\u00e9lie\u2019s first solicitude was for the souls of the brave\nfellows who were going out to face death in the service of their country;\nwhile working so hard to procure all that could heal and solace their\ntemporal sufferings, she was laboring still more assiduously in behalf of\ntheir spiritual interests. Nor did her efforts confine themselves\nexclusively to the soldiers, they extended to the officers as well, and\nmuch more difficult she often found them to manage than the rough\u2010and\u2010\nready men under their command. Many a droll story is still told at\nMarseilles of the tricks by which they sometimes evaded her attempts to\ncatch them in her zealous toils and make them remember that they had\nanother enemy to fight and to conquer besides the soldiers of Holy Russia.\nOnce two young officers of good family and fortune, whose lives were not\nthe most edifying to the community, were pointed out to Am\u00e9lie by one of\ntheir brother officers, a fervent Catholic, as fitting subjects for her\nzeal. He undertook to bring them to the Rue Grignan under the pretence of\nintroducing them to an old and charming friend of his, if Am\u00e9lie would\npromise to try and convert them. She promised of course to _try_, and the\ntwo scapegraces made their appearance, never suspecting that a trap had\nbeen laid for them. The conversation dwelt upon the great topic of the\nday, the war, Am\u00e9lie carefully avoiding the most distant allusion to the\nspiritual condition of her visitors. The young men were charmed with her\naffability and _esprit_, and, when she asked them to return with their\nfriend in a few days and dine with her, they accepted her invitation with\ndelight. During dinner their hostess alluded to the numerous pilgrimages\nthat were being performed every day to Notre Dame de Garde; few of the\nsoldiers or sailors started for the Crimea from Marseilles without\nclimbing up the hill to salute Our Lady and ask her blessing on their\narms. The young men confessed that they had never made the pilgrimage and\nevinced little admiration for their more devout comrades; Am\u00e9lie seemed\nsurprised, but not at all scandalized, at the frank admission, and\nproposed that they should both make the pilgrimage next morning and hear\nMass there with her at eight o\u2019clock. They assented with ready courtesy,\ninwardly treating the expedition as a harmless joke, and took leave of\ntheir hostess, very much delighted with her, and not much terrified by the\nsalutary projects that might be lurking in her breast with regard to the\nmorrow. They were at the bottom of the hill punctually at half\u2010past seven,\nand toiled up to the church, where they expected to see Am\u00e9lie already on\nthe lookout for them. But they looked round the church and saw no sight of\nher. Taking for granted that she was not there, and that something had\ninterfered to prevent her keeping the appointment, they took themselves\noff with the comfortable feeling of having done their duty, and behaved\nlike gentlemen, and come safe out of it. The morning was raw and cold, and\nthey were both tired after the long pull uphill, so on their way down they\nturned into a little dairy where hungry pilgrims were comforting\nthemselves with cups of coffee. There was a good fire in the place, and\nthey sat down to enjoy it, and dawdled a good while over their hot coffee,\nwondering what kind trick of Fortune had prevented the enemy from\nappearing in the field; when lo! looking up suddenly, they beheld the\ntruant peering in at them through the window. The pair started as if they\nhad seen a ghost. But Am\u00e9lie knew human nature too well to press her\nadvantage at such a moment; she smiled, shook her finger threateningly,\nand went her way down the hill, leaving the two young men less triumphant\nthan she had found them, and very anxious to clear themselves of having\nbroken their word to a lady, and eager to redeem it a second time if\nAm\u00e9lie desired. She did desire it, and it was not long before one of the\ntwo blessed her for having done so. He was ordered off with his regiment\nsoon after, and before setting sail ascended once more to the shrine of\nNotre Dame de Garde in a different spirit and with a very different\npurpose.\n\nHer intercourse with the troops during this period gave Am\u00e9lie an insight\ninto the deplorable ignorance in matters of faith that existed in the\nmajority of them, and the absence of all religious instruction in the\narmy; it filled her with surprise and grief, and she determined to set to\nwork and bring about a change in both.\n\nReforms are proverbially difficult, and in any branch of the public\nservice pre\u2010eminently so. But difficulties only stimulate strong hearts to\nmore strenuous efforts. Am\u00e9lie was, owing to her high intelligence, her\nwell\u2010known virtue, and her widespread relations, better calculated than\nmost people perhaps to succeed in the undertaking; besides, whatever the\nobstacles were, she never reckoned with human means when God\u2019s work was to\nbe done; she called him to the rescue, and left the issue in his hands. It\nwould be impossible to recount all she did and suffered in this most\narduous undertaking, the journeys she took, the petitions she drew up, the\nletters she wrote, the disappointments and antagonism that attended it in\nthe beginning, and the physical and moral fatigue that it involved all\nthrough. The frequent and successive journeys of eighteen hours to Paris\nand the same back would have been a serious trial of strength to a strong\nperson; but to Am\u00e9lie, whose health was extremely delicate, and who hardly\never knew the sensation of being without pain, most frequently acute and\nintense pain, the wear and tear of those journeys in the sultry heat of\nsummer and the bitter cold of winter alike must have been terrible. But\nshe made small account of her body, she drove it on like a beast of\nburden, goading it with the ardor of her spirit, and never gave in to its\nlamentations until it positively refused to go on. Her own shortcomings\nwere, however, the lightest portion of her difficulties. She had obstacles\nto overcome on every side, especially in quarters where it was most\nessential for her to find approval and assistance. Silvio Pellico said it\nwas easier to traverse a battle\u2010field than the antechamber of a king, and\nthe same may be said most likely of the antechamber of a minister. At\nleast Am\u00e9lie found it so. Many a brave spirit might well have given up in\ndespair before the contemptuous rudeness and petty opposition of small\nfunctionaries, and the inaccessible coldness of great ones, and the\ndisheartening predictions of well\u2010wishers who had gone through similar\nexperiences, and knew what it was to want anything, even in the natural\ncourse of things, done at the War Office; but Am\u00e9lie\u2019s courage never\nflagged for a moment. By degrees her perseverance began to meet with some\nsigns of success. It was known that one military man in high repute\nsupported her views, and was doing his best to enable her to carry them\nout; this converted others. Several who had in the first instance treated\nher project as impracticable, or unnecessary, or simply absurd, one after\nanother came over to her; it was not always because she convinced them,\nbut she won them; they might resist her arguments, but it was impossible\nto come often in contact with her without feeling the contagion of her\nearnestness and sincerity of purpose. Her labors were finally crowned with\nabundant success. She obtained all the concessions she asked, and every\nfacility for carrying them out and improving the spiritual condition of\nthe soldiers. One of her chief anxieties had been for the condemned\nprisoners in the Fort St. Nicholas. She obtained permission for one of the\ndungeons to be turned into a chapel there, and it was henceforth her\ndelight to go there on the great feasts and decorate the altar, and make\nit gay with lights and flowers for the captives. A chaplain was appointed\nto the fort, and he was allowed every facility for the exercise of his\nministry.\n\nThe little _enfants de troupe_ whose youth recommended them to Am\u00e9lie\u2019s\nsolicitude were provided with the needful means of religious instruction\nby the establishment of a school, over which she herself presided from\ntime to time, cheering on the pupils by good advice, and occasional\npresents to the most industrious and deserving. General de Courtigis, who\ncommanded the garrison for many years at Marseilles, and left behind him a\nmemory respected by all good men, had been from the first a staunch ally\nof Am\u00e9lie\u2019s in her endeavors to introduce a Christian spirit amongst both\nthe officers and men. At her suggestion he organized a military Mass every\nSunday at the Church of S. Charles, and there a great number of men, with\nthe general at their head, assisted regularly at the Holy Sacrifice. It\nwas a great treat to Am\u00e9lie, whenever she could find time, to go and\nassist at it with them. She enjoyed the martial appearance and reverent\nbearing of the soldiers with a sort of motherly pride, and the sharp word\nof command, and the clanking of the bayonets when they presented arms at\nthe solemn moment of consecration, used to send a thrill of emotion\nthrough her frame that often melted her to tears.\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d she was heard once to exclaim, on coming out of S. Charles\u2019, \u201cwhat a\ngrand and consoling spectacle it is, to see our soldiers publicly\nworshipping God! One feels that they must be invincible in battle when\nthey set out with the blessing of God on their arms.\u201d\n\nThe troops, on their side, repaid her interest in them by the most\nenthusiastic affection. They used to call her _notre m\u00e8re_ amongst\nthemselves, and it delighted Am\u00e9lie to hear a grizzly old veteran address\nher by this familiar name. Sometimes the brave fellows\u2019 gratitude\nexpressed itself in a way that was rather trying to their adopted mother.\nA regiment which had been quartered at Marseilles, and received many\nproofs of zeal and kindness from Am\u00e9lie during its stay there, happened to\nhear, when passing through Lyons some years later, that she was stopping\nthere. They started off at once in full force, and gave her a military\nserenade under her windows. Am\u00e9lie, of course, showed herself at the\nwindow, and acknowledged the honor, but this did not satisfy the soldiers:\nnothing would do them but she should come out and shake hands with every\nman in the regiment.\n\nMuch as Am\u00e9lie shrank from public notice or praise, her humility could not\nprevent her extraordinary exertions in behalf of the troops, and the\nsuccess which had attended them, from shining out before men. The nature\nof the undertaking had necessarily brought her in contact with the most\ninfluential military men of the day, both at Marseilles and in Paris.\nThese gentlemen had ample opportunity to appreciate her character and\njudge of the value of her services; and though so many had opposed her in\nthe beginning, when they saw her labors triumphant, success raised her so\nhighly in their estimation that they thought it would be becoming to offer\na public tribute of their esteem and gratitude by decorating her with the\nCross of the Legion of Honor. Accordingly, a letter was despatched one day\nfrom the War Office, informing the quiet, unpretending friend of the poor\nsoldier that the government, to testify their approval of her conduct,\ninvested her with the most honorable mark of distinction it was in their\npower to bestow. Am\u00e9lie received the announcement at first as a joke. The\nidea of her going about the world with the Cross or the red ribbon\nfastened to her black gown, and being greeted with the military salute and\npresented arms to whenever the symbol caught the eye of a soldier or a\nsentry, while she threaded her way through the busy streets of Marseilles,\nstruck her as so altogether comical that she could only laugh at it. But\nneither the authorities nor her friends saw any laughing matter in it; the\nlatter combated her refusal so strongly that Am\u00e9lie was perplexed; she\nknew not how to reconcile her deference to their wishes with what appeared\nto her little short of an act of treason to Christian humility and common\nsense; they argued that, by accepting the Cross, she would excite a good\nfeeling in the minds of many towards the government, a result which in\nthose turbulent and antagonistic times was always desirable, and, in the\nnext place, it would invest her with a half\u2010official position in certain\ncircumstances that she might find very useful to others in her relations\nwith minor functionaries. This last consideration had some weight with\nAm\u00e9lie; she turned it to account, though not in the way her friends\ndesired. She wrote to the minister, declining gratefully an honor which\nshe did not feel qualified to accept, but requested that he would reward\nwhat he was pleased to call her services by granting her a _droit de\ngrace_. This would entitle her to present petitions for a commutation of\nsentence in case of military prisoners, and even on certain specified\noccasions to commute the sentence herself. The privilege was granted at\nonce, and, if ever virtue had a sweet reward in this world, it was when\nAm\u00e9lie exercised it for the first time in favor of one of the captives of\nFort St. Nicholas. Her friends rejoiced with her, and almost forgave her\nfor refusing the sterile honor of the Cross of the Legion of Honor. They\nnever knew, so carefully did her humility keep its secret, that the\ngovernment, when granting her the _droit de grace_, exacted as a condition\nthat she should submit to become a member of the Legion of Honor. It was\nyears after that a friend, who had heard something in high quarters which\naroused his suspicions, and who was intimate enough with Am\u00e9lie to take\nthe liberty of catechising her on the subject, asked point\u2010blank if she\nwas decorated, and under promise of secrecy learned the truth.\n\nTo Be Concluded In Our Next.\n\n\n\n\nThe Progressionists.\n\n\nFrom The German Of Conrad Von Bolanden.\n\n\n\nChapter IX. Progress Grows Jolly. Concluded.\n\n\nIn passing near the tables Gerlach overheard conversations which revealed\nto him unmistakably the communistic aspirations and tendencies prevailing\namong the lower orders, their fiendish hatred of religion and the clergy,\ntheir corruption and appalling ignorance. On every hand he perceived\nsymptoms of an alarmingly unhealthy condition of society. He heard\nblasphemies uttered against the Divinity which almost caused his blood to\nrun cold; sacred things were scoffed at in terms so coarse and with an\nanimus so plainly satanical that his hair rose on his head. It was clear\nto him that the firmest supports, the only true foundations of the social\norder, were tottering\u2014rotted away by an incurable corruption.\n\nIn Gerlach\u2019s life, also, as in that of many other men, there had been a\nperiod of mental struggle and of doubt. He, too, had at one time found\nhimself face to face with questions the solution of which involved the\nwhole aim of his existence. During this period of mental unrest, he had\nthought and studied much about faith and science, but not with a silly\nparade of superficial scepticism. He had resolutely engaged in the soul\nstruggle, and had tried to end it for once and all. Supported by a good\nearly training and a disposition naturally noble, instructed and guided by\nbooks of solid learning, he had come out from that crisis stronger in\nfaith and more correct in his views of human science. The scenes which he\nwas witnessing reminded him vividly of that turning\u2010point in his life;\nthey were to him an additional proof that man\u2019s dignity disappears as soon\nas he refuses to follow the divine guidance of religion. Grave in mood, he\nreturned to the table around which were gathered the chieftains. The marks\nof respect shown to the millionaire were numerous and flattering. Even the\nbluff Sand exerted himself unusually in paying his respects to the wealthy\nlandholder, and Erdblatt, whose embarrassed financial condition enabled\nhim beyond them all to appreciate the worth of money, filled a glass with\nhis own hand, and reached it to Mr. Conrad with the deference of an\naccomplished butler. Gerlach was pleased to speak in terms of praise of\nthe nut\u2010brown beverage, which greatly tickled Belladonna, the fat brewer.\nNaturally enough, the conversation turned upon the subject of the\ncelebration.\n\n\u201cI confess I am not quite clear respecting the purpose of your city in the\nmatter of schools,\u201d said Mr. Conrad. \u201cHow do you intend to arrange the\nschool system?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn such a way as to make it accord with the requirements of the times and\nthe progressive spirit of civilization,\u201d answered Hans Shund. \u201cAn end must\nbe put to priest rule in the schools. The establishment of common schools\nwill be a decided step towards this object. For a while, of course, the\npriests will be allowed to visit the schools at specified times, but their\ninfluence and control in school matters will be greatly restricted.\nEducation will be withdrawn from the church\u2019s supervision, and after a few\nyears we hope to reach the point when the school\u2010rooms will be closed\naltogether against the priests. There is not a man of culture but will\nagree that children should not be required to learn things which are out\nof date, and the import of which must only excite smiles of compassion.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhom do you intend to put in the place of the clergy?\u201d inquired Mr.\nConrad.\n\n\u201cWe intend to impart useful information and a moral sense in harmony with\nthe spirit of the age,\u201d replied Hans Shund.\n\n\u201cIt seems to me the elementary branches have been very competently taught\nheretofore in our schools, consequently I do not see the need of a change\non this head,\u201d said Gerlach. \u201cBut you have not understood my question. I\nmean, who are to fill the office of instructors in morals and in\nreligion?\u201d\n\nThe chieftains looked puzzled, for such a question they had not expected\nto hear from the wealthiest man of the country.\n\n\u201cYou see, Mr. Gerlach,\u201d said Sand bluntly, \u201creligion must be done away\nwith entirely. We haven\u2019t any use for such trash. Children ought to spend\ntheir time in learning something more sensible than the catechism.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not disposed to believe that what you have just uttered is a correct\nexpression of the general opinion of this community on the subject of the\nschool question,\u201d returned the millionaire with some warmth. \u201cIt is\nimpossible to bring up youth morally without religion. You are a\nhousebuilder, Mr. Sand. What would you think of the man who would expect\nyou to build him a house without a foundation\u2014a castle in the air?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, I would regard him as nothing less than a fool,\u201d cried Sand.\n\n\u201cThe case is identically the same with moral education. Morality is an\nedifice which a man must spend his life in laboring at. Religion is the\ngroundwork of this edifice. Moral training without religion is an\nimpossibility. It would be just as possible to build a house in the air,\nas to train up a child morally without a religious belief, without being\nconvinced of the existence of a holy and just God.\u201d\n\n\u201cFacts prove the contrary,\u201d maintained Hans Shund. \u201cMillions of persons\nare moral who have no religious belief.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s an egregious mistake, sir,\u201d opposed the landholder. \u201cThe\nrepudiation of a Supreme Being and the violent extinction of the idea of\nthe Divinity in the breast are of themselves grave offences against moral\nconscience. I grant you that, in the eyes of the public, thousands of men\npass for moral who have no faith in religion. But public opinion is\nanything but a criterion of certainty when the moral worth of a man is to\nbe determined. A man\u2019s interior is a region which cannot be viewed by the\neye of the public. You know yourselves that there are men who pass for\nhonorable, moral, pure men, whose private habits are exceedingly filthy\nand corrupt.\u201d\n\nHans Shund\u2019s color turned a palish yellow; the eyes of the chieftains\nsank.\n\n\u201cBesides, gentleman, it would be labor lost to try to educate youth\nindependently of religion. Man is by his very nature a religious being. It\nis useless to attempt to educate the young without a knowledge of God and\nof revealed religion; to be able to do so you would previously have to\npluck out of their own breasts the sense of right and wrong, and out of\ntheir souls the idea of God, which are innate in both. Were the attempt\nmade, however, believe me, gentlemen, the yearning after God, alive in the\nhuman breast, would soon impel the generation brought up independently of\nreligion to seek after false gods. For this very reason we know of no\npeople in history that did not recognize and worship some divinity, were\nit but a tree or a stone, that served them for an object of adoration. In\nmy opinion, it would be far more indicative of genuine progress to adhere\nto the God of Christians, who is incontestably holy, just, omnipotent, and\nkind, whilst to return to the sacred oaks of ancient Germany or to adopt\nthe fetichism of uncivilized tribes would be a most monstrous reaction,\nthe most degrading barbarism.\u201d\n\nThe chieftains looked nonplussed. Earnest thinking and investigation upon\nsubjects pertaining to religion were not customary among the disciples of\nprogress. They looked upon religion as something so common and trivial\nthat anybody was free to argue upon and condemn it with a few flippant or\nsmart sayings. But the millionaire was now disclosing views so new and\nvast, that their weak vision was completely dazzled, and their steps upon\nthe unknown domain became unsteady.\n\nMr. Seicht, observing the embarrassment of the leaders, felt it his duty\nto hasten to their relief. His polemical weapons were drawn from the\narmory of bureaucracy.\n\n\u201cThe progressive development of humanity,\u201d said Mr. Seicht, \u201chas revealed\nan admirable substitute for all religious ideas. A state well organized\ncan exist splendidly without any religion. Nay, I do not hesitate to\nmaintain that religion is a drawback to the development of the modern\nstate, and that, therefore, the state should have nothing whatever to do\nwith religion. An invisible world should not exert an influence upon a\nstate\u2014the wants of the times are the only rule to be consulted.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you understand by a state, sir?\u201d asked the millionaire.\n\n\u201cA state,\u201d replied the official, \u201cis a union of men whose public life is\nregulated by laws which every individual is bound to observe.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou speak of laws; upon what basis are these laws founded?\u201d\n\n\u201cUpon the basis of humanity, morality, liberty, and right,\u201d answered the\nofficial glibly.\n\n\u201cAnd what do you consider moral and just?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhatever accords with the civilization of the age.\u201d\n\nA faint smile passed over the severe features of Mr. Conrad.\n\n\u201cI was watching the procession,\u201d spoke he. \u201cI have seen the religious\nfeelings of a large number of citizens publicly ridiculed and grossly\ninsulted. Was that moral? Was it just? You are determined to oust God and\nreligion from the schools; yet there are thousands in the country who\ndesire and endeavor to secure a religious education for their children. Is\nit moral and just to utterly disregard the wishes of these thousands? Does\nit accord with a profession of humanity and freedom to put constraint on\nthe consciences of fellow\u2010citizens?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe persons of whom you speak are a minority in the state, and the\nminority is obliged to yield to the will of the majority,\u201d answered\nSeicht.\n\n\u201cIt follows, then, that the basis of morality and justice is superior\nnumbers?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, it is! In a state, it appertains to the majority to determine and\nregulate everything.\u201d\n\n\u201cGentlemen,\u201d spoke Gerlach with great seriousness, \u201cas I was a moment ago\nstrolling over this place, I overheard language at several tables, which\nwas unmistakably communistic. Laborers and factorymen were maintaining\nthat wealth is unequally distributed; that, whilst a small number are\nimmensely rich, a much greater number are poor and destitute; that\nprogress will have to advance to a point when an equal division of\nproperty must be made. Now, the poor and the laboring population are in\nthe majority. Should they vote for a partition, should they demand from us\nwhat hitherto we have regarded as exclusively our own, we, gentlemen, will\nin consistency be forced to accept the decree of the majority as perfectly\nmoral and just\u2014will we not?\u201d\n\nThere was profound silence.\n\n\u201cI, for my part, should most emphatically protest against such a ruling of\nthe majority,\u201d declared Greifmann.\n\n\u201cYour protest would be contrary to morals and equity; for, according to\nMr. Seicht, only what the majority wills is moral and just,\u201d returned the\nlandowner. \u201cAnd, in mentioning partition of property, I hinted at a red\nmonster which is not any longer a mere goblin, but a thing of real flesh\nand bone. We are on the verge of a fearful social revolution which\nthreatens to break up society. If there is no holy and just God; if he has\nnot revealed himself, and man is not obliged to submit to his will; if the\nonly basis of right and of morals is the wish of the majority, this\nterrible social revolution must be moral and just, for the majority wills\nit and carries it out.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course, there must be a limit,\u201d said the official feebly.\n\n\u201cThe demands of the majority must be reasonable.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you understand by reasonable, sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cI call reasonable whatever accords with the sense of right, with sound\nthinking, with moral ideas.\u201d\n\n\u201cSense of right\u2014moral ideas? I beg you to observe that these notions\ndiffer vastly from the sole authority of numbers. You have trespassed upon\nGod\u2019s kingdom in giving your explanation, for ideas are supersensible;\nthey are the thought of God himself. And the sense of right was not\nimplanted in the human breast by the word of a majority; it was placed\nthere by the Creator of man.\u201d\n\nThe official was driven to the wall. The chieftains thoughtfully stared at\ntheir beer\u2010pots.\n\n\u201cIt is clear that the will of the majority alone cannot be accepted as the\nbasis of a state,\u201d said Schwefel.\n\n\u201cThe life of society cannot be put at the mercy of the rude and fickle\nmasses. There must be a moral order, willed and regulated by a supreme\nruler, and binding upon every man. This is plain.\u201d\n\n\u201cI agree with you, sir,\u201d said the millionaire. \u201cLet us continue building\non Christian principles. As everybody knows, our civilization has sprung\nfrom Christianity. If we tear down the altars and destroy the seats from\nwhich lessons of Christian morality are taught, confusion must inevitably\nfollow. And I, gentlemen, have too exalted an opinion of the German\nnation, of its earnest and religious spirit, to believe that it can be\never induced to fall away completely from God and his holy law. Infidelity\nis an unhealthy tendency of our times; it is a pernicious superstition\nwhich sound sense and noble feeling will ultimately triumph over. We will\ndo well to continue advancing in science, art, refinement, and industry,\nin true liberty and the right understanding of truth; we will thus be\nmaking real progress, such progress as I am proud to call myself a\npartisan of.\u201d\n\nThe chieftains maintained silence. Some nodded assent. Hans Shund gave an\nangry bite to his pipe\u2010stem, and puffed a heavy cloud of smoke across the\ntable.\n\n\u201cI have confidence in the enlightenment and good sense of our people,\u201d\nsaid he. \u201cYou have called modern progress \u2018a pernicious superstition and\nan unhealthy tendency of the times,\u2019 Mr. Gerlach,\u201d turning towards the\nmillionaire with a bow. \u201cI regret this view of yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich I have substantiated and proved,\u201d interrupted Gerlach.\n\n\u201cTrue, sir! Your proofs have been striking, and I do not feel myself\ncompetent to refute them. But I can point you to something more powerful\nthan argument. Look at this scene; see these happy people meeting and\nenjoying one another\u2019s society in most admirable harmony and order. Is not\nthis spectacle a beautiful illustration and vindication of the moral\nspirit of progress?\u201d\n\n\u201cThese people are jubilant from the effect of beer, why shouldn\u2019t they be?\nBut, sir, a profound observer does not \u2018suffer himself to be deceived by\nmere appearances.\u2019 \u201d\n\nAn uproar and commotion at a distance interrupted the millionaire. At the\nsame instant a policeman approached out of breath.\n\n\u201cYour honor, the factorymen and the laborers are attacking one another!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat are you raising such alarm for,\u201d said Hans Shund gruffly. \u201cIt is\nonly a small squabble, such as will occur everywhere in a crowd.\u201d\n\n\u201cI ask your honor\u2019s pardon: it is not a small squabble, it is a bloody\nbattle.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, part the wranglers.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe cannot manage them; there are too many of them. Shall I apply for\nmilitary?\u201d\n\n\u201cHell and thunder\u2014military!\u201d cried Hans Shund, getting on his feet. \u201cAre\nyou in your senses?\u201d\n\n\u201cSeveral men have already been carried off badly wounded,\u201d reported the\npoliceman further. \u201cYou have no idea how serious the affray is, and it is\ngetting more and more so; the friends of both sides are rushing in to aid\ntheir own party. The police force is not a match for them.\u201d\n\nWomen, screaming and in tears, were rushing in every direction. The bands\nhad ceased playing, and noise and confusion resounded from the scene of\naction. Louise ran to take her brother\u2019s arm in consternation. The wives\nand daughters of the chieftains huddled round their natural protectors.\n\n\u201cHurry away and report this at the military post,\u201d was Seicht\u2019s order to\nthe policeman. \u201cThe feud is getting alarming. One moment!\u201d\n\nTearing a leaf from a memorandum book, he wrote a short note, which he\nsent by the messenger.\n\n\u201cOff to the post\u2014be expeditious!\u201d\n\nLouise hastened with her brother and Gerlach senior to their carriage, and\nher feeling of security returned only when the noise of the combat had\ndied away in the distance.\n\nThe next day the town papers contained the following notice: \u201cThe\nbeautiful celebration of yesterday, which, on account of its object, will\nbe long remembered by the citizens of this community, was unfortunately\ninterrupted by a serious conflict between the laborers and factorymen. A\ngreat many were wounded during the _m\u00eal\u00e9e_, of whom five have since died,\nand it required the interference of an armed force to separate the\ncombatants.\u201d\n\n\n\nChapter X. Brown Bread And Bonnyclabber.\n\n\nSeraphin had not gone to the celebration. He remained at home on the plea\nof not feeling well. He was stretched upon a sofa, and his soul was\nengaged in a desperate conflict. What it was impossible for himself to\nlook upon, had been viewed by his father with composure: the burlesque\nprocession, the public derision of holy practices, the mockery of the\nRedeemer of the world, in whose place had been put a broken bottle on the\nsymbol of salvation. He himself had been stunned by the spectacle; and his\nfather? Was it his father? Again, his father had accompanied the brother\nand sister to the infamous celebration. Was not this a direct confirmation\nof his own suspicions? His father had become a fearful enigma to his soul!\nAnd what if, upon his return from the festival, the father were to come\nand insist upon the marriage with Louise, declaring her advanced notions\nto be an insufficient ground for renouncing a pet project? A wild storm\nwas convulsing his interior. He could not bear it longer, he was driven\nforth. Snatching his straw hat, he rushed from the house, ran through the\nalleys and streets, out of the town, onward and still onward. The August\nsun was burning, and its heat, reflected from the road, was doubly\nintense. The perspiration was rolling in large drops down the glowing face\nof the young man, whom torturing thoughts still kept goading on. Holt\u2019s\nwhitewashed dwelling became visible on the summit of a knoll, and gleamed\na friendly welcome as he came near it\u2014a welcome which seemed opportune for\none who hardly knew whither he was hastening. The walnut\u2010tree which could\nbe seen from afar was casting an inviting shade over the table and bench\nthat seemed to be confidingly leaning against its stem. A flock of\nchickens were taking a sand\u2010bath under the table, flapping their wings,\nruffling their feathers, and wallowing in the dust. Seated on the sunny\nhillock, the cottage appeared quiet, almost lonesome but for a ringing\nsound which came from the adjoining field and was made by the sickle\npassing through the corn. A broad\u2010brimmed straw hat with a blue band could\nbe noticed from the road moving on over the fallen grain, and presently\nMechtild\u2019s slender form rose into view as she pushed actively onward over\nthe harvest field. Hasty steps resounded from the road. She raised her\nhead, and her countenance first indicated surprise, then embarrassment.\nWhom did her eyes behold rushing wildly by, like a fugitive, but the\ngenerous rescuer of her family from the clutches of the usurer Shund. His\nhat was in his hand, his auburn locks were hanging down over his forehead,\nhis face was aglow, his whole being seemed to be absorbed in a mad\npursuit. To her quick eye his features revealed deep trouble and violent\nexcitement. She was frightened, and the sickle fell from her hand. Not a\nday passed on which she would not think of this benefactor. Perhaps there\nwas not a being on earth whom she admired and revered as much as she did\nhim. All the pure and elevated sentiments of an innocent and blooming girl\nunited to form a halo of affection round the head of Seraphin. At evening\nprayer when her father said, \u201cLet us pray for our benefactor Seraphin,\u201d\nher soul sent up a fervent petition to God, and she declared with joy that\nshe was willing to sacrifice all for him. But behold this noble object of\nher admiration and affection suddenly presented before her in a state that\nexcited the greatest uneasiness. With his head sunk and his eyes directed\nstraight before him, he would have rushed past without noticing the\nsympathizing girl, when a greeting clear and sweet as the tone of a bell\ncaused him to look up. He beheld Mechtild with her beautiful eyes fixed\nupon him in an expression of anxiety.\n\n\u201cGood\u2010morning, Mr. Seraphin,\u201d she said again.\n\n\u201cGood\u2010morning,\u201d he returned mechanically, and staring about vaguely. His\nbewilderment soon passed, however, and his gaze was riveted by the\napparition.\n\nShe was standing on the other side of the ditch. The fear of some unknown\ncalamity had given to her beautiful face an expression of tender\nsolicitude, and whilst a smile struggled for possession of her lips her\nlook indicated painful anxiety. Mechtild\u2019s appearance soon directed the\nyoung man\u2019s attention to his own excited manner. The dark shadow\ndisappeared from his brow, he wiped the perspiration from his face, and\nbegan to feel the effect of his walk under the glowing heat of midsummer.\n\n\u201cAh! why, here is the neat little white house, your pretty country home,\nMechtild,\u201d he said pleasantly. \u201cIf you had not been so kind as to wish me\ngood\u2010morning, I should actually have passed by in an unpardonable fit of\ndistraction.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was almost afraid to say good\u2010morning, Mr. Seraphin, but\u2014\u201d She faltered\nand looked confused.\n\n\u201cBut\u2014what? You didn\u2019t think anything was wrong?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo! But you were in such a hurry and looked so troubled, I got\nfrightened,\u201d she confessed with amiable uprightness. \u201cI was afraid\nsomething had happened you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am thankful for your sympathy. Nothing has happened me, nor, I trust,\nwill,\u201d he replied, with a scarcely perceptible degree of defiance in his\ntone. \u201cThis is a charming situation. Corn\u2010fields on all sides, trees laden\nwith fruit, the skirt of the woods in the background\u2014and then this\nmagnificent view! With your permission, I will take a moment\u2019s rest in the\nshade of yon splendid walnut\u2010tree planted by your great\u2010grandfather.\u201d\n\nShe joyfully nodded assent and stepped over the ditch. She shoved back the\nbolt of the gate. Together they entered the yard, which a hedge separated\nfrom the road. The cock crew a welcome to the stranger, and led his\nhousehold from the sand\u2010bath into the sunshine near the barn.\n\n\u201cThis is a cool, inviting little spot,\u201d said the millionaire, as he\npointed to the shade of the walnut\u2010tree. \u201cNo doubt you often sit here and\nread?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Mr. Seraphin; but the dirty chickens have scattered dust all over\nthe bench and table. Wait a minute, you\u2019ll get your clothes dusty.\u201d\n\nShe hurried into the house. His eyes followed her receding form, his ears\nkept listening for her departing steps, he heard the opening and closing\nof doors: presently she reappeared, dusted the bench and table with a\nbrush, and spread a white cloth over the table. Seraphin looked on with a\nsmile.\n\n\u201cI do not wish to be troublesome, Mechtild!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is no trouble, Mr. Seraphin! Sit down, now, and rest yourself. I am so\nsorry father and mother are not at home. They will be ever so glad to hear\nthat you have honored us with a visit.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs nobody at home?\u201d\n\n\u201cFather is in town, and mother is at work with the children in the harvest\nfield.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you not afraid to stay here by yourself?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat should I be afraid of? There are no ghosts in daytime,\u201d she said\nwith a bewitching archness; \u201cand as for thieves, they never expect to find\nanything worth having at our house.\u201d\n\nShe was standing on the other side of the table, looking at him with a\nbeautiful smile.\n\n\u201cWon\u2019t you have a seat on this bench?\u201d said he, making room for her. \u201cYou\nneed rest more than I do. You have been working, and I am merely an idle\nstroller. Do take a seat, Mechtild.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, Mr. Seraphin\u2014I could not think of doing so! It would not be\nbecoming,\u201d she answered with some confusion.\n\n\u201cWhy not becoming?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause you are a gentleman, and I am only a poor girl.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour objection on the score of propriety is not worth anything. Oblige me\nby doing what I ask of you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will do so, Mr. Seraphin, since you insist upon it, but after a while.\nI would like to offer you some refreshments beforehand, if you will allow\nme.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith pleasure,\u201d he said, nodding assent.\n\nA second time she hurried away to the house, whilst he kept listening to\nher footsteps. The extraordinary neatness and cleanliness which could be\nseen everywhere about the little homestead did not escape his observation.\nOn all sides he fancied he saw the work of Mechtild. The purity of her\nspirit, which beamed so mildly from her eyes and was revealed in the\nbeauty of her countenance and the grace of her person, seemed embodied in\nthe very odor of roses wafted over from the neighboring flower garden. He\nwas unconscious of the rapid growth within his bosom of a deep and tender\nfeeling. This feeling was casting a warm glow, like softest sunshine, over\nall that he beheld. Not even the chickens looked to him like other fowls\nof their kind; they were ennobled by the reflection that they were objects\nof Mechtild\u2019s care, that she fed them, that when they were still piping\nlittle pullets she had held them in her lap and caressed them. He\nabandoned himself completely to this sentiment; it carried him on like a\nsmooth current; and he could not tell, did not suspect even, why so\nwonderful a reaction had in so short a time taken place in his interior.\nBeholding himself seated under the walnut\u2010tree surrounded only by\nevidences of honorable poverty and rural thrift, and yet feeling a degree\nof happiness and peace he had never known before, he fancied he was\nperforming a part in some fairy tale which he was dreaming with his eyes\nopen. And now the fairy appeared at the door having on a snowy\u2010white\napron, and carrying a shallow basket from which could be seen, protruding\nabove the rest of its contents, a milk jar. She set before him a pewter\nplate, bright as silver. Then she took out the jar and a cup, next she\nlaid a knife and spoon for him, and finished her hospitable service with a\nhuge loaf of bread.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t get dismayed at the bread, Mr. Seraphin! I am sorry I cannot set\nsomething better before you. But it is well baked and will not hurt you!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou baked it yourself, did you not?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Mr. Seraphin!\u201d\n\nHe attacked the loaf resolutely. From the dimensions of the slice which he\ncut off, it was plain that both his appetite and his confidence in her\nskill were satisfactory. She raised the jar of bonnyclabber, which lurched\nout in jerks upon his plate, whilst he kept gayly stirring it with the\nspoon. Then she dipped a spoonful of rich cream out of the cup and poured\nit into the refreshing contents of the plate.\n\n\u201cLet me know when you want me to stop, Mr. Seraphin.\u201d Mechtild poured\nspoonful after spoonful; he sat immovable, seemingly observing the spoon,\nbut in reality watching her soft plump fingers, then her well\u2010shaped hand,\nnext her exquisitely turned arm, and, when finally he raised his eyes to\nher face, they were met by a mischievous smile. The cup was empty, and all\nthe cream was in his plate.\n\n\u201cMay I go and fetch some more?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cNo, Mechtild, no! Why, this is a regular yellow sea!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou wouldn\u2019t cry \u2018enough!\u2019 \u201d\n\n\u201cI forgot about it,\u201d he replied, somewhat confused. \u201cTo atone for my\nforgetfulness, I will eat it all.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope you will relish it, Mr. Seraphin!\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you! Where is your plate?\u201d\n\n\u201cI had my dinner before you came.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, at any rate you must not continue standing. Won\u2019t you share\nthis seat with me?\u201d\n\nShe seated herself upon the bench, took off her hat, smoothed down her\napron, and appeared happy at seeing him eating heartily.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you find that dish refreshing, Mr. Seraphin?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have done me a real act of charity,\u201d he replied. \u201cThis bread is\nexcellent. Who taught you how to make bread?\u201d\n\n\u201cI learned from mother; but there isn\u2019t much art in making that sort of\nbread, Mr. Seraphin. The food which people in the country eat does not\nrequire artistic preparation. It only needs good, pure material, so that\nit may give strength to labor.\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose you attend to the kitchen altogether, do you not?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Mr. Seraphin. That\u2019s not very difficult, our meals are of the\nplainest kind. We have meat once a week, on Sundays. When the work is\nunusually hard, as in harvest time, we have meat oftener. We raise our own\nmeat and cure it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have assumed household cares at quite an early age, Mechtild.\u201d\n\n\u201cEarly? I am seventeen now, and am the oldest. Mother has a great deal of\ntrouble with the small ones, so the housework falls chiefly to my share.\nIt does not require any great exertion, however, to do it. Plain and\nsaving is our motto. Mother specially recommends four things: industry,\ncleanliness, order, and economy. She advises me not to neglect any one of\nthese points when once I will have a household of my own.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think you will soon set up a separate household?\u201d asked he with\nsome hesitation.\n\n\u201cNot for some time to come, Mr. Seraphin, yet it must be done one day. If\nmy own inclination were consulted, I would prefer never to leave home. I\nshould like things to continue as they are. But a separation must come.\nDeath will pay us a visit as it has done to others, father and mother will\npass away, and the course of events will sever us from one another.\u201d\n\nHer head sank, the brightness of her face became obscured beneath the\nshadow of these sombre thoughts, and, when she again looked up, there\nappeared in her eyes so touching and childlike a sadness that he felt\npained to the soul. And yet this revelation of tenderness pleased him, for\nit made known to him a new phase of her amiable nature.\n\nFor a long time he continued conversing with the artless girl. Every word\nshe uttered, no matter how trifling, had an interest for him. Besides her\ncharming artlessness, he had frequent occasions to admire the wisdom of\nher language and her admirable delicacy. The setting sun had already cast\na subdued crimson over the hilltops, hours had sped away, the chickens had\ngone to roost, still he remained riveted to the spot by Mechtild\u2019s grace\nand loveliness.\n\n\u201cFather is just coming,\u201d she said, pointing down the road. \u201cHow glad he\nwill be to find you here!\u201d\n\nHis head bent forward, Holt came wearily plodding up the road. His right\nhand was hidden in the pocket of his pantaloons, and his head was bowed,\nas if beneath a heavy weight. As Mechtild\u2019s clear voice rang out, he\nraised his head, caught sight of his high\u2010hearted benefactor, and smiled\nin joyful surprise.\n\n\u201cWelcome, Mr. Seraphin; a thousand times welcome!\u201d he cried from the other\nside of the road. \u201cWhy, this is an honor that I had not expected!\u201d\n\nHe stood uncovered, holding his cap in the left hand, his right hand was\nstill concealed. Mechtild at once noticed her father\u2019s singular behavior,\nand her eye watched anxiously for the hidden hand.\n\n\u201cYour daughter has been so kind as to offer refreshments to a weary\nwanderer,\u201d said Gerlach, \u201cand it has been a great pleasure for me to sit\nawhile. We have been chatting for several hours under this glorious tree,\nand may be I am to blame for keeping her from her work.\u201d\n\nHolt\u2019s honest face beamed with satisfaction. He entirely forgot about his\nsecret, he drew his hand out of his pocket, Mechtild turned pale, and a\nsharp cry escaped her lips.\n\n\u201cFor mercy\u2019s sake, father!\u201d And she pointed to the broken chain.\n\n\u201cWhat are you screaming for, foolish girl? Don\u2019t be alarmed, Mr. Seraphin!\nthis chain has got on my arm in an honorable cause. I will tell you the\nwhole story; I know you will not inform on me.\u201d\n\nSeating himself on the bench, he related the adventures of the day.\n\nThe mock procession passed before Mechtild\u2019s imagination with the\nvividness of reality. The narration transformed her. Her mildness was\nchanged to noble anger. She had heard of the vicar of Christ being\ninsulted, of holy things being scoffed at, of the Redeemer being derided\nby a horde of wretches. With her arms akimbo, she drew up her lithe and\ngraceful form to its full height, and with flashing eyes looked at her\nfather while he related what had befallen him. Seraphin could not help\nwondering at the transformation. Such a display of spirit he had not been\nprepared to witness in a girl so gentle and beautiful. When her father had\nended his account, she seized his hand passionately, pressed it warmly\nbetween her own hands, and kissed the chain.\n\n\u201cFather, dear father,\u201d she exclaimed in a burst of feeling, \u201cI thank you\nfrom my heart for acting as you did! Those wretches were scoffing at our\nholy religion, but you behaved bravely in defence of the faith. For this\nthey put chains on you, as the heathen did to S. Peter and S. Paul.\u201d\n\nOnce more she kissed the chain, then, turning quickly, hastened across the\nyard to the house.\n\n\u201cMechtild isn\u2019t like the rest of us,\u201d said Holt, smiling. \u201cThere\u2019s a great\ndeal of spirit in her. I have often noticed it. But I am not astonished at\nher being roused at the mock procession\u2014I was roused myself. I declare,\nMr. Seraphin, it is a shame, a crying shame, that persons are permitted to\nrail at doctrines and things which we revere as holy. One would almost\nbelieve Satan himself was in some people, they take so fanatical a delight\nin scoffing at a religion which is holy and enjoins nothing but what is\ngood.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is incontestable that infidelity hates and opposes God and religion,\u201d\nreplied Gerlach. \u201cThe boasted culture of those who find a pleasure in\ngrossly wounding the most sacred feelings of their neighbors, is wicked\nand stupid.\u201d\n\nMechtild returned with a file in her hand.\n\n\u201cRight, my child! I was just thinking of the file myself. Here, cut the\ncatches of the lock.\u201d\n\nHe laid his arm across the table. A few strokes of the file caused the\nlock and remnant of chain to fall from his wrist.\n\n\u201cWe will keep this as a precious memento,\u201d said she. \u201cOnly think, father,\nthat wicked official ordered you to be manacled, and he is the\nrepresentative of authority. How can one respect or even pray for\nauthorities when they allow religion to be ridiculed?\u201d\n\n\u201cPray for your enemies,\u201d answered the countryman gravely.\n\n\u201cI will do so because God commands me; but I shall never again be able to\nrespect the official!\u201d\n\nHer anger had fled; she appeared again all light and loveliness. He did\nnot fail to observe a searching look which she directed upon him, but its\nmeaning became clear to him only when, as he was taking leave, she said in\na tone of humility: \u201cPardon my vehemence, Mr. Seraphin! Don\u2019t think me a\nbad girl.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is nothing to be forgiven, Mechtild. You were indignant against\ngodless wretches, and they who are not indignant against evil cannot\nthemselves be good.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are most heartily thankful for this visit,\u201d spoke Holt. \u201cI need not\nsay that we will consider it a great happiness as often as you will be\npleased to come.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood\u2010night!\u201d returned the young man, and he walked away.\n\nDeeply immersed in his thoughts, Seraphin went back to town. What he was\nthinking about, his diary does not record. But the excitement under which\nhe had rushed forth was gone\u2014dispelled by the magic of a rural sorceress.\nHe walked on quietly like a man who seems filled with confidence in his\nown future. The recent painful impressions seemed to his mind to lie far\nback in the past; their place was taken up by beautiful anticipations\nwhich, like the aurora, shed soft and pleasing light upon his path. He\nhalted frequently in a dream\u2010like reverie to indulge the happiness with\nwhich his soul was flooded. The full moon, just peering over the hills,\nshed around him a mystic brightness that harmonized perfectly with the\nindefinable contentment of his heart, and seemed to be gazing quizzingly\ninto the countenance of the young man, who almost feared to confess to\nhimself that he had found an invaluable treasure.\n\nAs he stopped before the Palais Greifmann, all the bright spirits that had\nhovered round about him on the way back from the little whitewashed\ncottage, fled. He awoke from his dream, and, ascending the stairs with a\nfeeling of discomfort, he entered his apartment, where his father sat\nawaiting him.\n\n\u201cAt last,\u201d spoke Mr. Conrad, looking up from a book. \u201cYou have kept me\nwaiting a long time, my son.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was in need of a good long walk, father, to get over what I witnessed\nthis morning. The country air has dispelled all those horrible\nimpressions. There is only one thing more required to make me feel\nperfectly well, dear father, which is that you will not insist on my\nallying myself to people who are utterly opposed to my way of thinking and\nfeeling.\u201d\n\n\u201cI understand and approve of your request, Seraphin. The impressions made\non me, too, are exceedingly disagreeable. The advancement of which this\ntown boasts is stupid, immoral, detestable. How this state of society has\ncome about, is inexplicable to me who live secluded in the country.\nSociety is diseased, fatally diseased. Many of the new views professed are\nsheer superstition, and their morality is a mere cloak for their\ncorruption and wickedness. All the powers of progress so\u2010called are\nactively at work to subvert all the safeguards of society. And what your\ndiary reports of Louise, I have found fully confirmed. Though it cost the\nsacrifice of a long cherished plan, a son of mine shall never become the\nhusband of a progressionist woman.\u201d\n\n\u201cO father! how deeply do I thank you!\u201d cried the youth, carried away by\nhis feelings.\n\n\u201cI must decline being thanked, for I have not merited it,\u201d spoke Mr.\nConrad earnestly. \u201cA father\u2019s duty determines very clearly what my\ndecision upon the matter of your marriage with Louise, ought to be. But I\nam under obligations to you, my son, which justice compels me to\nacknowledge. Your discernment and moral sense have prevented a great deal\nof discord and unhappiness in our family. Continue good and true, my\nSeraphin!\u201d\n\nHe pressed his son to his bosom and imprinted a kiss on his forehead.\n\n\u201cTo\u2010morrow we shall start for home by the first train. Fortunately your\nprudent behavior makes it easy for us to get away, and the final breaking\noff of this engagement I will myself arrange with Louise\u2019s father.\u201d\n\n\n    Seraphin Gerlach To The Author.\n\n    DEAR SIR: Two years ago, I took the liberty of sending you my\n    diary, with the request that you would be pleased to publish such\n    portions of its contents as might be useful, in the form of a tale\n    illustrative of the times. I made the request because I consider\n    it the duty of a writer who delineates the condition of society,\n    to transmit to posterity a faithful picture of the present social\n    status, and I am vain enough to believe that my jottings will be a\n    modest contribution towards such a tableau.\n\n    The meagre account given by the diary of my intercourse with\n    Mechtild, will probably have enabled you to perceive the germ of a\n    pure and true relation likely to develop itself further. I shall\n    add but a few items to complete the account of the diary, knowing\n    that poets, painters, and artists have rigorously determined\n    bounds, and that a twilight cannot be represented when the sun is\n    at the zenith. I am emboldened to use this illustration because\n    your unbounded admiration of pure womanhood is well known to me,\n    and because the brightness of Mechtild\u2019s character, were it\n    further described, would no more be compatible with the sombre\n    colorings in which a true picture of modern progress would have to\n    be exhibited, than the noonday sun with the shadows of evening.\n\n    My memoranda concerning Mechtild, which, despite studied\n    soberness, betrayed a considerable degree of admiration, made\n    known to my parents, naturally enough, the secret of my heart.\n    Hence it came that a quiet smile passed over my father\u2019s face\n    every time I commenced to speak of Mechtild. Holt\u2019s manly deed at\n    the mock procession had already gained for him my father\u2019s esteem,\n    and, as I spoke a great deal about Holt\u2019s thoroughness as a\n    cultivator, my father began to look upon him as a very desirable\n    man to employ.\n\n    \u201cWe want an experienced man on the \u2018green farm,\u2019 \u201d said father,\n    one day. \u201cOffer the situation to Holt, and tell him to come to see\n    me about it. I want to talk with him.\u201d\n\n    \u201cGive the good man my compliments,\u201d said mother; \u201ctell him I would\n    be much pleased to become acquainted with Mechtild, who\n    sympathized with you so kindly on that memorable day!\u201d\n\n    I wrote without delay. Holt came, and so did Mechtild. But few\n    moments were necessary to enable mother to detect the girl\u2019s fine\n    qualities. Father, too, was delightfully surprised at her modesty,\n    the beauty of her form, and grace of her manner. He visited the\n    farm accompanied by Holt. The cultivator\u2019s extraordinary\n    knowledge, his practical manner of viewing things, and the\n    shrewdness of his counsels in regard to the improvement of worn\u2010\n    out land and the cultivation of poor soil, completely charmed my\n    father. A contract containing very favorable conditions for Holt\n    was entered into, and three weeks later the family took charge of\n    the \u201cgreen farm.\u201d\n\n    Upon mother\u2019s suggestion, Mechtild was sent to an educational\n    institution, where she acquired in ten months\u2019 time the learning\n    and culture necessary for associating with cultivated people.\n\n    Father and mother had received her on her return like a daughter.\n    This reception was given her not only in consideration of Holt\u2019s\n    skilful and faithful management of business, but also on account\n    of Mechtild\u2019s own splendid womanly character\u2014perhaps, too, partly\n    on account of my unbounded admiration for the rare girl.\n\n    \u201cThe girl is an ornament to her sex,\u201d lauded my father. \u201cHer\n    polished manner and ease in company do not suffer one to suspect\n    ever so remotely that she at any time plied the reaping\u2010hook, and\n    came out of a stubblefield to regale a weary wanderer with brown\n    bread and bonny\u2010clabber. I am quite in harmony with your secret\n    wishes, my dear Seraphin! At the same time, I am of opinion that a\n    step promising so much happiness ought not to be longer deferred.\n    I think, then, you should ask the father for his daughter without\n    delay, so that I may soon have the pleasure of giving you my\n    blessing.\u201d\n\n    From my father\u2019s arms, into which I had thrown myself in\n    thankfulness, I hastened away to the \u201cgreen farm,\u201d where Mechtild\n    with maidenly blushes, and Holt in speechless astonishment, heard\n    and granted my petition.\n\n    I am now four months married. I am the blest husband of a wife\n    whose lovely qualities are daily showing themselves to greater\n    advantage. Mechtild presides over Chateau Hallberg like an angel\n    of peace. Towards my father and mother she conducts herself with\n    filial reverence and never\u2010ceasing delicate attentions. Mother\n    loves her unspeakably, and no access of ill humor in father can\n    withstand her charming smile and prudent mirth. Concerning the\n    banking\u2010house of Greifmann, I have only sad things to tell. Carl\u2019s\n    father had entered into very considerable speculations which\n    failed and drove him into bankruptcy. Carl saw the blow coming,\n    and saved himself in a disgraceful manner. There was a savings\n    institution connected with the bank in which poor people and\n    servants deposited the savings of their hard labor. Carl\n    appropriated this fund and made off a short time before the\n    failure of the house. Thousands of poor persons were robbed of the\n    little sums which they were saving for old age, by denying\n    themselves many even of the necessaries of life.\n\n    The maledictions and curses of these unfortunate people followed\n    across the ocean the thief whose modern culture and progressive\n    humanity did not hinder him from committing a crime which no\n    Christian can be guilty of without losing his claim to the title.\n    Carl, however, still continues to pass for a man of culture and\n    humanity notwithstanding his deed. And why should he not, since\n    without faith in the Deity moral obligations do not exist, and\n    consequently every species of crime is allowable? The old\n    gentleman Greifmann died shortly after his ruin; Louise lost her\n    mind.\n\n    My father felt the misfortune of the Greifmanns deeply, without,\n    however, regretting in the smallest degree the wise determination\n    which their godless principles and actions had driven him to.\n    Formerly he could never find time to take part in the elections.\n    But now he is constantly speaking about the duty of every\n    respectable man to oppose the infernal machinations and plans of\n    would\u2010be progress. He intends at the next election to use all his\n    influence for the election of conscientious deputies, so that the\n    evil may be put an end to which consists in trying to undermine\n    the foundations of society.\n\n    Accept, dear sir, the assurance of the esteem with which I have\n    the honor to be\n\n    our most obedient servant,\n\n    SERAPHIN GERLACH.\n\n    CHATEAU HALLBERG, Jan. 4, 1872.\n\n\n[Two chapters have been omitted in this translation of \u201cThe\nProgressionists.\u201d\u2014ED. C. W.]\n\n\n\n\nF. James Marquette, S.J.\n\n\nAmong the names that have become immortalized in the history of our\ncountry, there are few more certainly destined for perpetual fame than\nthose connected with the discovery and exploration of that mighty river\nwhich courses so boldly and majestically through this vast continent. Thus\nit is probable that there never will be a time when even children at\nschool will not be familiar with such names as De Soto, Marquette, and La\nSalle.\n\nJames Marquette was born in the city of Laon, near a small branch of the\nOise, in the department of Aisne, France, in the year 1637. His family was\nthe most ancient of that ancient city, and had, during many generations,\nfilled high offices and rendered valuable services to their country, both\nin civil and military life. We have accounts of eminent services rendered\nto his sovereign by one of his ancestors as early as 1360. The usefulness\nand public spirit of the family, we may well suppose, did not expire with\nthe distinguished subject of this memoir; for we find that, in the French\narmy that aided our fathers in the achievement of American Independence,\nthere were no less than three Marquettes who laid down their lives in the\ncause of liberty. His maternal name was no less distinguished in the\nannals of the church. On the side of his mother, Rose de la Salle, he was\nconnected with the good and venerable John Baptist de la Salle, founder of\nthe Brothers of the Christian Schools, so distinguished for their\nsuccessful services in the cause of popular religious education. It was\nthis pious mother that instilled into her illustrious son that tender and\nfervid devotion to the Blessed Virgin which so ravished his soul and\nadorned his whole life. In 1654, when but seventeen years old, he entered\nthe Society of Jesus, in which the time of his novitiate, the terms of\nteaching and of his own theological studies, consumed twelve years. He had\nchosen for his model S. Francis Xavier, and in studying his patron\u2019s life,\nand meditating on his virtues, the young priest conceived a holy longing\nto enter the field of missionary toil. He was enrolled in the province of\nChampagne; but, as this had no foreign missions, he caused himself to be\ntransferred to the province of France. His cherished object was soon\nattained. In 1666, he was sent out to Canada, and arrived at Quebec on the\n20th of September of that year.\n\nF. Marquette was at first destined for the Montagnais mission, whose\ncentral station was at Tadousal, and on the 10th of October he started for\nThree Rivers, in order to study the Montagnais language, a key to many\nneighboring Indian tongues, under that celebrated philologist as well as\nrenowned missionary, F. Gabriel Druilletes. His intervals of leisure were\nhere employed in the offices of the holy ministry. F. Marquette was thus\noccupied till April, 1668, when his destination was changed, and he\nreceived orders to prepare for the mission on Lake Superior, known as the\nOttawa mission. He accordingly returned to Quebec, and thence set out for\nMontreal on the 21st of April, with Brother Le Boesme and two other\ncompanions; and from the latter place he embarked on the Ottawa flotilla.\nHe was accompanied by other missionaries on this toilsome and dangerous\nvoyage up the Ottawa, through French River, to and across Lake Huron, and\nto the Sault St. Mary. This region had long before been dedicated to God\nby the erection of the cross by Fathers Jogues and Raymbault, and twenty\nyears later, 1660, F. M\u00e9nard became the founder of the Ottawa mission; and\nwhen F. Marquette arrived in Canada, F. Allouez was then pushing his\nspiritual conquests beyond any points reached by his zealous predecessors.\nOn the advent of F. Marquette to the shores of Lake Superior, it was found\nexpedient to establish two missions, one of which should be located at the\nSault St. Mary, and the other at Green Bay. Erecting his cabin at the foot\nof the rapids on the American side, F. Marquette opened his mission at the\nSault, where he was joined the following year by F. Dablon, Superior of\nthe Ottawa mission. These two zealous missionaries soon gathered a\nChristian flock around them, and the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass was now\noffered up in that wild region in \u201ca sanctuary worthy of the faith.\u201d \u201cIt\nis,\u201d says Bancroft, \u201cthe oldest settlement begun by Europeans within the\npresent limits of the commonwealth of Michigan.\u201d So rich was the harvest\nwhich the enthusiastic and apostolical Marquette saw before him that he\nwrites in one of his letters: \u201cTwo thousand souls were ready to embrace\nthe faith, if the missionary were faithful to his task.\u201d Yet knowing the\nuncertainty of the Indian character, he proceeded cautiously and prudently\nin his undertakings. Though his ardent hopes were not fully realized, the\nharvest was not a fruitless one; and Fathers Dablon and Marquette labored\non with undaunted courage and undiminished zeal, instructing the people,\nbaptizing such as were in danger of death, and laying the solid\nfoundations of a future Christian commonwealth.\n\nIn August of 1669, F. Marquette was transferred from the Sault to\nLapointe, to conduct the missions of the Holy Ghost among the Ottawas, and\nto fill the place recently occupied by F. Allouez, who had gone to Green\nBay. After a perilous and exhausting navigation, amid snow and ice, of a\nmonth\u2019s duration, he reached Lapointe in safety, and full of ardor for the\nwork before him. A few extracts from the account of this mission, which F.\nMarquette gave to his superior in his letter of the following year, will\nbe more acceptable to the reader than any synopsis we could prepare from\nit:\n\n\n    \u201cDivine Providence having destined me to continue the mission of\n    the Holy Ghost begun by Allouez, who had baptized the chiefs of\n    the Kiskakonk, I arrived there on the thirteenth of September, and\n    went to visit the Indians who were in the clearings, which are\n    divided into five towns. The Hurons, to the number of about four\n    or five hundred, almost all baptized, still preserve some little\n    Christianity. A number of the chiefs assembled in council were at\n    first well pleased to see me; but I explained that I did not yet\n    know their language perfectly, and that no other missionary was\n    coming, both because all had gone to the Iroquois, and because F.\n    Allouez, who understood them perfectly, did not wish to return\n    that winter, as they did not love the prayer enough. They\n    acknowledged that it was a just punishment, and during the winter\n    held talks about it, and resolved to amend, as they tell me.\n\n    \u201cThe nation of the Outaouaks Sinagaux is far from the kingdom of\n    God, and being above all other nations addicted to lewdness,\n    sacrifices, and juggleries. They ridicule the prayer, and will\n    scarcely hear us speak of Christianity. They are proud and\n    undeveloped, and I think that so little can be done with this\n    tribe that I have not baptized healthy infants who seem likely to\n    live, watching only for such as are sick. The Indians of the\n    Kinouch\u00e9 tribe declare openly that it is not yet time. There are,\n    however, two men among them formerly baptized. One, now rather\n    old, is looked upon as a kind of miracle among the Indians, having\n    always refused to marry, persisting in this resolution in spite of\n    all that had been said. He has suffered much, even from his\n    relatives, but he is as little affected by this as by the loss of\n    all the goods which he brought last year from the settlement, not\n    having even enough left to cover him. These are hard trials for\n    Indians, who generally seek only to possess much in this world.\n    The other, a new\u2010married young man, seems of another nature than\n    the rest. The Indians, extremely attached to their reveries, had\n    resolved that a certain number of young women should prostitute\n    themselves, each to choose such partner as she liked. No one in\n    these cases ever refused, as the lives of men are supposed to\n    depend on it. This young Christian was called; on entering the\n    cabin, he saw the orgies that were about to begin, and, feigning\n    illness, immediately left, and, though they came to call him back,\n    he refused to go. His confession was as prudent as it could be,\n    and I wondered that an Indian could live so innocently, and so\n    nobly profess himself a Christian. His mother and some of his\n    sisters are also good Christians. The Ottawas, extremely\n    superstitious in their feasts and juggleries, seem hardened to the\n    instructions given them, yet they like to have their children\n    baptized. God permitted a woman to die this winter in her sin; her\n    illness had been concealed from me, and I heard it only by the\n    report that she had asked a very improper dance for her cure. I\n    immediately went to a cabin where all the chiefs were at a feast,\n    and some Kiskakonk Christians among them. To these I exposed the\n    impiety of the woman and her medicine men, and gave them proper\n    instructions. I then spoke to all present, and God permitted that\n    an old Ottawa rose to advise granting what I asked, as it made no\n    matter, he said, if the woman did die. An old Christian then rose\n    and told the nation that they must stop the licentiousness of\n    their youth, and not permit Christian girls to take part in such\n    dances. To satisfy the woman, some child\u2019s play was substituted\n    for the dance; but this did not prevent her dying before morning.\n    The dangerous state of a sick man caused the medicine men to\n    proclaim that the devil must be invoked by extraordinary\n    superstitions. The Christians took no part. The actors were these\n    jugglers and the sick man, who was passed over great fires lighted\n    in every cabin. It was said that he did not feel the heat,\n    although his body had been greased with oil for five or six days.\n    Men, women, and children ran through the cabins, asking, as a\n    riddle, to divine their thoughts, and the successful guesser was\n    glad to give the object named. I prevented the abominable lewdness\n    so common at the end of these diabolical rites. I do not think\n    that they will recur, as the sick man died soon after.\n\n    \u201cThe nation of Kiskakous, which for three years refused to receive\n    the Gospel preached them by F. Allouez, resolved in the fall of\n    1668 to obey God. This resolution was adopted in full council, and\n    announced to that father, who spent four winter months instructing\n    them. The chiefs of the nation became Christians, and, as F.\n    Allouez was called to another mission, he gave it to my charge to\n    cultivate, and I entered on it in September, 1669.\n\n    \u201cAll the Christians were then in the fields harvesting their\n    Indian corn; they listened with pleasure when I told them that I\n    came to Lapointe for their sake and that of the Hurons; that they\n    never should be abandoned, but be beloved above all other nations;\n    and that they and the French were one. I had the consolation of\n    seeing their love for the prayer and their pride in being\n    Christians. I baptized the new\u2010born infants, and instructed the\n    chiefs whom I found well disposed. The head chief having allowed a\n    dog to be hung on a pole near his cabin, which is a kind of\n    sacrifice the Indians make to the sun, I told him that this was\n    wrong, and he went and threw it down.\n\n    \u201cHaving invited the Kiskakous to come and winter near the chapel,\n    they left all the other tribes, to gather around us so as to be\n    able to pray to God, be instructed, and have their children\n    baptized. They all call themselves Christians; hence in all\n    councils and important affairs I address them, and, when I wish to\n    show them that I really wish what I ask, I need only address them\n    as Christians; they told me even that they obeyed me for that\n    reason. They have taken the upper hand, and control the three\n    other tribes. It is a great consolation to a missionary to see\n    such pliancy in savages, and to live in such peace with the\n    Indians, spending the whole day in instructing them in our\n    mysteries, and teaching them the prayers. Neither the rigor of the\n    winter nor the state of the weather prevents their coming to the\n    chapel; many never let a day pass, and I was thus busily employed\n    from morning till night, preparing some for baptism, some for\n    confession, disabusing others of their reveries. The old men told\n    me that the young men had lost their senses, and that I must stop\n    their excesses. I often spoke to them of their daughters, urging\n    them to prevent their being visited at night. I knew almost all\n    that passed in two tribes near us; but, though others were spoken\n    of, I never heard anything against the Christian women, and when I\n    spoke to the old men about their daughters, they told me that they\n    prayed to God. I often inculcated this, knowing the importunities\n    to which they are constantly exposed, and the courage they need to\n    resist. They have learned to be modest, and the French who have\n    seen them perceive how little they resemble the others from whom\n    they are thus distinguished.\n\n    \u201cAfter Easter, all the Indians dispersed to seek subsistence; they\n    promised me that they would not forget the prayer, and earnestly\n    begged that a father should come in the fall when they assemble\n    again. This will be granted, and, if it please God to send some\n    father, he will take my place, while I, to execute the orders of\n    my father\u2010superior, will go and begin my Illinois mission.\n\n    \u201cThe Illinois are thirty days\u2019 journey by land from Lapointe by a\n    difficult road; they lie south\u2010southwest of it. On the way you\n    pass the nation of the Ketchigamins, who live in more than twenty\n    large cabins; they are inland, and seek to have intercourse with\n    the French, from whom they hope to get axes, knives, and ironware.\n    So much do they fear them that they unbound from the stake two\n    Indian captives, who said, when about to be burned, that the\n    Frenchman had declared that they wished peace all over the world.\n    You pass then to the Miamiwek, and by great deserts reach the\n    Illinois, who are assembled chiefly in two towns containing more\n    than eight or nine thousand souls. These people are well enough\n    disposed to receive Christianity. Since F. Allouez spoke to them\n    at Lapointe to adore one God, they have begun to abandon their\n    false worship; for they adored the sun and thunder. Those seen by\n    me are apparently of good disposition, and they are not night\u2010\n    runners, like the other Indians. A man kills his wife if he finds\n    her unfaithful. They are less prodigal in sacrifices, and promise\n    me to embrace Christianity, and do all I require in their country.\n    In this view, the Ottawas gave me a young man recently come from\n    their country, who initiated me to some extent in their language\n    during the leisure given me in the winter by the Indians at\n    Lapointe. I could scarcely understand it, though there is\n    something of the Algonquin in it; yet I hope, by the help of God\u2019s\n    grace, to understand and be understood if God by his goodness\n    leads me to that country.\n\n    \u201cNo one must hope to escape crosses in our missions, and the best\n    means to live happily is not to fear them, but, in the enjoyment\n    of little crosses, hope for others still greater. The Illinois\n    desire us, like Indians, to share their miseries and suffer all\n    that can be imagined in barbarism. They are lost sheep, to be\n    sought amid woods and thorns, especially when they call so\n    piteously to be rescued from the jaws of the wolf. Such, really,\n    can I call their entreaties to me this winter. They have actually\n    gone this spring to notify the old men to come for me in the fall.\n\n    \u201cThe Illinois always come by land. They sow maize, which they have\n    in great plenty; they have pumpkins as large as those of France,\n    and plenty of roots and fruit. The chase is very abundant in wild\n    cattle, bears, stags, turkeys, duck, bustard, wild pigeon, and\n    cranes. They leave their towns at certain times every year to go\n    to their hunting\u2010grounds together, so as to be better able to\n    resist if attacked. They believe that I will spread peace\n    everywhere if I go, and then only the young will go to hunt.\n\n    \u201cWhen the Illinois come to Lapointe, they pass a large river\n    almost a league wide. It runs north and south, and so far that the\n    Illinois, who do not know what canoes are, have never yet heard of\n    its mouth; they only know that there are very great nations below\n    them, some of whom raise two crops of maize a year. East\u2010southeast\n    of the country is a nation they call Chawawon, which came to visit\n    them last summer. They wear beards, which shows intercourse with\n    Europeans; they had come thirty days across land before reaching\n    their country. This great river can hardly empty in Virginia, and\n    we rather believe its mouth is in California. If the Indians, who\n    promise to make me a canoe, do not fail to keep their word, we\n    shall go into this river as soon as we can, with a Frenchman and\n    this young man given me, who knows some of these languages, and\n    has a readiness for learning others; we shall visit the nations\n    which inhabit it, in order to open the way to so many of our\n    fathers who have long awaited this happiness. This discovery will\n    give us a complete knowledge of the southern or western sea.\n\n    \u201cThe Illinois are warriors; they make many slaves, whom they sell\n    to the Ottawas for guns, powder, kettles, axes, and knives. They\n    were formerly at war with the Nadouessi, but, having made peace\n    some years since, I confirmed it, to facilitate their coming to\n    Lapointe, where I am going to await them, in order to accompany\n    them to their country.\u201d\n\n\nMuch as he loved his children at Lapointe, and faithfully as he had served\nthem, the voice of his superior had ordered him to this new, vaster, and\nmore laborious field, which to his true Jesuit obedience was a task of\nlove. The Illinois at once become dear to his heart as his future\nchildren; he studies their language, loses no opportunity of learning all\nabout their country, its tribes and their customs, sends them presents of\npious pictures and the loving messages of a father, welcomes every member\nof their nation who might visit Lapointe with open arms, and presses him\nto his heart, and devotes every moment of leisure afforded him from his\nlabors to sedulous preparation for the contemplated mission of the\nImmaculate Conception. His intelligent mind fully comprehended the vast\nimportance of the undertaking in its relations to the church and the\ncivilized world, and conceived at once the bold and daring project of a\nthorough exploration of the great river around which so much mystery,\nintermingled with romantic fables and dim traditions, still hung. It is\nwith equal truth and justice that Bancroft writes: \u201cThe purpose of\ndiscovering the Mississippi, of which the tales of the natives had\npublished the magnificence, sprang from Marquette himself.\u201d\n\nIt has already been stated that F. Marquette had sent some pious pictures\nto the Illinois, and by the same messenger to the Sioux, whom he expected\nto be embraced in his intended mission. The messenger who carried the\nfather\u2019s presents also bore his request for protection and a safe\u2010conduct\nto such European missionaries as might visit or pass through their\ncountry, and a message, \u201cThat the black\u2010gown wished to pass to the country\nof the Assinipoils and Kilistinons; that he was already among the\nOutagamis; and that he himself was going in the fall to the Illinois.\u201d\n\nSad indeed must have been the feelings of the good father, when, early in\nthe winter, the Sioux returned to him the pious pictures he had sent them,\nin which he saw an ominous forerunner of impending war. The Ottawas and\nHurons had by their insolence aroused the indignation of the Sioux, and\nthe latter had seized the tomahawk and prepared for the bloody and\nrevengeful strife. His hopes of reaching the cabins of the Sioux by an\noverland route now vanished before the approaching storm. The Indians at\nLapointe could not withstand the fierce onsets of the Dakotah war\u2010parties,\nand first the Ottawas, abandoning their village, launched their canoes\nupon the lake, and were soon gathered in Ekaentoulon Island. The Hurons\nremained alone at Lapointe, and F. Marquette remained in the midst of them\nto minister to their spiritual wants, share their dangers, and uphold\ntheir faith and courage. And when they too were forced to depart, the good\nfather, ever true to his spiritual flock, was content to \u201cturn his back on\nhis beloved Illinois to accompany his Hurons in their wanderings and\nhardships.\u201d The Hurons settled at Mackinaw, a bleak and desolate spot, but\nthe abundance of fish the neighboring waters afforded was certain to\nsecure the fugitives from starvation, while the very desolation of the\nscene seemed a protection from hostile bands. Scarcely had the Hurons\nthrown up their cabins on this dreary shore, when a rude sylvan chapel,\nsurmounted by a cross, graced and cheered the scene, and became the cradle\nof religion at the mission of S. Ignatius. Such was the early origin of\nMichilimackinac. Beside the enclosure of cabins and chapel arose a\npalisade fort for defence. For several years F. Marquette labored in this\nremote and arduous station, cheered only by the consolations which spring\nfrom faith and by the bountiful harvests of souls he reaped.\n\nThough longing to proceed on his mission to the Illinois, as all his\nletters so earnestly manifest, F. Marquette found ample work both for his\nmind and hands in arranging matters at Lapointe, so that his departure\nshould cause as little damage as possible to that mission, to which he had\nbeen so faithful and devoted, and which he was now about to confide to the\ncare of another, and in making the necessary preparations for his\ndeparture; for his time seemed now near at hand. The dreary days of winter\nwere enlivened by recounting the projected plans of the coming spring, and\nin gathering all the information within his reach concerning the\nMississippi and the nations inhabiting its banks. Most of the actual\nknowledge then possessed on the subject was derived from the accounts and\nrelations of the Jesuit missionaries of the Northwest, and from the\nreports of the Canadian traders among the Indians. His inquiries of the\nmore northern tribes were eagerly answered by startling fables of various\nhues and contradictory generalities, but nothing definite could be learned\nfrom them as to the course of the great river, its direction or outlet, or\nof the natives along its course. All was conjecture and theory. As early\nas 1639 the Sieur Nicolet, who was the interpreter of the French colony of\nNew France, had penetrated westward to the furthest grounds of the\nAlgonquins, and had encountered the Winnebagoes, \u201ca people called so\nbecause they came from a distant sea, but whom the French erroneously\ncalled Puents.\u201d And we learn from F. Vimont that \u201cthe Sieur Nicolet, who\nhad penetrated furthest into those distant countries, avers that, had he\nsailed three days more on a great river which flows from that lake (Green\nBay), he would have found the sea.\u201d And although the Indians called the\nMississippi itself \u201cthe sea,\u201d and the Sieur Nicolet may have fallen into\nthe same error, in either case it seems quite certain that he was the\nfirst to reach the waters of that river. In 1641, Fathers Isaac Jogues and\nCharles Raymbaut carried their missionary labors to the Sault St. Mary,\nand received distinct accounts of the Sioux, and of the great river on\nwhose banks they lived. In 1658, after F. Garreau had suffered martyrdom\non the St. Lawrence on his way to renew the Western missions destroyed by\nthe recent Iroquois war, De Groseilles and another Frenchman penetrated to\nLake Superior, and passed the winter on its shores. They visited the\nSioux, learned with greater clearness and particularity of the course of\nthe great river on whose banks they stood. Their annalist writes: \u201cIt was\na beautiful river, large, broad, and deep, which would bear comparison,\nthey say, with the St. Lawrence.\u201d The missionaries of the Saguenay had\nalso \u201cheard of the Winnipegouek, and their bay whence three seas could be\nreached.\u201d And war parties of the Iroquois told the missionaries of New\nYork of their wars with the Ontoagannha, \u201cwhose towns lay on a beautiful\nriver (Ohio), which leads to the great lake, as they called the sea, where\nthey traded with Europeans who pray to God as we (the French) do, and have\nrosaries and bells to call men to prayer.\u201d(225) F. M\u00e9nard, the founder of\nthe Ottawa mission, also heard, in 1660, of the Mississippi and the\nnations on its banks, and was only prevented from visiting them by meeting\nwith a martyr\u2019s death while prosecuting his work. F. Allouez, his\nsuccessor, also writes of the great river, \u201cwhich empties, as far as I can\nconjecture, into the sea of Virginia,\u201d and was the first to reveal to\nEuropeans its Indian name; for, in speaking of one of its tribes, he says:\n\u201cThey live on a great river called Messipi.\u201d At the time that F. Dablon\nwas appointed Superior of the Ottawa missions, and F. Marquette appointed\nto establish the intended Illinois mission, and the exploration of the\nriver was about to be undertaken, the latter, as already stated, was for\nsome time engaged in gathering information concerning its course and\noutlet. Three principal conjectures prevailed at this time: first, that it\nran towards the southwest, and entered the Gulf of California; second,\nthat it flowed into the Gulf of Mexico; third, that it took a more\neasterly direction, and discharged itself into the Atlantic Ocean,\nsomewhere on the coast of Virginia. To F. Marquette belonged the glory of\nsolving the problem, and thus of opening the interior of the continent to\nChristianity and civilization.\n\nThe war which was raging in the country rendered it impossible for the\nmissionaries of themselves to undertake the opening of the long\u2010desired\nmission of the Illinois, and they had accordingly applied for assistance\nto the French government to further this great enterprise. F. Marquette,\nas we have seen from his letters, remained ever ready at a moment\u2019s notice\nfrom his superiors to advance into this dangerous field. He was not\ndeterred by a consciousness of his own declining health, already enfeebled\nby labors and exposures, nor by the hostile character of the nations\nthrough whose country he would have to pass, nor by the danger of a cruel\ndeath at the hands of the fierce Dakotah. This last only made the prospect\nmore enticing to one whose highest ambition was to win the glorious crown\nof martyrdom in opening the way for his brother Jesuits to follow in the\nbattle of the faith. The same flotilla that carried his letter to F.\nDablon to Quebec in the summer of 1672, on its return conveyed to him the\njoyous news that the petition of the missionaries had found favor with the\ngovernment; that the Sieur Jolliet was designated to undertake the\nexploration of the Mississippi; and that F. Marquette was chosen the\nmissionary of the expedition. It was the Blessed Virgin whom, F. Marquette\nsays, \u201cI had always invoked, since my coming to the Ottawa country, in\norder to obtain of God the favor of being able to visit the nations on the\nMississippi River.\u201d It was on the feast of the Immaculate Conception of\nthe same Blessed Virgin Mary that he received the glorious tidings that\nthe realization of his hopes and prayers was at hand. He bestowed upon the\ngreat river the name of the Immaculate Conception, which, however, as well\nas its earlier Spanish name of River of the Holy Ghost, has since yielded\nto its original Indian appellation.\n\nThe exploring party, consisting of \u201cthe meek, single\u2010hearted,\nunpretending, illustrious Marquette, with Jolliet for his associate, five\nFrenchmen for his companions, and two Algonquins as guides, lifting their\ncanoes on their backs, and walking across the narrow portage that divides\nthe Fox River from the Wisconsin,\u201d set out upon their glorious expedition.\nMr. J. G. Shea, to whom we are so much indebted for his researches into\nthis interesting part of the history of our country, describes the voyage\nin the following graphic and eloquent manner:\n\n\n    \u201cIn the spring they embarked at Mackinaw in two frail bark canoes;\n    each with his paddle in hand, and full of hope, they soon plied\n    them merrily over the crystal waters of the lake. All was new to\n    Marquette, and he describes as he went along the Menonomies, Green\n    Bay, and Maskoutens, which he reached on the 7th of June, 1673. He\n    had now attained the limit of former discoveries; the new world\n    was before them; they looked back a last adieu to the waters\n    which, great as the distance was, connected them with Quebec and\n    their countrymen; they knelt on the shore to offer, by a new\n    devotion, their lives, their honor, and their undertakings to\n    their beloved Mother, the Virgin Mary Immaculate; then, launching\n    on the broad Wisconsin, sailed slowly down its current, amid its\n    vine\u2010clad isles and its countless sand\u2010bars. No sound broke the\n    stillness, no human form appeared, and at last, after sailing\n    seven days, on the 17th of June they happily glided into the great\n    river. Joy that could find no utterance in words filled the\n    grateful heart of Marquette.\n\n    \u201cThe broad river of the Conception, as he named it, now lay before\n    them, stretching away hundreds of miles to an unknown sea. Soon\n    all was new; mountain and forest had glided away; the islands,\n    with their groves of cottonwood, became more frequent, and moose\n    and deer browzed on the plains; strange animals were seen\n    traversing the river, and monstrous fish appeared in its waters.\n    But they proceeded on their way amid this solitude, frightful by\n    its utter absence of man. Descending still further, they came to\n    the land of the bison, or pisikiou, which, with the turkey, became\n    sole tenants of the wilderness; all other game had disappeared. At\n    last, on the 25th of June, they descried footprints on the shore.\n    They now took heart again, and Jolliet and the missionary, leaving\n    their five men in the canoes, followed a little beaten path to\n    discover who the tribe might be. They travelled on in silence\n    almost to the cabin\u2010doors, when they halted, and with a loud\n    halloa proclaimed their coming. Three villages lay before them;\n    the first, roused by the cry, poured forth its motley group, which\n    halted at the sight of the new\u2010comers and the well\u2010known dress of\n    the missionary. Old men came slowly on, step by measured step,\n    bearing aloft the all\u2010mysterious calumet. All was silence; they\n    stood at last before the two Europeans, and Marquette asked, \u2018Who\n    are you?\u2019 \u2018We are Illinois,\u2019 was the answer, which dispelled all\n    anxiety from the explorers, and sent a thrill to the heart of\n    Marquette; the Illinois missionary was at last amid the children\n    of that tribe which he had so long, so tenderly yearned to see.\n\n    \u201cAfter friendly greetings at this town of Pewaria, and the\n    neighboring one of Moing\u2010wena, they returned to their canoes,\n    escorted by the wondering tribe, who gave their hardy visitants a\n    calumet, the safeguard of the West. With renewed courage and\n    lighter hearts, they sailed in, and, passing a high rock with\n    strange and monstrous forms depicted on its rugged surface, heard\n    in the distance the roaring of a mighty cataract, and soon beheld\n    Pekitanoui, or the Muddy River, as the Algonquins call the\n    Missouri, rushing like some untamed monster into the calm and\n    clear Mississippi, and hurrying in with its muddy waters the trees\n    which it had rooted up in its impetuous course. Already had the\n    missionaries heard of the river running to the western sea, to be\n    reached by the branches of the Mississippi, and Marquette, now\n    better informed, fondly hoped to reach it one day by the Missouri.\n    But now their course lay south, and, passing a dangerous eddy, the\n    demon of the Western Indians, they reached the Waboukigou, or\n    Ohio, the river of the Shawnees, and, still holding on their way,\n    came to the warm land of the cane, and the country which the\n    mosquitoes might call their own. While enveloped in their sails as\n    a shelter from them, they came upon a tribe who invited them to\n    the shore. They were wild wanderers, for they had guns bought of\n    Catholic Europeans at the East.\n\n    \u201cThus, after all had been friendly, and encouraged by this second\n    meeting, they plied their oars anew, and, amid groves of\n    cottonwood on either side, descended to the 33d degree, when, for\n    the first time, a hostile reception was promised by the excited\n    Metchigameas. Too few to resist, their only hope on earth was the\n    mysterious calumet, and in heaven the protection of Mary, to whom\n    they sent up fervent prayers. At last the storm subsided, and they\n    were received in peace; their language formed an obstacle, but an\n    interpreter was found, and after explaining the object of their\n    coming, and announcing the great truths of Christianity, they\n    embarked for Akamsea, a village thirty miles below on the eastern\n    shore.\n\n    \u201cHere they were well received, and learned that the mouth of the\n    river was but ten days\u2019 sail from this village; but they heard,\n    too, of nations there trading with Europeans, and of wars between\n    the tribes, and the two explorers spent a night in consultation.\n    The Mississippi, they now saw, emptied into the Gulf of Mexico,\n    between Florida and Tampico, two Spanish points; they might, by\n    proceeding, fall into their hands. Thus far only Marquette traced\n    the map, and he put down the names of other tribes of which they\n    heard. Of these, in the Atotchasi, Matora, and Papihaka, we\n    recognize Arkansas tribes; and the Akoroas and Tanikwas, Pawnees\n    and Omahas, Kansas and Apiches, are well known in after\u2010days.\n\n    \u201cThey accordingly set out from Akensea, on the 17th of July, to\n    return. Passing the Missouri again, they entered the Illinois,\n    and, meeting the friendly Kaskaskias at its upper portage, were\n    led by them in a kind of triumph to Lake Michigan; for Marquette\n    had promised to return and instruct them in the faith. Sailing\n    along the lake, they crossed the outer peninsula of Green Bay, and\n    reached the mission of S. Francis Xavier just four months after\n    their departure from it.\n\n    \u201cThus had the missionaries achieved their long\u2010projected work. The\n    triumph of the age was thus completed in the discovery and\n    exploration of the Mississippi, which threw open to France the\n    richest, most fertile and accessible territory of the New World.\n    Marquette, whose health had been severely tried in this voyage,\n    remained at St. Francis to recruit his strength before resuming\n    his wonted missionary labors; for he sought no laurels, he aspired\n    to no tinsel praise.\n\n    \u201cThe distance passed over by F. Marquette on this great\n    expedition, in his little bark canoe, was two thousand seven\n    hundred and sixty\u2010seven miles. The feelings with which he regarded\n    an enterprise having so grave a bearing on the future history and\n    development of mankind may be appreciated from the following\n    closing passage of the ninth section of his _Voyages and\n    Discoveries_:\n\n    \u201c \u2018Had all this voyage caused but the salvation of a single soul,\n    I should deem all my fatigue well repaid. And this I have reason\n    to think; for, when I was returning, I passed by the Indians at\n    Peoria. I was three days announcing the faith in all their cabins,\n    after which, as we were embarking, they brought me to the water\u2019s\n    edge a dying child, which I baptized a little before it expired,\n    by an admirable Providence, for the salvation of that innocent\n    soul.\u2019 \u201d\n\n\nF. Marquette prepared a narrative of his voyage down the Mississippi (from\nwhich the foregoing quotation is taken), and a map of that river; and on\nhis return transmitted copies to his superior, by the Ottawa flotilla of\nthat year. It is also probable that Frontenac, the Governor of New France,\nas he had promised, sent a copy of them to the French government. The loss\nof Jolliet\u2019s narrative and map gave an inestimable value to those of\nMarquette. Yet the French government did not publish them, probably in\nconsequence of the discontinuance of the publication of the Jesuit\n_Relations_ about this time; and thus the great interests involved in the\ndiscovery were neglected. Fortunately, F. Marquette\u2019s narrative fell into\nthe hands of Thevenot, who had just published a collection of travels, and\nsuch was his appreciation of it that he issued a new volume, entitled\n_Recueil de Voyages_, in 1681, containing the narrative and map of the\nMississippi.(226) Mr. Sparks, in his life of F. Marquette, speaks thus of\nthe narrative:\n\n\n    \u201cIt is written in a terse, simple, and unpretending style. The\n    author relates what occurs, and describes what he sees, without\n    embellishment or display. He writes as a scholar and as a man of\n    careful observation and practical sense. There is no tendency to\n    exaggerate, nor any attempt to magnify the difficulties he had to\n    encounter, or the importance of his discovery. In every point of\n    view, this tract is one of the most interesting of those which\n    illustrate the early history of America.\u201d\n\n\nHaving reached Green Bay, the exhausted voyager sank down under the\neffects of his recent travels and exposures. His disease was so obstinate\nand protracted that he suffered during the entire winter, though with\npatience and resignation, and did not recover before the end of the\nfollowing summer. Having received from his superior the necessary orders\nfor the establishment of the Illinois mission, he started on the 25th of\nOctober, 1674, for Kaskaskia. He was accompanied and assisted by two\nfaithful and devoted Frenchmen, and by a number of Pottawattomies and\nIllinois Indians. They coasted along the mouth of Fox River, and then,\nadvancing up as far as the small bay breaking into the peninsula, they\nreached the portage leading to the lake. As the canoes proceeded along the\nlake shore, the missionary walked upon the beach, returning to the canoes\nwhenever the beach was broken by a river or stream; and their provisions\nwere obtained from the abundant yield of the chase. On the 23d of\nNovember, the courageous missionary found his malady returning, but pushed\non, amid cold and snow, until, on the 4th of December, he reached the\nChicago River, which was closed with ice. Here again the unpropitious\nelements and his own infirmities compelled him to stop and spend the\nwinter. But his time was not idly spent during this detention, for his\nmissionary zeal found occupation in the spiritual care of his Indian\ncompanions, whom he instructed as well as he could, and sent them forward\non their journey. His faithful Frenchmen remained now alone with him; but\nat a distance of fifty miles was an Illinois village, where there were two\nFrenchmen, traders and trappers; and these, hearing of the forlorn\ncondition of the missionary, arranged that one of them should go and visit\nhim. They had prepared a cabin for him, and the Indians, alarmed for his\nsafety, were also anxious to send some of their tribe to convey their\nfather and his effects to their village. Touched by their attentions, he\nsent them every assurance of his visiting them, intimating, however, the\nuncertainty of his doing so in the spring, in consequence of his continued\nillness. These messages only added to the alarm of the Indians, and the\nsachems assembled and sent a deputation to the black\u2010gown. The presents\nthey bore were three sacks of corn, dried meat, and pumpkins, and twelve\nbeaver skins. The objects of their visits were, first, to make him a mat\nto sit on; second, to ask him for powder; third, supply him with food;\nfourth, to get some merchandise. The good father made answer in\ncharacteristic terms, as follows: \u201cFirst, that I came to instruct them by\nspeaking of the prayer; second, that I would not give them powder, as we\nendeavor to make peace everywhere, and because I did not wish them to\nbegin a war against the Miamis; third, that we did not fear famine;\nfourth, that I would encourage the French to bring them merchandise, and\nthat they must make reparation to the traders there for the beads taken\nfrom them while the surgeon was with me.\u201d Presenting them with some axes,\nknives, and trinkets, he dismissed them with a promise to make every\neffort to visit them in a few days. Bidding their good father to \u201ctake\nheart,\u201d and beseeching him to \u201cstay and die in their country,\u201d the\ndeputation \u201creturned to their winter camps.\u201d\n\nThe ensuing winter months, though marked by every bodily suffering and\nprivation, were replete with religious consolation. His whole time was\nspent in prayer. Admonished by his disease that his last end could not be\nfar off, he offered his remaining days entirely to God. He lost sight of\nthe sufferings of his body in the overflow of heavenly consolations with\nwhich his soul was ravished. Still the recollection that he had been\nappointed missionary of the Illinois, and the duty this seemed to impose\nupon him of laboring for the conversion of those noble but benighted\nsouls, filled his heart with the desire of visiting them, if it should be\nthe will of God, and the establishment of the Illinois mission became the\nabsorbing thought of his mind and the burden of the prayers which he\naddressed to the throne of heaven. His sufferings he bore not only with\npatience, but with joy; if he prayed for their cessation, it was only with\nthe view that he might thus be enabled to encounter the new sufferings,\nlabors, and hardships of his mission, and that he might devote his\nremaining days to the salvation of his beloved Illinois. To obtain this\nprivilege from heaven, he induced his companions to unite with him in a\nnovena of prayers in honor of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed\nVirgin Mary. Some time after Christmas, 1675, his Patroness in heaven\nobtained the desired boon of health for her devoted client; for he soon\nbegan to recover from his disease, and, though still feeble, was enabled\nby the 29th of March, when the snow and ice began to melt, and the\ninundations compelled them to move, to set out for Kaskaskia, in the Upper\nIllinois. He arrived at that Illinois town on the 8th of April, but his\njournal was discontinued from the 6th of April, and we have no record of\nhis movements from that time. He was received by his children as an angel\nfrom heaven, for they scarcely supposed he had escaped alive the rigors of\nthe winter. It was Monday in Holy Week, and the good man immediately\ncommenced his work. He visited the chiefs and ancients of the town, and\ngave them and the crowds who assembled in the cabins he visited the first\nnecessary instructions in the Gospel. So great were the throngs that\nassembled to hear him preach that the narrow accommodations of the cabins\ncould not hold them. On Maundy Thursday he called a general assembly of\nthe people in the open field, a beautiful prairie near the town, which was\ndecorated after the fashion of the country, and spread with mats and bear\nskins. He formed a little rustic altar by suspending some pieces of Indian\ntaffety on cords, to which were attached, so as to be seen on all four\nsides, four large pictures of the Blessed Virgin, under whose invocation\nthe mission was placed. The assembly was immense; composed of five hundred\nchiefs and ancients seated in a circle around the missionary, and around\nthese stood fifteen hundred young men. Besides these, great numbers of\nwomen and children attended. He addressed his congregation with ten words\nor presents, according to the Indian fashion, associating each word or\npresent, which represented some great truth or mystery, with one of the\nten beads on the belt of the prayer which he held in his hand. He\nexplained the object of his visit to them, preached Christ crucified\u2014for\nit was the eve of Good Friday\u2014and explained to them the principal\nmysteries of the Christian religion. The Holy Mass was then celebrated for\nthe first time in this new mission. On each of the following days he\ncontinued his instructions, and on Easter Sunday he celebrated the great\nFeast of the Resurrection, offering up Mass for the second time. He took\npossession of the land in the name of his risen Lord, and bestowed upon\nthe mission the name of the Immaculate Virgin Mary.\n\nHis former malady now returned with renewed violence. His strength was\nwasting away. To remain would accomplish no good for his children, for he\nwas unable to discharge the duties of the missionary, and no alternative\nwas left but to make an effort to reach his former mission, Mackinaw,\nwhere he hoped to die in the midst of his fellow\u2010members of the Society of\nJesus. He was the more willing now to seek rest in the bosom of his\nRedeemer and in the Society of his Blessed Mother in Heaven, because he\nhad performed his promise, the mission of the Illinois had been founded,\nhis words had been lovingly received by his people, the good seed had been\nsown in their hearts, the Holy Sacrifice had been offered up in their\npresence and for their salvation, and future missionaries might now\nadvance to cultivate the field and reap the harvest he had prepared. His\ndocile Indians, with the devotion of children, begged him to return to\nthem as soon as his health should permit. He repeatedly promised them that\nhe or some other missionary would come to continue the good work amongst\nthem. The people followed him on his journey, escorted him thirty leagues\non his way with great pomp, showing him every mark of friendship and\naffection, and many contended among themselves for the honor of carrying\nthe scanty baggage he possessed. Taking the way of the St. Joseph\u2019s River\nand the eastern shore of Lake Michigan, along which he had yet to travel\nover a hundred leagues through an unknown route, his strength soon began\nto fail entirely. He could no longer help himself; his two faithful French\ncompanions had to lift him in and out of his canoe when they landed at\nnight; and so exhausted had he become under his wasting disease that they\nhad to handle and carry him like a child. In the midst of his sufferings\nand the hardships of such a journey in his enfeebled health, his\ncharacteristic equanimity, joy, and gentleness never for a moment left\nhim. He could even forget his own sufferings to console his companions. He\nencouraged them to sustain the fatigues of the way, assuring them that God\nwould protect and defend them. His native mirthfulness was even in this\nextreme crisis conspicuous in his conversations. He now calmly saw the\napproach of death, and joyfully and heroically welcome it as the reward of\nhis toils and sacrifices. He had some time before prepared a meditation on\ndeath, to serve him in these last hours of his life, which he now used\nwith great consolation. He said his office to his last day. His devotions\nfrequently assumed the shape of colloquies with his merciful Lord, with\nhis Holy Mother, with his angel guardian, and with all heaven. He\nrepeatedly pronounced with fervor the sublime words, \u201cI believe that my\nRedeemer liveth\u201d; and again, \u201cMary, Mother of grace, Mother of God,\nremember me.\u201d Perceiving a river on whose banks loomed up a prominent\neminence, he ordered his companions to stop, that he might die and be\nburied there. He pointed out the spot on this eminence in which he desired\nthem to inter his remains. This river, until recent years, bore his name.\nHis companions still desired to press forward, in the hope of reaching\nMackinaw; but they were driven back by the wind, and, entering the River\nMarquette by its former channel, they erected a bark cabin, under which\nMarquette, like his great model, S. Francis Xavier, was stretched upon the\nshore, and, like him, sighed only to be dissolved and to be with Christ.\nSo cheerfully did he realize his approaching dissolution that he gave all\nthe necessary directions to his companions touching his burial. He had a\nweek before blessed some water, which he instructed them how to use on the\noccasion, how to arrange his hands, feet, and head, with what religious\nceremonies to bury him, even telling them that they should take his little\naltar bell, and ring it as they carried him to the grave. On the eve of\nhis death, he told them with a countenance radiant with joy that the\nmorrow would be his last day on earth. Still mindful of his sacred\nministry, and anxious to be doing good, he administered the sacrament of\npenance to his two companions for the last time. He thanked them for their\ncharity to him during this arduous and eventful voyage, begged their\npardon for the trouble he had given them, and directed them to ask pardon\nfor him and in his name of all the Fathers and Brothers of the Society of\nJesus in the Ottawa country; he also gave them a paper in which he had\nwritten all his faults since his last confession, which he begged them to\ngive to his superior, that he might pray the more earnestly for him. He\npromised not to forget them in heaven. Ever mindful of others in this\ntrying moment, and overflowing with charity for his neighbor, he insisted\nupon his companions taking some rest, leaving him to commune with heaven,\nassuring them that his hour was not yet at hand, and that he would call\nthem in due time. This he did; summoning them to his side, just as his\nagony was approaching. Hastening to him, they fell melting into tears at\nhis feet. He embraced them for the last time, called for the holy water he\nhad blessed and his reliquary, and, taking his crucifix from around his\nneck, and handing it to one of them, he requested him to hold it up before\nhim, so that he could behold it every moment he had yet to live. Clasping\nhis hands, and fixing his eyes affectionately on the image of his expiring\nSaviour, he pronounced aloud his profession of faith, and thanked God for\nthe favor he enjoyed in dying a Jesuit, a missionary of the cross, and,\nabove all, in dying in a miserable cabin, amid forests, and destitute of\nall human consolation and assistance. He then communed secretly for some\ntime with his Creator, but his devotion from time to time found vent in\nthe ejaculations, \u201cSustinuit anima mea in verba ejus,\u201d and \u201cMater Dei,\nmemento mei.\u201d These were his last words before he was taken with the agony\nof death. His companions frequently pronounced the names of Jesus and\nMary, as he had previously requested them to do, and, when they saw he was\nabout to expire, they called out \u201cJesus, Maria,\u201d whereupon he repeated\nthose enrapturing names several times with distinctness, and then\nsuddenly, as if his Saviour and Mother had appeared to him, he raised his\neyes above the crucifix, gazing with a countenance lit up with pleasure at\nthose blissful apparitions. He expired as peacefully and gently as a child\nsinking into its evening slumber.\n\n\n    \u201cThus he died, the great apostle,\n      Far away in regions West;\n    By the Lake of the Algonquins\n      Peacefully his ashes rest;\n    But his spirit still regards us\n      From his home among the blest.\u201d\n\n\nThe devoted companions of the illustrious missionary, happy, in the midst\nof their bereavement, in the privilege of witnessing one of the most\nheroic and saintly deaths recorded in the history of our race, carried out\nevery injunction of their departed father, and added every act that love\nand veneration could suggest, and that their impoverished condition in the\nwilderness could afford. They laid out his remains as he had directed,\nrang the little altar bell as they carried him with profound respect to\nthe mound of earth selected by himself, interred him there, and raised a\nlarge cross to mark the sacred spot.\n\nThe surviving companions of the deceased now prepared to embark. One of\nthem had been ill for some time, suffering with such depression of spirits\nand feebleness of body that he could neither eat nor sleep. Just before\nembarking he knelt at the grave of his saintly friend, and begged him to\nintercede for him in heaven as he had promised, and, taking some earth\nfrom the breast of the departed, and placing it upon his own breast, it is\nrelated that he felt his sadness and bodily infirmity immediately depart,\nand he resumed his voyage in health and gladness. Many are the pious\ntraditions of miraculous results attributed to the sanctity of F.\nMarquette; many of them are still handed down among the Western\nmissionaries, and some of them have found a place in the pages of serious\nhistory.\n\nThe remains of the saintly Jesuit were, two years afterwards, disinterred\nby his own flock, the Kiskakons, while returning from their hunting\u2010\ngrounds, placed in a neat box of bark, and reverently carried to their\nmission. The flotilla of canoes, as it passed along in funeral solemnity,\nwas joined by a party of the Iroquois, and, as they approached Mackinaw,\nmany other canoes, including those of the two missionaries of the place,\nunited in the imposing convoy, and the deep, reverential chant, _De\nProfundis_, arose heavenward from the bosom of the lake until the body\nreached the shore. It was carried in procession with cross, burning\ntapers, and fragrant incense to the church, where every possible\npreparation had been made for so interesting and affecting a ceremony;\nand, after the Requiem service, the precious relics were deposited in a\nvault prepared for them in the middle of the church, \u201cwhere he reposes,\u201d\nsays the pious chronicler, \u201cas the guardian angel of our Ottawa missions.\u201d\n\u201cEver after,\u201d says Bancroft, \u201cthe forest rangers, if in danger on Lake\nMichigan, would invoke his name. The people of the West will build his\nmonument.\u201d\n\nThe following notice of the character of F. Marquette is from the gifted\npen of Mr. Shea:\n\n\n    \u201cSuch was the edifying and holy death of the illustrious explorer\n    of the Mississippi, on Saturday, the 18th of May, 1675. He was of\n    a cheerful, joyous disposition, playful even in his manner, and\n    universally beloved. His letters show him to us as a man of\n    education, close observation, sound sense, strict integrity, a\n    freedom from exaggeration, and yet a vein of humor which here and\n    there breaks out in spite of all his self\u2010command.\n\n    \u201cBut all these qualities are little compared to his zeal as a\n    missionary, to his sanctity as a man. His holiness drew on him in\n    life the veneration of all around him, and the lapse of years has\n    not even now destroyed it in the descendants of those who knew\n    him. In one of his sanctity we naturally find an all\u2010absorbing\n    devotion to the Mother of the Saviour, with its constant\n    attendants, an angelical love of purity, and a close union of the\n    heart with God. It is, indeed, characteristic with him. The\n    privilege which the Church honors under the title of the\n    Immaculate Conception was the constant object of his thoughts;\n    from his early youth he daily recited the little offices of the\n    Immaculate Conception and fasted every Saturday in her honor. As a\n    missionary, a variety of devotions directed to the same end still\n    show his devotions, and to her he turned in all his trials. When\n    he discovered the great river, when he founded his new mission, he\n    gave it the name of the Conception, and no letter, it is said,\n    ever came from his hand that did not contain the words, \u2019Blessed\n    Virgin Immaculate\u2019; and the smile that lighted up his dying face\n    induced his poor companions to believe that she had appeared\n    before the eyes of her devoted client.\n\n    \u201cLike S. Francis Xavier, whom he especially chose as the model of\n    his missionary career, he labored nine years for the moral and\n    social improvement of nations sunk in paganism and vice, and, as\n    he was alternately with tribes of varied tongues, found it was\n    necessary to acquire knowledge of many American languages: six he\n    certainly spoke with ease; many more he is known to have\n    understood less perfectly. His death, however, was, as he had\n    always desired, more like that of the apostle of the Indies; there\n    is, indeed, a striking resemblance between their last moments; and\n    the wretched cabin, the desert shore, the few destitute\n    companions, the lonely grave, all harmonize in Michigan and\n    Sancian.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nPrayer Of Custance, The Persecuted Queen Of Alla Of Northumberland.\n\n\n    Mother, quod she, and maiden bright, Mary!\n    Soth is that through womanne\u2019s eggement\n    Mankind was lorn, and damned aye to die,\n    For which thy Child was on a cross yrent:\n    Thy blissful eyen saw all his torment;\n    Then is there no comparison between\n    Thy woe and any woe man may sustain.\n        Thou saw\u2019st thy Child yslain before thine eyen,\n    And yet now liveth my little child parfay,\n    Now, lady bright! to whom all woful crien,\n    Thou glory of womanhood, thou faire May,\n    Thou haven of refute, bright star of the day!\n    Rue on my child, that of thy gentleness\n    Ruest on every rueful in distress.\n\n    \u2014_Chaucer._\n\n\n\n\nAcoma.\n\n\n\u201cMr. S\u2014\u2014, would you like to visit Acoma?\u201d asked the commandant.\n\n\u201cMost assuredly,\u201d I replied; \u201cI came out here to see all I could see. But\nwhat or who is Acoma?\u201d(227)\n\n\u201cA town built on the top of a rock rising from a level plain to a height\nof over two hundred feet is Acoma\u2014the home of the Acoma Indians, a tribe\nof the great Pueblo family. I am ordered thither to have a talk with the\nprincipal men, and induce them to give up some Navajo\nchildren\u2014captives\u2014they are said to have taken in a recent skirmish.\u201d\n\nI had been enjoying the hospitality of the commandant for some days at old\nFort Wingate, near the Ojo del Gallo, in the northwestern part of New\nMexico. Acoma lies about fifty miles to the southeast of the fort, by a\nvery rough trail across the mountains. It was somewhat further by the\nregular trail.\n\nAs we started, the sun was creeping over the brow of lofty San Mateo. The\nparty consisted of the commandant, Don Juan Brown, a Castilianized\nAmerican, who speaks Spanish like a native, and went with us as volunteer\ninterpreter; Messrs. Jim Durden and Joe Smithers, gentlemen loafers; a\nsergeant and twenty cavalry as escort in case of unexpected and undesired\nrencounters with hostile Apaches or Navajoes; last, the writer, a denizen\nof the city of Gotham, general tourist, grand scribe and chronicler.\n\nWe all rode on horseback, except Don Juan Brown, who, being a trifle over\n225 lbs., divided his weight between a pair of good horses attached to a\nlight buggy. The order of march was: two cavalrymen five hundred yards in\nadvance; the commandant, with Jim and Joe and the writer; the main body of\nthe escort; Don Juan Brown with his buggy, and a rear guard of two\ncavalrymen five hundred yards behind.\n\nA brisk trot of three miles brought us to the Puertocito, or Little Door,\nwhich leads from the Valley of the Gallo into the Mal Pa\u00efs, a petrified\nsea of lava, which lies between the Puertocito and the mountains. The lava\nstream seems to have been suddenly turned to stone by a wave of some\nenchanter\u2019s wand while it was a raging, seething torrent.\n\nWe halted and dismounted, tightened girths, etc. Jim and Joe, unused to\nthe equitating mood, and evidently disliking particularly the trotting\ntense, had fallen back to the rear guard, and looked somewhat shaken. The\nrelief of a walk of some miles was in store for them, as the trail through\nthe Mal Pa\u00efs admitted only of that gait and of single file.\n\nThe Puertocito is formed by two rocks about twenty feet high. We wound our\nway through tortuous passages, through lava spires, at a slow walk. We\ncould not see more than a few yards ahead. It was a dreary pathway. The\nknowledge that it was a haunt for Indians bound on robbery or revenge gave\nimagination an opportunity to put her darkest colors on the natural gloom.\nAn hour\u2019s slow walking brings us to the Bajada, or Descent, where our path\nis up and down the steep sides of a lava rock thirty feet high. We\ndismount and lead our horses carefully down. Half a dozen men holding on\nto the buggy behind make sufficient drag to let it down in safety, though\nwith some wrenching of the wheels in the channelled surface of the rock.\n\nThence our way lies on the eastern skirt of the lava, which runs along\nwith the stream known as the San Jos\u00e9 through a deep and winding gorge\nnamed Los R\u00e9manzos. I have seen some wild scenery in my time, but never\nbefore nor since so savage a piece of landscape as Los R\u00e9manzos. The\nmountains rise perpendicularly on either hand\u2014their barren sides dotted\nwith huge boulders which seem ready to fall instantly on the traveller\nbeneath. You wonder why they do not fall. The winding ca\u00f1on shuts out all\nview beyond twenty yards in advance. A trail barely wide enough for one\nvehicle to pass creeps between the San Jos\u00e9 and the mountains on one side;\nand from the stream to the mountains on the other the lava piles up its\ngrim and threatening forms.\n\nWe halted at the picket to wait for the escort, the buggy, and Jim and\nJoe, beguiling the time by a comforting draught of hot coffee from a\nmilitary quart cup which the commander of the picket hospitably offered\nus. The laggards soon arrived. Jim and Joe took advantage of the pause\nbefore starting again to enter a solemn protest against trotting:\n\n\u201cFor heaven\u2019s sake, commandant!\u201d said they with one voice and in a tone\nthat showed acute feeling, \u201ceither walk or lope; we cannot endure that\nconfounded trot. We shall be as raw as uncooked beefsteaks.\u201d\n\nA bright thought struck them both simultaneously, and, without any further\nceremony, they rushed to the buggy, leaving their horses to take care of\nthemselves or be taken care of by some good\u2010natured dragoon.\n\nAnother mile brought us to the crossing of the San Jos\u00e9. Here was a check\nto our proceedings: the crossing was not fordable. The stream, usually\nabout two feet wide and three inches deep at the crossing, had in\nconsequence of recent heavy rains and the melting of snows filled its\nsteep bed and overflowed its banks for fifty yards on either side. A\npowerful eddy made it impossible for a horse to strike ground on the other\nside. A dragoon dashed in and tried it, but it was with great difficulty\nwe saved him and his horse from being carried down the swollen stream, and\ngot them safe on our side again.\n\n\u201cThat settles it, gentlemen,\u201d said the commandant; \u201cwe shall have to cross\nthe mountains\u2014a rough trail, but we have no choice.\u201d\n\nIt was now proposed to leave the buggy behind, but Joe would not hear of\nit. The commandant was too polite to insist, as he ought to have done.\n\nCrossing a narrow but steep cut, however, the buggy went over, spilling\nDon Juan and Jim over the mountain\u2010side. The buggy stood on its top\u2014wheels\nin the air. The horses\u2014good and gentle animals\u2014came to a full stop and\nstood perfectly quiet. Otherwise, there would have been as little left of\nthe buggy as of Dr. Holmes\u2019 one\u2010horse shay, the last time the deacon rode\nin it. Neither the Don nor Jim was hurt, though the latter was somewhat\nfrightened. Don Juan took the matter with the coolness of an old hand. The\nbuggy was uninjured; it had merely met with a reverse. It was soon put\nupon its legs\u2014or, rather, its wheels\u2014again. Its progress was so\naggravatingly slow when even our fastest possible gait was a walk, that,\ndividing the escort, we went on, leaving it to proceed at its leisure.\n\nIt was about nightfall when we reached the edge of a precipitous descent\nwhere all marks of a trail disappeared. The descent was probably two\nhundred feet in perpendicular height, and alarmingly steep.\n\n\u201cThe buggy can never go down there,\u201d was the general remark.\n\n\u201cConfound the buggy, we shall have to sleep out in the cold all night with\nnothing but a saddle\u2010blanket, on account of it,\u201d also translates a very\ngeneral sentiment.\n\n\u201cWe cannot desert them, however,\u201d said the commandant; \u201cas the buggy has\ncome with us we must stand by it. We shall wait here until it comes up.\u201d\n\nWe had a long and weary wait for that anathematized buggy. At length, as\nthe shades of night were falling, the long\u2010looked\u2010for buggy was seen, its\ntop bumping up and down like a buffalo with a broken foreleg. The don\nwalked on one side of the vehicle holding the reins; Joe walked on the\nother side as gloomily as a chief mourner. The remainder of the escort\nwith dismal visages followed behind.\n\nA glance over the steep brink did not give any radiance to their gloomy\ncountenances. Don Juan expressed his regrets that we should have been\ndetained by the slow and difficult progress of the buggy. Joe said\nnothing, but evidently felt ashamed of himself.\n\nWe were still twenty miles from Acoma. Within about five miles, the\ncommandant said there was a little Indian hut\u2014a sort of outpost of the\nPueblo\u2014the owner of which, old Salvador, was one of the notables of the\nPueblo. The commandant had notified Salvador by courier some days before\nof our intended visit. He had proposed to meet us at the ranchito and\nguide us over the remainder of the mountain trail. Here we could pass the\nnight under cover at least, though we should be pretty closely packed.\n\nJoe had resumed the saddle after the steep descent had been accomplished.\nHe and Jim now led the party, and, as the rest of us stayed with Don Juan\nand the buggy, they got considerably in advance. Thus they had reached the\nranchito some twenty minutes before we did. We found them knocking at the\ndoor and calling loudly and indignantly on the inmates to open.\n\n\u201cWe have been knocking and shouting here for half an hour, and the\nconfounded old Indian has not taken the slightest notice of us. I believe\nhe would let us freeze.\u201d\n\n\u201cSalvador does not know you,\u201d said the commandant. \u201cHe is too wise an\nIndian to open his doors to strangers in this country after nightfall.\nSalvador is reputed wealthy, and it behooves him to be careful what\nnocturnal visitors he receives. I think I can get Salvador to open. Is\nSe\u00f1or Don Salvador within?\u201d asked the commandant, in Spanish.\n\n\u201cIs it the Se\u00f1or Comandante who is without?\u201d asked Don Salvador, in the\nsame language, with the usual Pueblo peculiarities of pronunciation\u2014the\nuse of _l_ for _r_, etc.\n\nBeing satisfied on this point, Salvador opened the door to receive us.\n\nSalvador was a stout, middle\u2010sized, gray\u2010headed Indian of the Pueblo type.\nThe presence of the commandant being a voucher for the rest, Salvador now\nproceeded to shake hands with the whole party\u2014in the order of rank, as he\nunderstood it\u2014taking first the commandant, next the bugler, then the\nsergeant and the men of the escort, and then the civilians, Don Brown and\nthe writer, and lastly Jim and Joe; conscientiously repeating in each\nindividual case, \u201c_Como le va!_\u201d and \u201c_Bueno!_\u201d Indians believe in\nuniforms and brass buttons. They don\u2019t understand official dignity without\noutward and visible signs.\n\nThe ranchito was a little structure of _tierrones_, or sods, roofed with\npoles laid across from wall to wall, and covered with brush and earth.\nThere were no windows. The door was the only aperture, I think. I am not\nquite sure whether there was a hole in the roof to let out a little of the\nsmoke; there may have been. The edifice was about large enough for a fair\u2010\nsized poultry\u2010house. It was perched on the steep mountainside, the earth\nbeing cut away on the upper side to give an approach to a level\nfoundation. There was a small shed for animals, the fodder for whose use\nbeing piled on top of it. There was the usual corn\u2010crib. Our best horses\nwere honored with the hospitality of the shed, Salvador\u2019s pony and burros\nbeing turned out to make room for them. The other animals were tied to\nlogs in front of the ranchito, and a guard placed over them.\n\nIt required some stooping to enter Salvador\u2019s residence. This was very\nhard on the stout Don, who had not seen his own knee for a number of\nyears, but he accomplished it as if he had been in the daily habit of\ntouching his toes without bending his knees. But a further trial still\nawaited him. The hut was divided into two rooms. The passage between the\ntwo rooms was a blighted door, cut short in its youth to the proportions\nof a small fireplace. We had to come down to all\u2010fours to get into the\ninner chamber. When the commandant, the staunch Don, and the writer had\nentered, the place seemed full. But Salvador, on hospitable thoughts\nintent, insisted on Jim and Joe entering. Then Salvador wriggled in. The\nroom was replete.\n\nAfter a meagre supper and a quiet smoke, we arranged the details of the\nmorrow\u2019s trip. With our saddles for pillows, and our saddle\u2010blankets and\novercoats for beds and bed\u2010covering, we lay down to sleep. Brown, with Jim\nand Joe, in the inner room; the commandant, the old Pueblo, and myself in\nthe outer. Jim and Joe lay perpendicularly to Brown, and Salvador\ndescribed a horizontal to the commandant and myself. I slept well,\nconsidering, though I was waked two or three times by a roaring noise,\nwhich seemed to me to be that of the house falling, as I was endeavoring\nto force myself through the passage between the two apartments, in which,\nmore than once during the night, I dreamt that I was stuck fast. On\nwaking, I discovered that the sound proceeded from the resounding Aztec\nnose of our host, Salvador.\n\nWe were roused before day by the old Indian. Dressing took no time, as we\nhad not undressed the night before\u2014a great saving of time, labor, and\ndiscomfort. Breakfast was to be got ready, however. Salvador made the\nfire. The commandant detailed himself and myself as cooks for the morning.\nAt supper\u2010time, Don Juan, assisted by Jim and Joe, would officiate\nculinarily. Slices from a haunch of bacon we had brought with us, cooked\non the end of a stick, with \u201chard tack\u201d and coffee, made in a camp kettle,\nfurnished a delicious breakfast. What is there in the odor of unctuous\nbacon that makes it so pleasant to the nostrils when one is camping out or\n\u201croughing it\u201d? There are people who cannot abide the smell of bacon within\nthe confines of civilization. But put them on the Plains, or in the field,\nand a daily dose of the appetizing grease is necessary to \u201csettle their\nstomachs.\u201d I have known men who, in long trips in the wilds, forsook\nchickens and returned to first principles and bacon.\n\nWe made an early start. The buggy was left behind. Don Juan saddled one of\nhis horses. He borrowed from the old Indian a saddle, so angular and so\nfull of sharp points that it must have been hard even for an Indian\u2019s\nseat. But Brown, though heavy, was a good horseman, and he bore the\ninfliction like a hero.\n\nSalvador was our guide. When we were all mounted, and ready to start, we\nlooked around for him. After some hunting we saw him above us, mounted,\nand seemingly emerging from the roof of the ranchito. He went straight up\nthe side of the mountain, beckoning to us to come on, and shouting\n\u201c_Caballeros! por aqu\u00ed!_\u201d(228)\n\nAn Indian does not understand flank movements. He does not go around\nobstacles. He goes straight over them on the direct line of his objective.\nWe followed our guide, dismounting, however, leading our horses, and\nzigzagging up the steep ascent like Christians and white men.\n\nOur course was over mountain and across ravine on a bee\u2010line of ascent or\ndescent for Acoma. There was some growling by Jim and Joe, but as our\ngeneral gait was a slow walk, and they made much of their progress on\nfoot, they did not grumble much.\n\nI noticed moccasin tracks in several places where the ground was soft. The\ndistance between the foot\u2010prints was very great. It astonished me. I rode\nto the commandant\u2019s side, and called his attention to the wonderful\ntracks. He pointed them out to Salvador, who said they were the tracks of\na _muchacho_ he had sent to the Pueblo last night with the news of our\narrival at the ranchito. What a stepper that _muchacho_ must have been!\nHis average bound must have been at least ten feet.\n\n\u201cHow long will it take him to go to the Pueblo, Salvador?\u201d asked the\ncommandant.\n\n\u201cOh! not long,\u201d replied Salvador, \u201clong as a good horse.\u201d\n\n_Experientia docet._ Before I saw those tracks I used to set down the\naccounts I read in my Grecian history of wonderful time made by messengers\nto Athens and other classic centres as antique yarns. I now believe in the\nfastest Grecian time reported. Thus, the torch of faith is often lit by\nthe merest straying spark\u2014a lesson to us not to limit our belief to what\nis within the scope of our knowledge. We know so little.\n\nJim and Joe had begun to growl over the continual ups and downs of the\njourney when we saw Salvador, who was some three or four hundred yards\nahead, dismount at the foot of what seemed to be the steepest ascent yet.\n\n\u201cThis must be a stiff one,\u201d said the commandant. \u201cI see Salvador has\ndismounted. It takes a pretty steep ascent to make an Indian or a Mexican\ndismount. They hold to the saddle until the animal begins to bend\nbackward.\u201d\n\nIt was a steep and toilsome ascent, winding in and out through huge\nboulders just wide enough apart to let a horse squeeze through. It was not\nalways easy to convince the horses that there was room enough for them to\npass. They would refuse to be convinced, and obstinately draw back, to the\ndiscomfort and danger of those leading them, and more so of those\nfollowing.\n\nAt last we reached the top of the ascent. The descent on the other side\nwas a worthy pendant to it. We halted on the crest to enjoy the landscape\nbefore us. From the base of the height a level plain spread away for\nmiles, unbroken save by a cluster of lofty perpendicular white rocks, each\nrising independently from the level plain. On the top of the highest of\nthese rocks stood a little town, the smoke from its chimneys mingling with\nthe clouds. This was Acoma.\n\nWe descended slowly and carefully. A brisk trot of about two miles brought\nus to two lofty natural columns, through which the trail passed. They\nseemed the pillars of a gigantic portal\u2014a resemblance which had struck the\nIndians, for they named it El Puerto: The Gate. We had now reached the\nbase of the inhabited rock. An excavation near the base was pointed out to\nus by Salvador as the trace of an attempt to mine the position by the\nSpanish invaders! I think the story rather a doubtful one.\n\nI judged the rock to be about two hundred and fifty feet in height. The\npath up the rocky side to the village was steep and narrow. No wheeled\nvehicle has ever entered the Pueblo. The primitive _carreta_, with its\nclumsy wheels of solid disks cut from the trunk of some gigantic cotton\u2010\nwood, stopped short at the base\u2014going thus far and no further. Provisions\nand other necessaries are packed up on the backs of surefooted donkeys.\nWater for drinking purposes is carried up on the heads of the Indians in\nlarge earthen vessels named _tinajas_; for other uses rain\u2010water is\ncarefully gathered in natural tanks or hollows in the summit of the rock.\nThere is a bypath or short\u2010cut up to the Pueblo which the Acomas generally\nuse when unburdened or in a hurry. A glance showed us that it was only\npracticable for Acoma Indians. This short\u2010cut is in the most nearly\nperpendicular of any of the rocky sides. It consists of holes in the\nsmooth and vertical side of the rock, in which the Indians place their\nhands and feet, and climb up after the fashion of sailors clambering up\nrigging, and with no less rapidity.\n\nWe returned to the common highway, which now seemed by comparison a\nflowery path of dalliance. It was slow and tiresome work, however. After a\nrest or two, to breathe our animals and ourselves, we finally reached the\ncomparatively level space, some acres in area, on the summit of the rock.\n\nHere we were met by Francisco, our guide\u2019s son, the governor, matadores,\nalguazils, and other functionaries of the Pueblo. This is as good a place\nas any other to say that the governor and all other officials are elected\nannually. They were dressed in the usual Pueblo fashion. Their heads were\nuncovered. They were draped in large blankets, which gave them a very\ndignified appearance.\n\nWe received a most cordial reception. The commandant had been a good\nfriend to the Acomas\u2014had protected them in their little trading\noperations, and helped them in the long, hard winters when their granaries\nwere empty. The entire male population was assembled in the Plaza or\ncentral square. The squaws and children were at their front doors, that is\nto say, on the roofs, for the entrance to a Pueblo\u2019s dwelling is from\nabove.\n\nA fire for the dragoons to cook their rations by was made in the centre of\nthe Plaza. The horses were picketed around. A contribution of corn and\nfirewood was levied by the governor for the use of the escort. The Indians\ncame in cheerful, laughing groups, bearing their _costals_ of corn or\ntheir bundles of wood. The escort being provided for, we went to the house\nof Francisco, the most comfortable house in the Pueblo; for Francisco was\nthe wealthiest member of the little community. The governor\u2019s dwelling was\na poor one, and himself a poor man who was unable to entertain us as\ncomfortably as Francisco could. He accompanied us thither.\n\nFrancisco\u2019s dwelling, like most of the others in the Pueblo, was a two\u2010\nstoried adobe building, whitewashed inside and out. The mode of access was\na ladder placed against the outer wall of the lower story. Having reached\nthe top of this, you walk across the roof and enter the house by a door on\nthe second story, the fa\u00e7ade of which is somewhat retired from the front\nline of the first.\n\nHere we found some rosy, apple\u2010faced squaws, engaged in culinary and other\ndomestic operations. One was kneeling grinding corn with the primitive\n_matata_. They smiled with all their countenances on us; and a half\u2010dozen\nof the whitest sets of teeth, that dentist or dentifrice never touched,\ngleamed a bright welcome to us. They wore the usual dark woollen robe,\nmade of two pieces, about five feet long and three broad, sewed together\nat one of the narrow ends, but with an aperture for the head to pass\nthrough. The robe is then gathered round the waist and tied with a string.\nTheir nut\u2010brown arms were bare, and encircled at the wrist by from one to\na dozen brass rings; their feet were bare. The thick swathing of buckskin,\nwith which they wrap their lower limbs when journeying, and which gives\nthem the appearance of being terribly swollen, were laid aside, much to\nthe furthering of a graceful effect.\n\nWe were invited to descend to the sitting\u2010room, situated beneath, through\na very narrow trap\u2010door. Don Juan walked fearlessly toward the aperture.\nWe begged him to pause before he rushed into a place whence he could never\nhope to return. The Indians understood the joke, and enjoyed it hugely.\n\nSo the Don entered the aperture, and by judicious squeezing actually\nsucceeded in passing. His coat\u2010tails got through about the same time as\nhis head. The others, being of the lean and hungry\u2010looking kind, had no\ndifficulty in descending.\n\nFrom the room into which we had descended ventilation was completely\nexcluded. Light was only admitted through one or two small panes of glass\nin apertures like port\u2010holes in the walls.\n\nWe took seats on sheep\u2010skins spread in a circle around the floor. The\ncommandant made known his business in passable Spanish; the governor\nreplied, through Francisco, as interpreter. The worthy Don intervened,\nfrom time to time, between the high contracting parties, when there was a\nlack of language or danger of misunderstanding. The business was completed\nsatisfactorily and in short order.\n\nWhile the floor was being set for dinner\u2014tables not being in vogue here\u2014we\nendeavored to obtain the Acoma\u2019s idea of the antiquity of the Pueblo.\nFrancisco, though he had learned to read and write, had not got beyond the\nIndian idea of time, space, or number. There is no medium between \u201cmany\u201d\nand \u201cfew\u201d\u2014very far, _muy lejos_; and near, _cerca_.\n\n\u201cHow many years old is the Pueblo?\u201d\n\n\u201c_Muchos a\u00f1os._\u2014Many years.\u201d\n\n\u201cAbout how many?\u201d\n\n\u201cWho knows, se\u00f1or?\u201d with a shrug. \u201cA great many.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is the oldest man in the Pueblo?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe cacique.\u201d\n\nThe cacique, we were informed, is the official historian of the Pueblo.\nHis records consist only in oral traditions, which he teaches to a youth\nselected for the purpose, who is to succeed him in his office when he\ndies.\n\n\u201cIs the cacique very old?\u201d\n\n\u201cSi, se\u00f1or! Very old.\u201d\n\nIt is useless to ask an Indian how old he or any other Indian is, as he\nnever knows. So we did not ask how old the cacique was.\n\n\u201cWas the cacique he succeeded very old?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir; very old.\u201d\n\n\u201cWas the Pueblo in existence as long as he can remember?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir; and as long as the cacique before him and the cacique before\nhim could remember. But we shall have the cacique here shortly, and then\nafter dinner we\u2019ll have a good big talk about the many years ago.\u201d\n\nFrancisco, the governor, and his father now engaged in an earnest\nconversation in their Indian tongue, the result of which was that\nFrancisco unlocked a vast trunk, of antique form and solidity, and took\ntherefrom a pile of manuscript, which he handed us with great solemnity.\nThe Indians looked upon this venerable pile with great reverence. It was\nprobably the first time it had been touched by \u201coutsiders.\u201d We owed the\npermission to examine it to the many kind acts the commandant had\nperformed for the Acomas.\n\nThe first portion of the manuscript examined was a Missal. The Office of\nthe Mass was copied in Latin in a fair plain hand, the work of some\nSpanish missionary. The ink had turned yellow, but the text was clear and\nlegible throughout. Nothing in the MS. Missal indicated the date of its\nwriting. A further examination of the venerable pages furnished us some\ninformation. Besides the Missal, they comprised a register in Spanish of\nbirths, marriages, and deaths. The earliest written record of the Pueblo\nwhich we found is the record of a baptism, 1725.\n\nHaving gleaned what knowledge we could from the precious manuscripts, they\nwere carefully and reverently put away in the ponderous chest, and secured\nby a padlock nearly as large as a travelling satchel.\n\nDinner was now served. It was very good. It consisted of a chicken stew,\ngood white bread, and very passable tea. The stew was made so intensely\nhot, however, by _chile colorado_,(229) that I did not enjoy it as much as\nI might have done had it been less fiery. I never could relish _chile_\neither _colorado_ or _verde_. But on this occasion, I determined to eat it\nif it burned me to a shell to show my appreciation of Acoma hospitality!\n\nThe cacique\u2014an old, white\u2010haired, blear\u2010eyed Indian, at least ninety\u2014came\nin toward the close of the meal, accompanied by the youth whom he was\ninstructing in the historical and legendary lore of the Pueblo. He evinced\nno inclination to be communicative, but showed a determination to make a\nrousing meal\u2014something to which he was evidently not accustomed. After\ndinner he devoted himself to smoking our cigars; but not a word could we\nget out of him about the history of Acoma. Joe said that as a story\u2010teller\nhe considered the cacique a decided failure.\n\nThe governor signified that he was now ready to show us the church. So\nthither we proceeded.\n\nThe church is, of course, of adobe. It was unused at the time we visited\nit. No priest had been attached to the Pueblo for some years. But it was\nnot suffered to fall into decay. On one side of the altar was a painting\nof the Virgin and Child; on the other, one of S. Joseph. On the ceiling\nabove the altar were large paintings of the sun and moon. Here we got\nanother chronological glimmer\u2014the last we found. It was an inscription\nwhich stated that the church had been renovated in 1802. The Indians told\nus it was done by some artist\u2010priest who came from far away\u2014probably Spain\nor Italy. There are a pair of bells in the belfry. The Acoma tradition is\nthat these bells were a gift to the Pueblo from a Queen of Spain. Of\ncourse they do not know the date of their reception. They say, however,\nthat it was some time before the renovation of the church.\n\nWe next went to the southern edge of the rock to look at the \u201cshort cut\u201d\nfrom above. This was not easy or pleasant pedestrianism. The rock here\nceased to be level, throwing up sharp craggy points. The Indians stepped\nfrom point to point, erect and graceful and without difficulty. The pale\nfaces were compelled by a due discretion to abandon erect attitudes, and\nproceed bending down, and using hands as well as feet. A look down the\nrocky side was sufficient. The commandant shook his head, and said in\nSpanish:\n\n\u201cThat is no way for a white man to come up\u201d\u2014a remark which the Indians\nseemed to consider remarkably humorous. They laughed and \u201chow\u2010how\u201d\u2010ed\nvehemently.\n\nAs we returned, we remarked that on one side of the rock it was bevelled\ndown from the summit about forty or fifty feet, and then resumed its\ngeneral steep and vertical character. Some houses were situated near the\nsuperior edge of this bend. A thrill ran through me from head to foot as I\nsaw a child roll from the front of one of the houses down the incline.\n\n\u201cHe will be dashed to atoms!\u201d I cried in horror.\n\nThe Indians looked in the direction to which I frantically pointed, and\nthen united in a good\u2010humored laugh.\n\nSoon another urchin, and another, and another followed the first, who\npicked himself up just at the deadly brink, and mounted the incline, to\nroll down again and again, as we used to on a hillside in snow with our\nsleds, in our younger days. This was play for the infantine Acomas. They\nwere \u201ckeeping the pot a\u2010bilin\u2019.\u201d\n\nThe Indians told us that no fatal accident had ever happened to any Acoma\neither while rolling down the dread incline \u201cin pretty, pleasant play,\u201d or\nclimbing the steep path the mere sight of which had made us dizzy.\nTradition records that only one Indian ever \u201cwent over the side.\u201d He was\nsaved by a projecting stump catching him by the breech\u2010clout and holding\nhim suspended until he was rescued\u2014unhurt.\n\nOur next visit was the _Estufa_. Here the sacred fire was burning. The\n_Estufa_ was an underground apartment. We descended through a trap\u2010door,\nwhich also served as a chimney, and down a smoke\u2010begrimed ladder. The\nchamber was some thirty feet in length and perhaps fifteen in width. We\nwere informed that it was the general place of meeting\u2014the public hall\u2014the\nclub\u2010room of the Pueblo. It was pretty hot and not very sweet down there.\nWe found four Indians seated around the fire, each with a loom in front of\nhim, weaving a blanket. Their only covering was the breech\u2010clout. The\nIndians told us, through Don Juan, that these men watched the fire, which\nwas always kept burning\u2014waiting for the coming of Montezuma. They were\nrelieved by four others at stated times. We shook hands with the naked\nwatchers, and \u201chow\u2010how\u201d\u2010ed with them in the usual way.\n\n\u201cDo you think Montezuma will come?\u201d asked Joe, through Don Juan, of one of\nthe vigilants.\n\nThe worthy, shrugging his naked shoulders, looked up sidewise at Joseph,\nand replied:\n\n\u201c_Quizas? Quien sabe?_\u2014May be! Who knows?\u201d\n\nJoe withdrew. We all followed him. We had now seen all the lions of the\nPueblo of Acoma. \u201cBoots and saddles\u201d and \u201cto horse\u201d were sounded, and with\nmany hand\u2010shakes, some embraces, and general \u201chow\u2010hows,\u201d we bade adieu to\nthe hospitable Acomas and their rocky home, and began our return march.\n\n\n\n\nNew Publications.\n\n\n    THE LIFE OF DEMETRIUS AUGUSTIN GALLITZIN, PRINCE AND PRIEST. By\n    Sarah M. Brownson. With an Introduction by O. A. Brownson, LL.D.\n    New York: Pustet. 1872.\n\n\nWomen of talent and cultivation make admirable biographers. In religious\nbiography we know of nothing more charming than the lives written by M\u00e8re\nChauguy. In recent English literature, the Lives of Mother Margaret Mary\nO\u2019Halloran, by a lady whose name is unknown to us, and of S. Jane Frances\nde Chantal, by Miss Emily Bowles, are among the most perfect specimens of\nthis very agreeable species of writing which we have met with in any\nlanguage. This new and carefully prepared biography of a priest who was\nillustrious both by birth and Christian virtue, by a lady already known as\nthe author of several works of fiction, well deserves to be classed with\nthe best of its kind in English Catholic literature. It is a work of\nthorough, patient, and conscientious labor, and for the first time\nadequately presents the history and character of Prince Gallitzin in their\ntrue light. Certainly, we never knew before how truly heroic and admirable\na man was this Russian prince who came to pass his life as a missionary in\nthe forests which crowned in his day the summit of the Alleghanies in\nPennsylvania. The charm of a biography is found in a certain fulness and\nsprightliness of style and manner, a picturesqueness and ideality of\nornament and coloring, a warmth and glow of sentiment, which give life and\nreality to the narrative. Miss Brownson still possesses the juvenile\n_\u00e9lan_ which naturally finds its expression in the style we have\nindicated, and has also attained that sobriety and maturity of judgment\nwhich give it the rightly subdued tone and finish. In several matters of\nconsiderable delicacy which she has been obliged to handle, we think she\nhas shown tact and discretion, while at the same time using enough of the\nfreedom of a historian to bring out the truth of facts and events which\nneeded to be told in order to make a veritable record and picture of the\nlife of her subject. The prince is fortunate in his biographer. Would it\nwere the lot of every great man in the church to find a similar one! Miss\nBrownson\u2019s book seems to us the best religious biography which has been\nwritten by anyone of our American Catholic authors. We would like to see\nmore works of this sort from feminine writers, to whom we are already so\nmuch indebted for works both of the graver and the lighter kind, and\nparticularly from Miss Brownson, who has fully proved her ability in the\nvolume before us.\n\n\n    BIBLIOGRAPHIA CATHOLICA AMERICANA. A list of works written by\n    Catholic authors and published in the United States. By Rev.\n    Joseph M. Finotti. Part I., 1784 to 1820 inclusive. New York: The\n    Catholic Publication Society. 1872. 8vo. pp. 319.\n\n\nIt was said of Bartlett\u2019s _Dictionary of Americanisms_ that it was the\nfirst dictionary that a man could read through with pleasure. The same in\nthe way of bibliography may be said of this; for, if any of our readers\nsupposes that the title tells the truth, he is mistaken. It is not a mere\n_list_, as the author modestly calls it. Some twelve years ago, Mr. Shea\npublished in one of our Catholic papers a list of titles of \u201cThe First\nCatholic Books printed in this County,\u201d coming down to the same date and\nincluding the same period as our author, and giving sixty\u2010eight titles.\nThis meagre beginning of American Catholic bibliography has in F.\nFinotti\u2019s hands grown to nearly five hundred titles, including some few\nimprints later than 1820.\n\nIt is not merely a collection of titles of Catholic works, but of all\nworks by Catholic authors printed in the country, with notes of the\nhighest interest to Catholics who care at all for what was done by our\nfathers in the faith in this republic. Biographical notices, notices of\ncelebrated books, accounts of controversies of the time, anecdotes\nillustrative of Catholic life in the earlier days, notes of Catholic\nprinters and journalists, all find their place in these notes, in which\nthe abundant knowledge of our earlier men and times, and things acquired\nby the patient and loving research of years, fairly bubble out\nspontaneously. It is not a history indeed, but to the historian will be\ninvaluable as an authority and a guide.\n\nOn some points this work is absolutely exhaustive. The collection of\npamphlets and works growing out of the Hogan affair in Philadelphia,\nconsidering their perishable nature, is perfectly wonderful, and his\nlibrary alone can enable any one to go thoroughly into the history of that\nunhappy matter which was destructive to so many souls.\n\nOf the writings and publications of the celebrated Mathew Carey, we have\nalso here by far the most accurate and comprehensive account ever drawn\nup, comprising nearly twenty\u2010five pages.\n\nMany will be amazed to see how many sterling Catholic books were issued\nearly in the century, and thus be able to judge of the zeal and true\nreligious feeling of the little body of Catholics who so generously\nsustained the publishers, as well as of the public spirit of a man like\nBernard Dornin\u2014in our mind, as in F. Finotti\u2019s, the type of what a\nCatholic publisher should be. Of him as of many other Catholics our author\ngives biographical notices that we should look for in vain in all the\ncyclop\u00e6dias and biographical dictionaries. Book notices often end with the\nassertion that the book should be in every family; we hardly suppose the\npublishers ready to supply every Catholic family in the country with a\ncopy, for the edition is small, and must be taken up at once. It is by no\nmeans merely a book for the Dryasdust collector or antiquarian. It must\nfind its place in the libraries of many of our gentlemen who love their\nreligion and love books, as well as in our college libraries. We trust\nthat it will impel all to endeavor to have some of the early printed\nCatholic books, as matters of laudable pride. If they can even find some\nthat have escaped the Argus eyes of the reverend collector and his\nassociate book\u2010hunters, they will, we trust, be good enough Christians to\nbear with equanimity even that severe trial to a bibliographer.\n\nThis _Bibliography_ commends itself to those interested in the\nbibliography of the country or the history of printing in the United\nStates.\n\nIn the _Historical Magazine_ some months since there was a Bibliography of\nworks on Unitarianism, but it was silent as to Father Kohlmann\u2019s work, and\nto a sermon by a Catholic clergyman of Pittsburg. So, too, Sabin\u2019s\n_Bibliopolist_ recently gave a list of books printed in Brooklyn, but was\nsilent as to a _Catholic Doctrine_ printed there in 1817, as well as of\nCoate\u2019s very curious _Reply_ to Rev. F. Richards\u2019 supposed reasons for\nbecoming a Catholic.\n\nThere is one strange point about American bibliography, and that is that\nthe laborers in it have been almost exclusively from Europe. Ludewig gave\nthe _Bibliography of Indian Languages_ and that of Local History;\nO\u2019Callaghan, that of American Bibles; Harisse, that of the earliest\nAmerican; Rich was a pioneer in the same field; and now Finotti gives us\nthe Catholic element. Where are our native bibliographers?\n\n\n    LE LIBERALISME. LECONS DONNEES A L\u2019UNIVERSITE LAVAL. Par l\u2019Abb\u00e9\n    Benjamin Paquet, Docteur en Theologie, et Professeur \u00e0 la Facult\u00e9\n    de Theologie. Quebec: De l\u2019Imprimerie du _Canadien_. Brochure, pp.\n    100. 1872.\n\n\nLower Canada, considered both in respect to the condition of the Catholic\nChurch therein, and to the political well\u2010being of its people, is an\neminently fortunate region, despite the rigor of its climate. It is\nespecially pre\u2010eminent in respect to the Catholic education given to young\nmen of the leisured classes, and others who go through the intermediate\nand higher courses. Laval University is truly a splendid institution among\nmany others which make Quebec an _unique_ city in Northern America. These\nremarks are suggested by the pamphlet before us, which is a specimen of\nthe sound and opportune instruction given at the Laval University. The\nLectures contained in it give an exposition which is both learned and\nclear of that most important portion of the Syllabus which relates to the\nerrors of modern liberalism condemned in the Pontifical Acts of Pius IX.\nWhen will the Catholics of the United States enjoy privileges similar to\nthose which are the portion of the Catholics of Lower Canada? The Abb\u00e9\nPaquet\u2019s Lectures were delivered as a part of his course on the law of\nnature and of nations, and were attended not only by his pupils, but by a\nnumerous and select audience, several of whom requested their publication.\nWe have already sufficiently expressed our approbation of their doctrine\nand style, and they have been favorably noticed in Europe. We are\nconfident that a considerable number of our readers will hasten to procure\nthem, and receive great profit from their perusal.\n\n\n    CARDINAL WISEMAN\u2019S WORKS. New Edition, first 3 vols. New York: P.\n    O\u2019Shea.\n\n\nThis is a reissue of a new London edition which we most cordially commend.\nThe first two volumes, containing the _Lectures on the Connection between\nScience and Revealed Religion_, have already been noticed in these pages.\nThe third volume contains the splendid treatise on the Holy Eucharist.\nCardinal Wiseman was a great writer, a great prelate, and a remarkably\ndevout and holy man. His works are among our choicest treasures, and as\nsuch ought to be everywhere circulated and continually perused by those\nwho wish to imbue their minds with the purest doctrine and the most\nvaluable knowledge.\n\n\n    THE LIFE OF S. AUGUSTINE, BISHOP, CONFESSOR, AND DOCTOR OF THE\n    CHURCH. By P. E. Moriarty, D.D. Ex\u2010Assistant General O.S.A.\n    Philadelphia: Cunningham. 1873.\n\n\nThis is a popular biography, though proceeding from the pen of a learned\nman, and showing marks of erudition. The sketch is a complete one, and\nshows great power of generalization and condensation in the writer, with\nvigor and impetus of style. It is not, however, minute in respect to the\nsaint\u2019s public life, or his great work as a philosopher and doctor of the\nchurch. This could not be expected in a work of moderate size adapted for\npopular reading. There is, however, a brief summary of the saint\u2019s\nwritings, with a synopsis, and an account of the Augustinian Order, all of\nwhich are of interest and value to the general reader.\n\n\n    PHOTOGRAPHIC VIEWS; OR, RELIGIOUS AND MORAL TRUTHS REFLECTED IN\n    THE UNIVERSE. By F. X. Weninger, D.D., S.J. New York: P. O\u2019Shea.\n    1873.\n\n\nA handsomely printed volume, with a very ornamental title\u2010page quite\nappropriate to the nature of the book. The views of truth presented in\nthis book are expressed in aphorisms. Good taste, poetic sensibility,\nspiritual wisdom, and the purest Christian feeling are their chief\ncharacteristics. We are disposed to think this the best of F. Weninger\u2019s\nworks. There are many persons who take great delight in aphorisms of this\nkind, and we think all such readers will like this book. It is good also\nas a help to meditation, and a treasury of short spiritual readings for\nthose who have not time for long ones; and will be useful to those who\nlike to stop occasionally in more laborious occupations of the mind, and\ngather a little spiritual nosegay.\n\n\n    MEMOIRS OF MADAME DESBORDES\u2010VALMORE. By the late C. A. Sainte\u2010\n    Beuve. With a Selection from her Poems. Translated by Harriet W.\n    Preston. Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1873.\n\n\nMadame Valmore was one of those poets of the affections who\n\n\n    \u201cLearn in suffering what they teach in song.\u201d\n\n\nNo one can look for a moment at her portrait as depicted in this touching\nbook without feeling that the thorn is continually pressing against her\ngentle breast. Her poetry and her letters are the very outcry of\nimpassioned love and grief. \u201cI am like the Indian that sings at the\nstake,\u201d she says. One of her volumes is entitled _Tears_, every line of\nwhich is a pensive sigh. Her poems are full of \u201cthe charm of that\nmelancholy which M. de Segur calls _the luxury of grief_.\u201d M. Michelet\nsays: \u201cShe alone among us had the _gift of tears_\u2014that gift which smites\nthe rock and assuages the thirst of the soul!\u201d M. Sainte\u2010Beuve calls her\n\u201cthe _Mater Dolorosa_ of poetry,\u201d but that title, consecrated to a higher,\ndiviner type of sorrow, is one that most of us would shrink from applying\nto ordinary mortals.\n\nIt would almost seem as if the highest, purest notes\u2014\u201chalf ecstasy, half\npain\u201d\u2014only spring from the soul overshadowed by sorrow, as the eyes of\nsome birds are darkened when they are taught to sing. Mme. Valmore\nherself, in allusion to a brother poet, wonders \u201cif actual misery were\nrequisite for the production of notes that so haunt one\u2019s memory.\u201d\n\nThe tombs among which she used to play as a child in the old churchyard at\nDouai seem to have cast their funereal shadows over her whole life\u2014shadows\nthat lend to her sad muse so attractive a charm. One of her poems thus\nbegins:\n\n\n    \u201cDo not write. I am sad and would my life were o\u2019er.\n      A summer without thee?\u2014Oh! night of starless gloom!\u2014\n    I fold the idle arms that cannot clasp thee more\u2014\n      To knock at my heart\u2019s door, were like knocking at a tomb.\n                Do not write.\u201d\n\n\nMme. Valmore\u2019s nature was eminently feminine. Her heart was her guide. She\nwas a being of impulse and sympathy. But her instincts were so delicate\nand true that they were to her what reason and philosophy are to colder\nnatures. Her imagination was thoroughly Catholic. It is only Catholicity\nthat develops souls of such tender grace and beauty, and she was brought\nup under its influences. A cheerful piety, Catholic in tone, seems to have\npervaded her life, and consoled and sustained her in its many dark hours.\nShe loved to pray in the deserted aisle of some shadowy church full of\nmystery and peace. \u201cShe had her Christ\u2014the Christ of the poor and\nforsaken, the prisoner and the slave, the Christ of the Magdalen and the\ngood Samaritan, a Christ of the future of whom she herself has sung in one\nof her sweetest strains:\n\n\n    \u2018He whose pierced hands have broken so many chains,\u2019 \u201d\n\n\n\u2014a line that appeals to all who have sinned and been forgiven!\n\nIn her last years she thus writes: \u201cI see at an immense distance the\nChrist who shall come again. His breath is moving over the crowd. He opens\nhis arms wide, but there are no more nails\u2014no more for ever!\u201d\n\nHer devotion to Mary is constantly peeping out in her letters. After\nvisiting a church at Brussels, she writes thus to her daughter: \u201cTo\u2010day we\nsaw the black Virgin with the Child Jesus also black like his mother.\nThese Madonnas wring my heart with a thousand reminiscences. They are\nnothing in the way of art, but they are so associated with my earliest and\nsweetest faiths that I positively adore those stiff pink\u2010lined veils and\nwreaths of perennial flowers made of cambric so stout that all the winds\nof heaven could never cause a leaf to flutter.\u201d\n\nShe writes her brother: \u201cLift up your hat when you pass the Church of\nNotre Dame, and lay upon its threshold the first spring flowers you find.\u201d\n\nOne of the most touching features of her life is her devotedness to this\nbrother, an old soldier and pensioner in the hospital at Douai, whom she\naided out of her own scanty purse, and still more by the moral support she\nwas continually giving him in the most delicate manner; trying to ennoble\nhis unfortunate past so as to give him dignity in his own eyes\u2014a thing so\noften forgotten in our intercourse with those who are in danger of losing\ntheir self\u2010respect.\n\nMme. Valmore\u2019s charity and sympathies were not confined to her own\nkindred. They responded to every appeal. The condemned criminal and\nprisoners of every degree excited the compassion of her heart. At a time\nof great distress at Lyons, she says she is \u201cashamed to have food and fire\nand two garments when so many poor creatures have none.\u201d And yet she seems\nnot to have had too many of the comforts of life herself. One Christmas\neve she speaks of kneeling on her humble hearth\u2014\u201ca hearth where there is\nnot much fire save that of her own loving, anxious heart\u2014\u201d to pray.\n\nIt is sad to see a woman with such a refined, poetical nature, and a heart\nsensitive to the last degree, condemned to a fate so chilling and unkind.\nBut she never lost courage. Living in narrow lodgings, and on limited\nmeans, she contrived to give a certain artistic air to everything around\nher, and received her visitors with polished ease and self\u2010possession,\nhiding her griefs under the grace of her manner and the vivacity of her\nconversation. Her courage and fortitude were admirable under adverse\ncircumstances and such afflictions as the loss of her daughters. No book\nnot strictly religious could teach a more forcible lesson of patient,\ncheerful endurance\u2014how \u201cto suffer and be strong.\u201d The work is elegantly\ntranslated, and is a welcome addition to the lives of celebrated French\nladies already issued by the same publishers.\n\n\n    THE ENGLISH IN IRELAND IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. By James Anthony\n    Froude, M.A. In 2 vols. Vol. I. New York: Scribner, Armstrong &\n    Co. 1873.\n\n\nWe have here the first volume of a new and very elaborate work by the\nadventurous historian of England, and chivalrous champion of Henry VIII.\nand his daughter Elizabeth. It might perhaps have been hoped that enough\nhad been said of Mr. Froude in these columns, and that our readers had\ndone with him. His reputation as a faithful historian had been sorely\ndamaged, and indeed irretrievably ruined, by several indignant critics in\nEngland, in Scotland, and in Ireland, as well as in the United States (by\nthe short, sharp and decisive onslaught of Mr. Meline); so that it has\nbeen an actual surprise to the literary world to find him once more\ntempting Providence in a new book, heralded and advertised by a course of\nlectures in New York. But this is the nature of the man: he must surprise\nand startle, or he dies; he must provoke the most wondering and angry\ncontradiction and comment, and gratify the small feminine spite that\npossesses him, provided he can sting and wound like a hornet. For him, to\nscold is to live.\n\nThe present volume, although entitled _The English in Ireland in the\nEighteenth Century_, is in fact occupied, for more than two hundred pages,\nwith an account of the dealings of his country with Ireland during the\nXVIIth century, and presents his views of Irish history at the notable\nperiods of the insurrection\u2014or alleged \u201cmassacre\u201d\u2014in 1641, as well as the\nshort reign of James II. The narrative ends at the time of the small\nFrench invasion under Thurot, shortly after the middle of the XVIIIth\ncentury; leaving Still to be treated the whole era of the Volunteering,\nthe Insurrection of \u201998, and the Union, so\u2010called. Indeed, if the author\ncarry forward his subject into the present century, as he has carried it\nbackward into the one before the last, he will have the great famines to\ndeal with, and the multitudinous emigration; so that we may expect a vast\npicture, covering the whole canvas, portraying from the strictly English\npoint of view that ghastly history in its full perspective. The Froude\ntheory is, on the whole, quite simple; nothing can be more easily\nunderstood. It is, in few words, that the English nation having been\n\u201cforced by situation and circumstances\u201d to take charge of Ireland and its\npeople, when it suited the English to change their religion, or to come\nback to it, or to change it again, they were bound in duty to compel the\nIrish to change along with them each time, by means of pains and\npenalties, from heavy fines to transportation and death on the gallows;\nalso that the English having a strong wish to possess themselves of all\nthe lands of Ireland, everything was lawful and right to effect that\nobject. The reader will remark, with surprise (and the more surprise, the\nbetter for Froude), that in his lectures lately delivered in New York,\nwhich were a kind of abstract of the work then in press, he did not\nventure _to say_ before an intelligent audience of freemen some of the\nthings which he has dared to print in the book then just ready to burst\nupon the world. For example, he did not say, even before the \u201cChristian\nyoung men,\u201d such words as these which are found in the book (p. 609):\n\n\u201cThe consent of man was not asked when he was born into the world: his\nconsent will not be asked when his time comes to die. _As little_ has his\nconsent to do with the laws which, while he lives, he is bound to obey.\u201d\n\nThis sentiment he perhaps thought it unnecessary to enunciate here;\nbecause, in fact, he intended it solely for the Irish, not by any means\nfor the Americans, although it reads like a universal maxim for the human\nrace. Again, he did not think it necessary to say in so plain words what\nhe has laid down clearly enough in this passage (p. 213):\n\n\u201cNo government need _keep terms_ with such a creed [meaning the Catholic\nChurch] when there is power to abolish it. To call the repression of\nopinions which had issued so many times in blood and revolt _by the name\nof religions persecution_ is mere abuse of words.\u201d\n\n\n    ELEVATIONS PO\u00c9TIQUES ET RELIGIEUSES. Par Marie Jenna. Deuxi\u00e8me\n    Edit. 2 vols. Paris: Adrien le Clerc et Cie. 1872.\n\n\nAs the eye lingers upon a beautiful landscape, spring clad and fair in the\nclear light of the new\u2010risen sun; as the ear loiters unwilling to lose the\nlast echoed link of some simple melting melody; as the hand tarries loth\nto quit the gentle grasp that speaks unspoken sympathy, so have\nwe\u2014reluctant to lose such fair pictures, such moving lays, such deep and\ntender feeling\u2014lingered and loitered and tarried with Marie Jenna, \u201cthe\nPoet of the Vosges.\u201d Gifted with the nice perception of a true poet, Marie\nJenna clothes the simplest ideas in language of such rare delicacy, so\nfresh, tender, vivid, and withal so musical, that mind, heart, eye, and\near, all are at once engaged. A bird, a butterfly, a flower, gains new\ninterest in her hands; she flings a grace around it, she vests it with a\ndignity it never had before; she makes it live again. Take, for instance,\nthe opening stanzas of \u201cLe Papillon\u201d:\n\n\n    \u201cPourquoi t\u2019approcher en silence\n      Et menacer mon vol joyeux?\n    Par quelle involontaire offense\n      Ai\u2010je pu d\u00e9plaire \u00e0 tes yeux?\n\n    \u201cJe suis la vivante \u00e9tincelle\n      Qui monte et descend tour \u00e0 tour;\n    La fleur \u00e0 qui Dieu donne une aile,\n      Un souffle, un regard, un amour.\n\n    \u201cJe suis le fr\u00e8re de la rose;\n      Elle me cache aux importuns,\n    Puis sur son c\u0153ur je me repose\n      Et je m\u2019enivre de parfums.\n\n    \u201cMa vie est tout heureuse et pure,\n      Pourquoi d\u00e9sires\u2010tu ma mort?\n    Oh! dis\u2010moi, roi de la nature,\n      Serais\u2010tu jaloux de mon sort?\n\n    \u201cVa, je sais bien que tu t\u2019inclines\n      Souvent pour essuyer des pleurs,\n    Que tes yeux comptent les \u00e9pines\n      O\u00f9 je ne vois rien que des fleurs.\n\n    \u201cJe sais que parfois ton visage\n      Se trouble et s\u2019assombrit soudain,\n    Lorsqu\u2019en vain je cherche un nuage\n      Au fond de l\u2019horizon serein.\n\n    \u201cMais Celui dont la main divine\n      A daign\u00e9 nous former tous deux,\n    Pour moi parfuma la colline,\n      Et de loin te montra les cieux.\n\n    \u201cIl me fit deux ailes de flamme,\n      A moi, feu follet du printemps;\n    Pour toi, son fils, il fit une \u00e2me\n      Plus grande que le firmament.\n\n    \u201cEcoute ma voix qui t\u2019implore,\n      Loin de moi d\u00e9tourne tes pas...\n    Laisse moi vivre un jour encore,\n      O toi qui ne finiras pas!\n\n    \u201cMon bonheur \u00e0 moi, c\u2019est la vie,\n      La libert\u00e9 sous le ciel bleu,\n    Le ruisseau, l\u2019amour sans envie:\n      Le tien ... c\u2019est le secret de Dieu.\u201d\n\n\nWhat can be fresher or more charming than this na\u00efve, earnest appeal for\nlife and liberty? And again, in \u201cPour un Oiseau,\u201d beginning with:\n\n\n    \u201cIl est \u00e0 toi, c\u2019est vrai ... Fr\u00e8re, veux tu qu\u2019il meure?\n      Sa beaut\u00e9, sa chanson, tout est l\u00e0 ... dans ta main;\n    Et l\u2019arbuste o\u00f9 sa voix gazouillait tout \u00e0 l\u2019heure\n      Au bosquet, si tu veux, sera muet demain.\n\n    \u201cTu le tiens: sa faiblesse \u00e0 ta force le livre;\n      Mais aussi ta piti\u00e9 peut le laisser aller;\n    Ne le fais pas mourir! il est si bon de vivre\n      Lorsque l\u2019\u00e9t\u00e9 commence et qu\u2019on peut s\u2019envoler,\u201d\n\n\nwe find the same delicacy of thought, the same rippling, flowing language;\nand what joyousness and how cheery it sounds: _il est si bon de vivre_.\n\nBut Marie Jenna strikes deeper chords, awakes more solemn strains, than\nthese; and through them all, the graver as the lighter, binding them in\none harmonious whole, there sings out the same clear note of firm,\nenlightened faith that never wavers; it penetrates each thing she handles,\ngiving that breadth and largeness to her field of view that it alone can\ngive. In some beautiful stanzas, \u201cBeati qui lugeant,\u201d she draws near to\none bowed down with sorrow, and fearlessly, yet oh! how tenderly touching\nthe wound because she knows its cure, she speaks:\n\n\n    \u201cVa, ton sein cache en vain le glaive qui le blesse:\n    J\u2019ai compris ton silence et j\u2019ai pri\u00e9 pour toi.\n    Laisse aller ta fiert\u00e9 comme un poids qui t\u2019oppresse,\n                Et pleure devant moi.\n\n    \u201cIl est, je le sais bien, des jours o\u00f9 la souffrance\n    Trouve en sa solitude une \u00e2pre volupt\u00e9;\n    Et le monde l\u00e9ger voit passer en silence\n                Sa p\u00e2le majest\u00e9.\n\n    \u201cEt la main d\u2019un ami s\u2019arr\u00e8tant incertaine,\n    N\u2019ose \u00e9carter les plis de son voile de deuil.\n    Il est des maux si grands, que la parole humaine\n                Expire sur le seuil.\n\n    \u201cMais deux jours sont pass\u00e9s; il est temps que je vienne;\n    Oh! laisse un front d\u2019ami pench\u00e9 sur ta douleur!\n    Ne te d\u00e9tourne pas: Mets ta main dans la mienne,\n                Ton \u00e2me sur mon c\u0153ur.\n\n    \u201cSi je ne t\u2019apportais qu\u2019une amiti\u00e9 fid\u00e8le,\n    Mes pas avec respect s\u2019\u00e9loigneraient d\u2019ici.\n    J\u2019attendrais que la tienne enfin se souvint d\u2019elle,\n                Mais j\u2019ai souffert aussi...\n\n    \u201cJe ne te dirai point cette vaine parole\n    Que la douleur accueille en son muet d\u00e9dain.\n    Non, ce que j\u2019ai pour toi, c\u2019est un mot qui console,\n                C\u2019est un secret divin.\u201d\n\n\nAlready we seem to see awaked attention, a gleam of hope flit across the\nstern, wan face that marks such helpless, hopeless misery; now softening\nthe hard, cold look that bid defiance to all sorrow, repelled all\nsympathy; now changing it to one of anxious longing and of mute entreaty\nfor the proffered gift, _le mot qui console_. And see, or is it fancy\nonly, or are there really tears now falling, \u201cgemlike, the last drops of\nthe exhausted storm\u201d? Space forbids us to give it in its fulness, this\n_secret divin_, to curtail it would spoil it: so we send the reader to the\noriginal, and would ask him only if in the last stanza he does not hear\ntwo voices singing:\n\n\n    \u201cHeureux les afflig\u00e9s! dit la V\u00e9rit\u00e9 m\u00eame.\n    Heureux, c\u2019est vrai, mon Dieu! quand vous avez parl\u00e9.\n    Nous voulons bien souffrir si le bonheur supr\u00eame,\n                Est d\u2019\u00eatre consol\u00e9.\u201d\n\n\nThen look at this exquisite little picture, \u201cL\u2019Enfant Ressuscit\u00e9.\u201d Rarely\nhave we met with one more pathetic. It is very delicately painted, with\nshades so subtile that, in the simplicity of the whole, we are apt to\noverlook them. And here also we have a glimpse of that reverential love\nfor childhood that is by no means the least characteristic trait of Marie\nJenna:\n\n\n    \u201cElle avait tant g\u00e9mi, sa m\u00e8re, et tant pleur\u00e9!\n    Tant press\u00e9 sur son sein le front d\u00e9color\u00e9,\n    Que dans le corps glac\u00e9 l\u2019\u00e2me \u00e9tait revenue,\n    Et qu\u2019en b\u00e9nissant Dieu, palpitante, \u00e9perdue,\n    Comme un tr\u00e9sor qu\u2019on cache elle avait emport\u00e9\n    Dans ses deux bras tremblants l\u2019enfant ressuscit\u00e9!\n    Trois mois s\u2019\u00e9taient pass\u00e9s depuis.....mais, chose \u00e9trange!\n    On eut dit que le ciel avait fait un \u00e9change.\n    L\u2019enfant penchait son front comme un bouton fl\u00e9tri,\n    Et depuis ces trois mois, jamais il n\u2019avait ri.\n    Il pr\u00e9f\u00e9rait aux jeux l\u2019ombre silencieuse;\n    Sa m\u00e8re en l\u2019embrassant n\u2019osait pas \u00eatre heureuse....\n\n    \u201cDes volets entr\u2019ouverts s\u2019\u00e9lancent des chansons;\n    Dans les clochers fr\u00e9mit la voix des carillons.\n    Ecoute, mon Louis, ces chants, ces joyeux rires....\n    Vois; c\u2019est le jour de l\u2019an; dis ce que tu d\u00e9sires.\n    Chaque enfant pour \u00e9trenne a des jouets nouveaux.\n    En veux\u2010tu de pareils? en veux\u2010tu de plus beaux?\n    Veux\u2010tu ce b\u00e9lier gris qu\u2019on tra\u00eene et qui va pa\u00eetre\n    Au printemps dans les pr\u00e9s l\u2019herbe qui vient na\u00eetre?\n    Mais regarde plut\u00f4t; des pinceaux, des couleurs,\n    Qui d\u2019un papier tout blanc font un bouquet de fleurs.\n    Oh! vois donc ce ballon de laine tricolore\n    Qui s\u2019\u00e9l\u00e8ve et retombe et se rel\u00e8ve encore!\n    Tu n\u2019aimes pas courir..... Que puis\u2010je te donner?\n    Dis.....ta m\u00e8re \u00e0 pr\u00e9sent ne sait plus deviner.\n    Veux\u2010tu ce sabre d\u2019or qui d\u00e9j\u00e0 ferait croire\n    Que mon petit Louis m\u00e9dite une victoire?\n    Aimes\u2010tu ce chalet d\u2019un long toit recouvert?\n    Mais non....qu\u2019en ferais\u2010tu? Veux\u2010tu ce livre ouvert,\n    O\u00f9 pr\u00e8s de chaque histoire on regarde une image,\n    Ou l\u2019on rit, o\u00f9 l\u2019on pleure, o\u00f9 l\u2019on devient plus sage?\n    Ah! voici des oiseaux! tu les aimerais mieux!\n    Les oiseaux sont vivants; tu les ferais heureux!\n    Si tu voulais des lisandes roses fleuries,\n    J\u2019en saurais bien trouver, Louis, pour que tu ries.\n    R\u00e9ponds; je t\u2019aime tant! n\u2019oses\u2010tu me parler?\n    Tu pleurais ce matin; je veux te consoler.\n    Dis\u2010moi ce doux secret pendant que je l\u2019embrasse.\n    Que veux\u2010tu, mon Louis? Et l\u2019enfant, \u00e0 voix basse:\n            Des ailes pour m\u2019envoler!\u201d\n\n\nNo one can fail to be struck with the sudden stillness that follows the\nmother\u2019s anxious striving to drive away the cloud that would hang over her\nlittle one; with the awe and fear, too, that fill her heart; with the\nmystery in the whispered answer of the strange mysterious child given back\nfrom death in answer to her passionate prayer. It sets us thinking of that\nother mother whose grief so touched the Master\u2019s heart that he spoke the\nword, \u201cand he that was dead sat up and began to speak. And he delivered\nhim to his mother.\u201d Did that young man go home so grave, with never a\nsmile to light his face, so strangely altered, that, after the first burst\nof gladness, his mother, clasping him to her bosom, dared not rejoice?\n\nOf the more serious pieces, perhaps not one equals in force \u201cLa plus\ngrande Douleur.\u201d It is the old tale, always new though so oft repeated:\nthe old tale that startles, shocks, and brings sharp pain as for the first\ntime it comes home to each one, telling that that strong bond which binds\nfriends closer, draws classes nearer, makes nations firmer, has snapped\nand riven two hearts asunder; that the newly\u2010awakened intellect first\nmeeting early faith has turned aside, has chosen a road far other than\nthat on which till now both friends had travelled hand in hand; that that\n\u201clittle superficial knowledge of philosophy that inclines man\u2019s mind to\natheism\u201d has come between them like an icy barrier, chilling the old\nfriendship and making everything so dark and strange which before was\nwarmth and light between them; and with effect so drear, so piercing, too,\nand sharp, that the unchanged heart feels any pain than that would be\nlight to bear:\n\n\n    \u201cOui mon Dieu! nous pouvons, sans que l\u2019\u00e2me succombe,\n    Laisser notre bonheur \u00e0 ce pass\u00e9 qui tombe;\n    Nous pouvons au matin former un r\u00eave pur,\n    Tout d\u2019amour et de paix, tout de flamme et d\u2019azur,\n    Puis livrer les d\u00e9bris de sa beaut\u00e9 ravie\n    A ce vent du d\u00e9sert, qui laisse notre vie\n    Sans fleur et sans \u00e9pi comme un champ moissonn\u00e9;\n    Meliner notre front p\u00e2le et d\u00e9couronn\u00e9,\n    Et devenir semblable \u00e0 cette pauvre plante\n    Qui n\u2019est pas morte encore, et qui n\u2019est plus vivante,\n    Nous pouvons voir gisant sur un lit de douleur,\n    Celui qui nous restait, l\u2019ami consolateur,\n    Compter chaque moment de son heure derni\u00e8re,\n    Poser nos doigts tremblants sur sa froide paupi\u00e8re,\n    Et baiser son visage, et nous dire; Il est mort!\n    Nous le pouvons, mon Dieu! Parfois le c\u0153ur est fort.\n\n    \u201cMais aimer une autre \u00e2me, et la trouver si belle\n    Qu\u2019on fr\u00e9mit de bonheur en se penchant vers elle,\n    Puis un jour contempler d\u2019un regard impuissant\n    Sur sa beaut\u00e9 c\u00e9leste une ombre qui descend;\n    De cette \u00e2me o\u00f9 passaient les souffles de la gr\u00e2ce,\n    Sentir parfois monter quelque chose qui glace,\n    Douter, prier tous bas, pleurer d\u2019anxi\u00e9t\u00e9,\n    Craindre, esp\u00e9rer..... Longtemps marcher \u00e0 son c\u00f4t\u00e9\n    Sans oser voir au fond.... Puis un jour o\u00f9 l\u2019on ose,\n    Reculer de partout o\u00f9 le regard se pose,\n    O\u00f9 fut le feu sacr\u00e9 toucher de froids d\u00e9bris,\n    Murmurer en tremblant un langage incompris\n    O\u00f9 Dieu passa, chercher sa lumineuse trace,\n    Et n\u2019y trouver plus rien ... rien! pas m\u00eame un soupir,\n    Pas un cri douloureux vers l\u2019aube qui s\u2019efface,\n            C\u2019est trop souffrir!\u201d\n\n\nThe two volumes before us contain many poems, both short and long, of such\ngreat freshness and beauty, so full of original turns and delicate\ntouches, that it is difficult to choose from amongst them. However, we\nhave said enough to give a fair notion of Marie Jenna\u2019s style, and quite\nenough to show that it is her own, with its own peculiar charm. And so our\ntask is done. If it be said that, having uttered only praise and found no\nfault, we have but half fulfilled the critic\u2019s task, we answer that we\nnever meant the tone of criticism. All know that man\u2019s most perfect work\nis not without its blemish; but in our first walk through so fair a\ngarden, meeting new beauties on every side, it would have been ungracious\nin us to have sought defects: that task we leave to others. Ours has been\nto welcome, and to tell of fresh flowers of much loveliness offered to us\nfrom across the sea, with the certainty that no one can read her\n\u201cEl\u00e9vations Po\u00e9tiques\u201d without feeling that he is indebted for some real\nenjoyment to the charming \u201cPoet of the Vosges.\u201d\n\n\n    THE TWO YSONDES, AND OTHER VERSES. By Edward Ellis. London:\n    Pickering. 1872.\n\n\nIt takes but a short while to read this thin volume; nor will any one with\na taste for true poetry find the perusal a task. The author undoubtedly\npossesses \u201cthe vision and the faculty divine,\u201d and belongs to the\nsubjective school of which Tennyson is king\u2014a school peculiarly capable of\nteaching a subjective age. The more the pity, then, say we, that Mr. Ellis\nshould have made his chief poem, \u201cThe Two Ysondes,\u201d hang on the idea that\nlove is fate. His \u201cTwo Ysondes\u201d are the two \u201cIsolts\u201d of Tennyson; but\nTennyson does not attempt to excuse the passion of Mark\u2019s wife for\nTristrem. Our author makes it originate in Tristrem and Ysonde having\n\u201cdrunk,\u201d \u201cby an evil chance,\u201d a philtre which had been placed \u201cin\nTristrem\u2019s charge\u201d as \u201ca wedding\u2010gift for Ysonde and King Mark\u201d (p. 7).\nNow, it may be said that this does away with the guilty aspect of the\nromance, and throws over the whole a veil of fa\u00ebry. Yes; but we insist\nthat it is, therefore, the more mischievous, as teaching the doctrine of\nfatality.\n\nNeither is this the only, or even the most, objectionable feature of the\npoem; for, together with descriptions of emotions and caresses which would\nbe chaste if the theme were lawful love, all idea of sin is kept away, and\nespecially as regards its eternal consequences. There is not a word about\nremorse during life, or of repentance at death. But Tristrem dies in\ndespair of beholding the object of his passion; and Ysonde, in turn,\nexpires on the breast of her dead lover, declaring that she will \u201cgo with\nhim _beyond the bars of fate_.\u201d\n\nNow, we should not have troubled ourselves to make these strictures but\nthat Mr. Ellis shows powers for the misuse of which he will be very\nresponsible. Moreover, as is clear from some of his shorter lyrics,\nparticularly \u201cAt a Shrine,\u201d his mind has a religious bent, with (of\ncourse) Catholic sympathies.\n\nWith regard to his verse, it is less Tennysonic than his thought. Better\nif, while originating metres (with which we have no quarrel whatever), he\nmodelled both his lines and his diction on the peerless accuracy of\nEngland\u2019s laureate.\n\n\n\nBooks And Pamphlets Received.\n\n\n    From KELLY, PIET & CO., Baltimore: The Money God. By M. A.\n    Quinton.\n\n    From LYNCH, COLE & MEEHAN, New York: English Misrule in Ireland: A\n    Course of Lectures. By V. Rev. T. N. Burke, O.P. 12mo. pp. 299.\n\n    From J. A. MCGEE, New York: \u201cThumping English Lies\u201d: Froude\u2019s\n    Slanders on Ireland and Irishmen. With Preface and Notes by Col.\n    J. E. McGee, and Wendell Phillips\u2019 Views of the Situation. 12mo.\n    pp. 224.\u2014Half Hours with Irish Authors: Selections from Griffin,\n    Lover, Carleton, and Lever. 12mo. pp. 330.\n\n    From A. D. F. RANDOLPH, New York: Christ at the Door. By Susan H.\n    Ward. 12mo, pp. 232.\n\n    From J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., Philadelphia: Expiation. By Mrs.\n    Julia C. R. Dorr.\n\n    From J. R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston: The Romance of the Harem. By Mrs.\n    A. H. Leonowens. 12mo. pp. viii.\u2010277.\n\n    From ROBERTS BROS., Boston: What Katy Did. By Susan\n    Coolidge.\u2014Thorvaldsen: His Life and Works. By Eugene Plon. 12mo.\n    pp. xvi.\u2010320.\u2014The World Priest. By Leopold Schefer. 12mo. pp.\n    xv.\u2010371.\n\n    From THE AUTHOR: Sermon at the Month\u2019s Mind of the Most Rev. M. J.\n    Spalding, D.D., Preached at the Church of the American College\n    (Rome). By the V. Rev. Dr. Chatard, Rector. Paper, 8vo. pp. 30.\n\n    From E. H. BUTLER & CO., Philadelphia: The Etymological Reader. By\n    Epes Sargent and Amasa May.\n\n    From S. D. KIERNAN, Clerk, Department of Public Instruction:\n    Report of the Board of Public Instruction of the City and County\n    of New York, for the year ending Dec. 31, 1871; with Addenda to\n    May, 1872.\u2014Manual of the Department of Public Instruction, 1871\u20102.\n    18mo, pp. 262.\n\n    From HOLT & WILLIAMS, New York: Sermons by the Rev. H. R. Hawes,\n    M.A. 12mo, pp. xiv. 347.\n\n    From AMERICAN BAPTIST SOCIETY, Philadelphia: The Baptist Short\n    Method, with Inquirers and Opponents. By Rev. C. T. Hiscox, D.D.\n    18mo, pp. 216.\n\n    From HURD & HOUGHTON, New York: The City of God and the Church\n    Makers. By R. Abbey. 12mo, pp. xx. 315.\n\n    From BURNS, OATES & CO., London (New York: Sold by The Catholic\n    Publication Society): The Life of Monseigneur Berneux, Bishop of\n    Capse. Vicar\u2010Apostolic of Corea. By M. l\u2019Abb\u00e9 Pichon. Translated\n    from the French, with a Preface by Lady Herbert.\n\n    From JOHN HODGES, London: (New York: Sold by The Catholic\n    Publication Society): The Lives of the Saints. By Rev. S. Baring\u2010\n    Gould, M.A. March.\n\n    From J. R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston: His Level Best, and Other\n    Stories. By Edward E. Hale.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD. VOL. XVI., NO. 96.\u2014MARCH, 1873.\n\n\n\n\nThe Relation Of The Rights Of Conscience To The Authority Of The State\nUnder The Laws Of Our Republic.\n\n\n(A LECTURE BEFORE A CATHOLIC SOCIETY OF S. PATRICK\u2019S CHURCH, NEW HAVEN,\nCONN., OCT. 20, 1872.)\n\nREVEREND GENTLEMEN AND MY FRIENDS: Before I speak particularly of the\nrelation of the rights of conscience to the laws existing in our republic,\nI consider it necessary to make a few preliminary remarks and to lay down\na few principles regarding the nature of law and government in general,\nand the relation which they hold to religion. I shall best illustrate the\ndifficulties which envelop this subject, and also give a clue to the way\nby which it may be extricated, by making a supposition.\n\nLet us suppose that a large number of men come together for the purpose of\nfounding a new state with all its institutions of civil society and\ngovernment. Some of these are Christians, among whom are Quakers; others\nare Mohammedans, Hindoos, Thugs, idolaters practising human sacrifices,\nand communists. It is necessary that they should agree and concur with\neach other in regard to the rights which respect life, liberty, property,\nthe pursuit of happiness in general and particular, and the means of\nprotecting all these rights, otherwise no society or government is\npossible. But this cannot be done by any general consent among these\ndifferent parties. The Christian holds the sacredness of life and\nproperty, and the force of the law of monogamy. The Mohammedan rejects\nthis last, and maintains the right to a plurality of wives. The Hindoo\nregards it as a sacred right and duty of a widow to offer herself on the\nfuneral pile of her husband, that her spirit may rejoin his spirit in\nanother world. The Thug considers it a most holy and meritorious act to\nmurder as many persons as possible in honor of the cruel goddess whom he\nworships; while the idolater looks on the sacrifice of children or\ncaptives as the means of placating his offended deities and procuring\nsuccess in war. The Quaker will not allow of any bloodshed whatever,\neither for avenging crime or repelling aggression. And the communist would\nabolish all rights of property, reconstruct society on a wholly different\nplan from that which has heretofore existed, and banish all religion as\nnoxious to the well\u2010being of man.\n\nIt is evident, therefore, that society cannot be constituted without\nreligion, and that society constituted with religion, and on the basis of\nreligious ideas, requires some agreement in these religious ideas, and the\nincorporation of some fixed and definite religious principles into its\nvery structure and conformation.\n\nIf we consult history, we shall find that no state or perfect society has\never been established on the atheistic principle. Every one that has ever\nexisted has had a religious basis, and all political and social\nconstitutions have proceeded from religious ideas and been founded upon\nthem. The civilization of Christendom in general has received its specific\nform from the influence of the Christian religion moulding and modifying\nin the Eastern world its previous and ancient laws, and in the West to a\ngreat extent creating a new order out of a pre\u2010existing state of imperfect\ncivilization or semi\u2010barbarism. To this Christendom we belong, and the\nlaws of our republic are a product of this Christian civilization. This\ncannot be denied, considered as a mere historical fact respecting our\norigin; for we are the offspring of Christian Europe, and in the beginning\ndistinctly professed to be a Christian people. But it may be said that we\nhave changed, have undergone a political regeneration as a nation, and in\nthe process of transformation have thrown out all religion from our\norganic constitution as a republic. By our organic constitution and the\nlaws of our republic I intend not merely the federal constitution and laws\nwhich bind together the United States, but also the laws and constitutions\nof the states, the _tout ensemble_ of our common and statute laws of every\nkind, which form the regulating code of our whole society as one political\npeople. And in regard to this organic law, I affirm that we do not form an\nexception among human societies to the universal rule I have above laid\ndown, that the state in political society is based on religious ideas.\n\nIn support of this proposition, I cite the opinion of a most competent and\nimpartial judge, Prof. Leo, of Halle, and borrow from him a definition of\nthat which constitutes our state religion. This great historian, in the\nintroductory portion of his _Universal History_, where he is discussing\nthe universal principles which underlie all political constitutions,\nanalyzes in a masterly way the elements of our own system of government;\nand he points out that which is the religious element, namely, the rule or\nlaw of morals, derived from the common law of Christendom, or a certain\nstandard of moral obligation, conformity to which is enforced by the state\nwith all its coercive power. All churches or voluntary associations which\ninclude this moral code or religion of the state within their own specific\nreligious law possess complete equality and liberty before the civil law.\nWith their doctrines, rites, regulations, and practices the state does not\ninterfere, and gives them protection from any infringement upon their\nrights on the part of any private members of the community. But let them,\non pretext of doctrine, of ecclesiastical law, of liberty of conscience,\nor even of any divine revelation, violate by any overt acts the rule of\nmoral obligation recognized by the state, they come into direct collision\nwith her authority, and must suffer the consequences. So far, therefore,\nas concerns that portion of Christian law, namely, the moral precepts of\nthe Christian religion, which are incorporated into our civil law, all\nchurches are in vital union with the state. Even Jews, because they hold,\nwith Christians, the decalogue; and societies based on purely natural\nreligion, because they hold the law of nature, are in the same vital\nunion, so far, with the state. And beyond this, within the limits which\nthis law sanctions or permits, all these churches or societies are in\nunion with the state, as lawful, voluntary associations over which her\nprotection is extended. But let a Mohammedan community be formed among\ncitizens or resident foreigners, and attempt the introduction of polygamy,\nour laws require the civil magistrate to interfere and suppress by force\nthis exercise of the privileges granted by their prophet. Let a community\nof Hindoos, Thugs, or idolaters establish itself within our bounds, and\ncommence any of the murderous practices of those false religions, and the\ngibbet or the sword would be called on to execute vengeance upon them. We\nhave in our borders the sect of Mormons, whose doctrines and practices are\ncontrary to our fundamental laws and subversive of them. Obviously, we\ncannot, consistently with our safety, our well\u2010being, or our essential\nprinciples of political and social order, tolerate the enormities of\nMormonism, much less permit the formation of a Mormon state. The right to\nlife, liberty, property, and the pursuit of happiness, must be exercised\nin conformity to certain laws, which are to the state as her axioms or\nfirst principles, and are held as inviolable. And the exercise of this\nright, in this due and legitimate manner, must not be hindered by force\nand violence under any pretext. Therefore no pretence of conscience or\nreligion can avail to cover any violation of law by an individual or a\nsociety, or any such infringement on the rights of others as has been just\nalluded to. All this presupposes that the state recognizes and bases its\nlaws upon certain fixed ideas concerning the rights which God has really\ngranted to men, and the obligations which he has imposed upon them. But\nthis has also been distinctly and expressly declared by a body of men,\nrepresenting the whole political people of the nascent republic which was\nafterwards developed into the United States of North America. The\ndeclaration was made in the very act which constituted the United Colonies\nfree and independent states, and which was published to the world on the\nfourth day of July, 1776. In the first sentence of this Declaration of\nIndependence, the Congress affirms that the people of the United States\nhave judged it necessary \u201cto assume among the powers of the earth the\nseparate and equal station to which THE LAWS OF NATURE AND OF NATURE\u2019S GOD\nentitle them.\u201d This august body then proceeds to lay down the foundation\nand basis of the entire argument of the document, as follows: \u201cWe hold\nthese truths to be self\u2010evident, that all men are _created equal_; that\nthey are _endowed by their Creator_ with certain inalienable _rights_;\nthat among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that to\nsecure these rights governments are instituted among men.\u201d It then\nproceeds to argue that those governments which fail to fulfil this end,\nand pursue a contrary end by invading and destroying these rights, forfeit\ntheir powers; and makes an application of this principle to the _casus\nbelli_ between the colonies and the British crown.\n\nIn this most momentous crisis, amid the very birth\u2010pangs of our infant\nrepublic, the people of the United States solemnly declared that the\norigin of all right, all law, all political organization, all government,\nand specifically of those which constitute the United States a separate\npolitical people, is to be found in the _lex \u00e6terna_, the law of God; that\nis to say, it is in religion. For what is religion? According to Cicero\u2019s\ndefinition, it is a bond which binds men to God and to each other. This is\nthe very meaning of the word, which comes from _ligare_, to bind, whence\nwe have the terms ligament, ligature, and obligation. Human right is,\ntherefore, something conferred by God. The right to govern must come from\nGod, for we are created equal, and therefore without any natural right of\none over another to give him law. The rights of the governed come from\nGod, and are therefore inviolable; but liberty is the unhindered\npossession and exercise of the rights conferred by God, under the\nprotection of lawful government; and liberty of conscience is freedom to\nobey the law of the Creator, and to enjoy the blessings which he has\nimparted to the creature by that law. These rights and liberties belong to\neach individual man as a grant from the Creator, which he can maintain in\nthe face of any government, be it that of a monarch, of an aristocracy, or\nof a majority of the people. If a monarch, or one who executes by\ndelegated power the sovereignty of a majority, invades the right of an\nindividual, he violates a law. This law can be no other than that of the\nSovereign Lord of the universe. There is, therefore, a higher law than\nhuman law, a higher sovereignty than human sovereignty, to which both\ngovernments and the governed are subject and amenable, and which are\nacknowledged as supreme by this American Republic of which we are\ncitizens. And as another proof of this recognition, I may cite the law of\noaths, or the solemn appeal to Almighty God as the Supreme Judge, by which\na religious sanction is given to judicial testimony and the engagements of\npublic officers.\n\nThere is, therefore, in our republic a religion of the state, but one\nembodied in civil and political society only, which leaves to citizens\nperfect freedom to organize churches and act out what they profess to be\nthe dictates of their individual consciences, provided they do not violate\nthe laws which constitute the religion of the state.\n\nUnder this law, the Catholic Church possesses in essential matters\ntheoretical liberty and equality of rights with the various religious\nbodies existing in the country, with some trivial exceptions to be found\nin the laws of some of the states. To a great extent, this theoretical\nliberty is also a practical liberty, really possessed and enjoyed, and\nonly occasionally invaded. This is a remark which is quite specially\nverified in the instance of your own state of Connecticut.\n\nThis has not always been the case either here or in other portions of our\ncountry. Catholics have not always enjoyed freedom of conscience and\nliberty of religion. If we go back to the early history of the colonies\nwhich became afterwards the United States, we shall find that their\nfounders did not intend to grant that liberty which now exists. In some of\nthese colonies, the Church of England, in others the Church of the\nPuritans, and in those of Spain and France, which were admitted at a later\nperiod, the Catholic Church was the established religion of the state. In\nall the English colonies the Catholic religion was proscribed and\npersecuted. The Puritan fathers of New England intended to establish a\ntheocracy. There was a strict union of church and state under their old\ncolonial governments. Only professed members and communicants of the\nchurch could vote, and the legislatures regulated the affairs of parishes,\nand decided doctrinal questions. Our ancestors therefore had a Christian\nideal of the state before their minds which they attempted to make an\nactual reality, and which they dreamed should become the kingdom of Christ\nour Lord upon the earth which the prophets and apostles foretold. The\nattempt failed from causes which lay within the bosom of the community\nitself, and not because of any external force; and the same community\nwhich had by tacit agreement or positive statutes enacted the original law\ncombining a specific form of religion with the state, repealed the same by\nits own free will. In the Puritan state, the first change came about by\nthe multiplication of baptized persons who never became communicants. The\nnumber of citizens who were thus deprived of the highest rights of\ncitizenship was felt to be a grave anomaly and inconvenience in a\ndemocratic state, and caused the adoption of the half\u2010way covenant. By\nthis arrangement, those baptized persons who publicly acknowledged their\nbaptism were considered as quasi\u2010members of the church, entitled to all\npolitical rights. When, in the course of time, the number of unbaptized\npersons increased, and other sects of Protestantism began to flourish, new\nchanges were brought about by which in the end the connection between the\nstate and the Puritan Church was dissolved. Similar causes produced\nsimilar effects in other parts of the country, and, so far as the federal\nunion was concerned, there was obviously from the first an utter\nimpossibility of making any specific form of Christianity the religion of\nthe entire republic. Thus, by the very law which the necessity of the case\nimposed upon the separate states and the entire federal republic, that\nliberty of religion became established under which the Catholic Church\ncould come in upon a footing of perfect equality with the other religious\ndenominations. Catholics have not come into New England and Connecticut\neither to demand religious liberty as a right or to beg toleration as a\nfavor. We have not obtained our rights or privileges by any agitation or\nrevolution stirred up by ourselves in our own interest. The work was done\nbefore there was a number of Catholics worth estimating either in\nConnecticut or New England. It was done by the old manor\u2010born citizens for\ntheir own advantage and the welfare of the state.\n\nSo also, in regard to the political privileges conceded to foreign\u2010born\nimmigrants. These are, in their nature, distinct and separate from the\nrights of conscience conceded to Catholics. Yet they have an actual\nconnection, arising from the fact that so very large a proportion of our\nCatholic citizens are of foreign birth, and so large a proportion of our\nadopted citizens are of the Catholic religion; and therefore, in the\npublic mind, these two matters are very much blended together, and even\nconfused with each other. It is, therefore, quite fitting that I should\nspeak of the two things in relation with each other. And I remark on this\npoint that the privileges possessed by the Catholics of this state who are\nof foreign birth, by which they are made equal to the native\u2010born citizens\nin regard to both religious and political rights, have not been extorted\nby themselves, but freely conceded for the good of the state and of all\ncitizens generally. The original inhabitants had the power to exclude the\nCatholic religion from all toleration. They had the power and the right to\nexclude all foreigners from the privileges of native\u2010born citizens, or to\nmake the conditions of being naturalized more stringent than they now are.\nThey took another course, having in view their own good and the well\u2010being\nof the state, and Catholics as well as foreigners have profited by it.\nCatholics have profited by the religious liberty conceded to citizens,\nwhich is something essentially distinct from the privileges conceded to\nresidents of foreign origin. And in point of fact, although the extent and\nprosperity of the church in Connecticut have proceeded principally and in\nvery great measure from the immigration of Irish Catholics into the state,\nyet its rights, and liberty, and equality do not depend on anything\nnecessarily and essentially but the religious liberty granted to citizens,\nand which is the birthright of Catholics as well as Protestants who are\nborn on the soil of the republic.\n\nIt would be easy to show, in respect to our country at large, that the\nfirst beginnings of the Catholic Church have an intertwined radical grasp\nwith the first fibres of national life in our own soil; and that there is\na truly glorious Catholic chapter in the history of the United States. We\ncan find something of this even in the history of this state. The first\nMass celebrated in Connecticut was said in an open field within the bounds\nof Wethersfield, by the chaplain of the French troops who came here to aid\nour fathers in fighting the battle for independence. The first Catholic\nsermon in English was preached by the Rev. Dr. Matignon, of Boston, in the\nCentre Congregational Church of Hartford, at the invitation of the Rev.\nDr. Strong, the pastor of the church. The first Catholic church was formed\nat Hartford in 1827, by Mr. Taylor, a respectable citizen of that town,\nwho was a convert, and who organized the few Irish, French, and German\nCatholic residents in the place into a congregation, which assembled on\nSunday for worship. In 1830, Bishop Fenwick, of Boston, a native of\nMaryland, purchased and blessed a small frame church, over which he placed\nF. Fitton, a native of Boston, who was the pastor of the entire state, and\nwho is still actively engaged in the duties of the priesthood at Boston.\nDuring the first five years of his ministry at Hartford, F. Fitton\nreceived eighty adult converts, who, with their families, made a\nconsiderable portion of his little flock, since, in 1835, there were only\n730 Catholics in the whole state. The first bishop of the diocese of\nHartford was a native of New England. The present distinguished prelate\nwho rules the church in Connecticut is a native of Pennsylvania; and of\nthe 150,000 Catholics under his jurisdiction nearly one\u2010half must be\nnatives of the state or of the United States. We have, then, some 67,000\nnative\u2010born Catholics in this state, most of whom are native\u2010born\nYankees.(230) If you wish to see a fair sample of these, you have only to\nvisit St. Patrick\u2019s Church at nine o\u2019clock of a Sunday morning, where you\nwill see the church filled with them, and to go into the school\u2010house\nbehind the church any day in the week, where you will find 1,100 of these\nyoung Catholic Yankees busily conning their lessons, and learning to love\nGod and their native Columbia. All these have their liberty of conscience\nand their other rights as citizens secured to them by their birthright,\nand therefore, on this ground alone, the Catholic Church is equal to the\nProtestant churches before the law.\n\nAnd as regards foreign\u2010born citizens, the state having conceded to them\nequal rights to those of native\u2010born citizens, their conscience or\nreligion is included among these rights. The original concession was a\nprivilege, but, having been once conceded, it has become a right. And it\nwas conceded, as I have said, for the good of the state which conceded it,\nand in view of a compensation or equivalent which the party of the grantor\nexpected to receive. You did not intrude yourselves upon the soil of the\nstate, or come uninvited to beg food and shelter. You were invited, and\nthat not from motives of pure philanthropy. Doubtless many had a kind and\nphilanthropic feeling in the matter, but the prime and urgent motive was\nthat you were needed and wanted for your labor. You were told that your\nservices were wanted for the upbuilding of the material prosperity of the\nstate, and, as an inducement to come, you were offered citizenship, and\nwith that, freedom to bring your religion with you and enjoy it. This was\na favor to you without question; but not a purely gratuitous one. It was\nsomething advanced to you, but for which you were expected to make a\nfuture compensation. And you have well purchased your rights, not only by\nwhat you have done in the peaceful arts of industry, but by fighting for\nyour adopted country and shedding your blood for its integrity and the\nconsolidation of its power. You have fought for the state, and for the\nUnited States, and, therefore, the compact has been sealed and made\ninviolable by your blood.\n\nNow, what is the point I have been coming to and have at length reached?\nIt is this: that you possess the full freedom and equality of your\nCatholic religion, not by toleration, but as an absolute right, inhering\nin your character as citizens whether by birth or adoption. Catholics are\nlegally domiciled here by virtue of our laws, which recognize, maintain,\nand protect their religious rights as standing on an equal footing with\nthose of Congregationalists or Episcopalians. No doubt, we should cherish\na kind feeling toward those who have granted these most precious and\nvaluable rights, and respect their similar rights. But we must not permit\nourselves to be placed in any position of inferiority to other classes of\ncitizens. We must insist upon the full recognition of our equality in the\nstate, and maintain with a manly bearing all our rights of conscience to\ntheir fullest extent, claiming and demanding from our fellow\u2010citizens a\ncomplete respect and observance of these rights, and from the state that\nprotection in their exercise which it is bound to give.\n\nThe Declaration of Independence avows as an article of the national creed\nthat the right of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness has been\nconferred by the Creator, and is inalienable, and that government is\ninstituted for the purpose of securing to us the possession and exercise\nof this right. The right to liberty includes freedom to keep the\ncommandments of God, to observe his law, to make use of all the means\nwhich he has granted to us for obtaining grace, acquiring virtue, and\nfulfilling the end of our creation. The right to happiness includes the\nundisturbed enjoyment of all the privileges of our religion, which alone\ncan make us truly happy in this world, and enable us to obtain eternal\nhappiness. The right to liberty and happiness gives freedom, to those who\nchoose to do so, to devote themselves to the sacred duties of the altar\nand the cloister. It gives freedom to practise all the rites and\nceremonies of religious worship, to dedicate our wealth to the service of\nGod and our fellow\u2010men, to constitute and regulate our churches according\nto our own canonical law, to establish and hold possession of colleges,\nseminaries, convents, and charitable institutions, to educate our\nchildren, to profess and practise the Catholic religion wholly and\nentirely. It is the end of government to secure these rights, so that, if\nit fails to do so by extending an efficacious protection to their free and\npeaceable exercise, it is negligent of its duty; and if it impairs or\nviolates them by unjust and tyrannical legislation, it commits a positive\nact of wrong and usurpation. The government, the sovereign power in the\nstate from which the government holds its authority, are amenable to the\neternal law, as well as the individual citizen; and they may violate it by\nneglecting to secure and protect, or by infringing upon, the rights of\nconscience conferred by the Creator. Wherefore it is necessary to keep a\nwatchful guard over these rights, to proclaim and defend them loudly when\nthey are assailed or in danger of being impaired, and by all lawful means\nto hinder any attempt to interfere with their exercise by unjust\nlegislation or a tyrannical exercise of authority by the governing power\nand its official agents. It is a universal and constant tendency of the\nsovereign power in the state to usurp unjust authority and to invade the\nrights of its subjects. The liberty of the individual man and of the class\nwhich is governed is always in danger, and, therefore, eternal vigilance\nis the price of liberty. This is true where the people retains its\nsovereignty, as well as where the sovereignty has been entrusted to a\nmonarch or an aristocracy. It is a great mistake to suppose that a popular\nform of government and republican institutions are a perfect and adequate\nguarantee of liberty in general or of liberty of conscience in particular.\nThe political majority or ascendant party can tyrannize over the minority\nor weaker party and over private citizens. Magistrates elected by a\npopular vote can misuse their power to oppress those whom they ought to\nprotect. Legislatures chosen by the people can pass the most unjust and\ndespotic laws. The Athenian democracy banished Aristides the Just, and\npoisoned Socrates, the wisest man of pagan antiquity, the father and\nfounder of philosophy. In our own day we have seen the most perfidious\nviolation of guaranteed rights, and the most tyrannical oppression of the\nreligious freedom of Catholics, perpetrated by the Swiss Republic.\nCatholics are always liable to oppression where they are the weaker party,\nand have never any sufficient guarantee for the acquisition and\npreservation of their full religious liberty, except in their own numbers\nand strength, made available by their own energetic activity in their own\ncause. According to the principles and spirit of our laws and political\ninstitutions, the Catholic Church possesses in the United States a greater\ndegree of the liberty which belongs to her by divine right than in most\nother countries. And in practice this liberty has been to a great extent\nsecured to her by the justice of the people at large, and the fidelity of\nthose to whom the administration of law has been entrusted. We may say of\nConnecticut especially that, considering the old and deeply rooted\nprejudice of her native inhabitants against the Catholic religion, it is\nremarkable with what comity they have received and made place for the new\nand mercurial race who have come in to replenish their staid old towns and\nquiet villages with fresh life, and with what composure they have beheld\nthe multiplication of the crosses which gleam in the sunlight, on their\nhilltops and in their valleys, over the churches and convents of that\nwhich to them was a new and strange religion. Nevertheless, we cannot and\nought not to be content with anything short of that full and complete\nliberty and equality which of right belong to us, and which do not in the\nleast degree prejudice the same rights in those who profess a different\nreligion. There are some things in regard to which it is our duty as well\nas our right to demand a greater measure of justice than that which has\nhitherto been yielded, and to exert ourselves to prevent a still further\ndiminution of our rights as Catholic citizens.\n\nOne of these is the right of those unfortunate persons who are inmates of\nprisons, houses of reformation, and similar institutions to enjoy all the\nprivileges and fulfil all the duties of their religion, if they are\nmembers of the Catholic Church. Closely connected with this is the right\nof the Catholic clergy to have access to all the members of their flock,\nand to exercise the functions of their sacred ministry wherever their duty\ncalls them, unhindered, and, if necessary, fully protected by the law and\nall official persons.\n\nAnother is the complete and untrammelled freedom of Catholic education in\nall its departments. The state has no right either to prescribe and\nenforce religious instruction beyond those first principles of morality\nand civic obligation which are the foundations of our political order, or\nto interfere with the religious instruction which the Catholic conscience\ndemands for those who are in a state of pupilage. Far less has it the\nright to prescribe an irreligious and atheistical system of instruction. I\ncannot enlarge upon this most important topic in this place. I will here\nsimply recall what I have said of the possibility and danger of usurpation\nover the rights of conscience even in popular governments, and point out a\ndirection from which we ourselves are threatened by this very danger. I\nrefer to a project entertained by some persons in high positions of\nestablishing under the authority of the federal government a national and\ncompulsory system of education, thus depriving not only Catholics, but\nProtestants and Jews also, of their essential right as citizens to give\ntheir children a religious education. I do not attribute this policy to\nthe party of the administration as a party, but it is most undoubtedly the\npolicy of a considerable and very active section of what is called the\nRepublican party, and is part and parcel of a scheme for modifying most\nessentially the relations between the federal and the state governments,\nfor extending the authority of the governing power and restricting the\nprivate liberty of citizens. The men who are possessed by these ideas are\nin sympathy with that party in Europe self\u2010styled the progressive party.\nThe idea which they have of liberty is their own freedom to drive the\npeople on the path which they themselves have surveyed and marked out as\nthe straight road to happiness and well\u2010being, and this compulsory march\nthey dignify by the name of Progress. In this country, they are avowedly\nnot content with existing institutions and laws, but are restless to try\ntheir improving hand upon them. They desire to secure uniformity according\nto their own ideal standard, by consolidation, concentration, unification\nof the legislative and executive powers in the federal government, and the\nreduction of the states into the condition of subordinate, dependent\nprovinces in a republican empire. Education by the state and for the\nstate, and in accordance with so\u2010called progressive ideas, is an essential\npart of this Prussianizing plan\u2014an education wholly secular, from which\ninstruction in positive, revealed dogmas and a positive religious\ndiscipline are wholly excluded, on the plea that all these are sectarian;\nand one, of course, which is really anti\u2010Christian and godless\u2014an\neducation like that of the University of Paris, which made a whole army of\ninfidels among the lettered class in France. It is on this ground of\neducation that the tyrannical and infidel power of the state is waging a\nbattle with the point of the lance against the church and the Catholic\nreligion in Europe. In England, also, as I know from those who have heard\nit from the lips of the leaders of this party, it is the fixed purpose of\nthese leaders to work for the establishment of this infidel system by the\ncoercive power of the state. The necessary sequel of all this is the\n_commune_; and, if such a system should prevail here, we have in prospect\nthe confiscation of ecclesiastical property, the destruction of those\ninstitutions of learning which will not conform to the ideal of the state,\nthe overthrow of the most essential rights of conscience, and finally the\nproscription of religion, followed by the war of the masses upon the\nrights of property and upon the order of civil society itself.\n\nWe want none of these improvements of Boston _doctrinaires_, and no\nmeddling of political charlatans with our constitution. Our private rights\nwe hold from the Creator, and not from any social compact or grant of\ngovernment. State rights, the strongest safeguard we have against\nusurpations upon our liberty, we hold from the fundamental law which first\nconstituted us a political people\u2014the law of unity in multiplicity, which\nis our strength, and the geometrical principle, of our harmonious and\nsymmetrical structure. There was a time when our centralizing principle\nwas in danger; when, so to speak, the centrifugal force threatened to\nbecome too strong, and to make a rupture of our system. Now it is the\nopposite danger we have to fear\u2014the increase of the centripetal force. As\nwe were in danger of flying away from our sun and becoming separated,\nwandering political orbs, so we are now in danger of running into our sun,\nand thus losing our proper orbits, becoming absorbed into the central\nmass, and thereby suffering the extinction of the life of liberty in the\nindividuals who form our population. Therefore, as the exorbitant demands\nof state rights have been repressed, it should now be our study to prevent\nthe encroachment of federal power upon the just domain of these state\nrights, of state power over municipal freedom, and of all these powers\nupon the personal and private liberty of the citizen. It is for the\ninterest of all to do this, but my special purpose has been to show why\nCatholics in particular are bound to do it, in order to preserve that\nliberty which God has given to them, and their rights of conscience, among\nwhich this right of education is one of the most precious and the most\nimperilled.\n\nThis leads us to another point. All religious societies being equal before\nthe law, and entitled to an equal protection, so long as they do not\nviolate those fundamental principles of morality which constitute the\nreligion of the state, Catholic institutions have an equal claim to a\nshare in the distribution of the public money with those which are not\nCatholic. In this state, large sums have been granted to institutions\nwhich are under the control of particular denominations; for instance, to\nYale College. The state is bound to be impartial, and whatever it\ndetermines to do in support of education or for the nurture and relief of\nthe helpless and destitute, and the reformation of the depraved, it is\nbound to carry out on this impartial principle. Therefore grants to useful\ninstitutions ought never to be opposed or withheld on the ground that the\nCatholic clergy have the control over them, and that within their walls\nthe Catholic religion is taught and practised. Nor has the state any right\nto prefer, much less to enforce, what is falsely called a non\u2010sectarian\nsystem of religious and moral instruction. This is one of the most patent\nfallacies by which the common mind in our time and country is duped and\ndeluded. If there is one only true church, all other so\u2010called churches\nare sectarian, or sections cut off from the church. The true church cannot\nbe a sect or have anything sectarian about it. But the state is\nincompetent to judge or decide that the Catholic Church is a sect in this\nsense; and, therefore, incapable of determining that the public money\nwhich is granted to a Catholic institution is devoted to sectarian\npurposes. The state is equally incompetent to decide that there is no one\ntrue church, and that, therefore, all denominations are sections of the\ntrue church, or sects considered in the sense of parts included in a\nwhole. But if it were competent to decide this point in the sense\nindicated, the only just conclusion would be that all should be\nimpartially treated and protected. The state is also incompetent to decide\nthat a particular party of men, having a system differing from that of any\none sect, and professing to retain the common elements of all, is not\nitself a sect, and that its system is non\u2010sectarian. It is, in fact, only\nanother sect. Regular association, government, and special rites are not\nessential to the nature of a sect. There were the sects of Pharisees,\nSadducees, and Herodians among the Jews. There are philosophical sects. A\nsect is a party of men holding certain particular opinions. Those men who\nprofess to hold what they call the essential parts of religion and\nmorality, and to teach the same without any sectarian doctrines, simply\nmean that they do not hold the tenets of any of the Protestant sects\naround them, by which they differ from each other. But they belong to the\ngenus Protestant nevertheless, and have their own specific _differentia_.\nThey cannot discriminate the essential from the non\u2010essential parts of\nChristianity without a criterion, and the criterion which they adopt and\napply makes their specific doctrine, which constitutes them a distinct, if\nnot a separate, sect. They assume that the specific doctrines and laws of\nthe Catholic Church are not essential. But in this they deny a fundamental\nCatholic doctrine: they place themselves in opposition to Catholics in\nrespect to the essentials of faith and practice, and thus they are,\nrelatively to us, a sect. The state cannot decide this question, and\ncannot, without injustice, prefer one party to the other. It is,\ntherefore, a violation of Catholic rights to compel Catholics to listen to\nthe teaching which calls itself non\u2010sectarian, or in any way to adopt and\nsanction it as a system exclusively entitled to the support and protection\nof the state.\n\nThe truth is that the state has nothing to do directly with religious\ninstruction. Formerly, in this state of Connecticut, it had to do with it,\nbecause the Puritan form of Protestantism was the established religion of\nthe state, and made part of the law. But now the state has only to protect\nthe religious corporations and societies which have legal existence in the\nenjoyment of their vested rights. Grants of money and other legal\nprovisions must be made in view of the utility to society and the state\nwhich lies in the nature of the object which any institution aims at\naccomplishing. Education, the care of the orphaned, the poor, the sick,\nand other destitute persons, and the instruction of all classes in moral\nand civic virtues and the fear of that Creator who is acknowledged in our\nDeclaration of Independence as the Author of our natural rights, are\nuseful to the state and society, and even necessary to their continuance\nand well\u2010being. Therefore the state may exercise a supervision within\ncertain limits over these things, and grant subsidies for the purpose of\nsustaining them. But this must be done in such a way that no violence is\ncommitted upon the rights or the liberty of conscience guaranteed by law.\nReligion must be left free, and not interfered with by the state. But non\u2010\ninterference is something quite incompatible with exclusion. The state\ncannot confiscate the property which it has once granted to Yale College\nbecause the clergy of one particular denomination control the religious\ninstruction of the college. Nor can it justly refuse to treat Catholic\ninstitutions of education with a favor equal to that which it shows to\nothers, because the Bishop of Hartford will have control of their\nreligious teaching.\n\nIt is for the interest and well\u2010being of the state and of all classes of\nits citizens that the Catholic Church should fully exercise all its\nrights, and enjoy the most perfect freedom of growth and development. The\nCatholic Church is fully and unchangeably committed to those essential\nprinciples of morality on which our laws are founded. By the very\nprinciple of the Catholic religion, those who profess it can never abandon\nor change these principles, and they thus receive the strongest guarantee\nof their perpetuity in the number and the moral power of those citizens\nwho profess this religion. By our religion we must hold and profess that\nhuman rights are conferred by the Creator, that they are inviolable, and\nthat civil society has been established by Almighty God, with its\ninstitutions of government, in order that these rights may be secured. We\nmust profess that peoples and governments are accountable to God for the\njust administration of the trust committed to them, and responsible to a\nhigher law than mere human laws, the eternal law itself, which is written\non the conscience and clearly promulgated by a divine revelation. We must\nprofess the sanctity of life, of marriage, of the rights of property, of\noaths, contracts, treaties, and civic obligations, and the duty of\nallegiance and obedience to the laws and the lawful authorities in the\nstate. All that I have shown to be the religion of the state, which is\nindeed nothing more than a portion of the universal common law of\nChristendom, is involved in the religion of Catholics and taught by it\nwith an authority which they acknowledge as unerring and supreme. Here is,\ntherefore, a principle of stability to the state, and to the rights of all\nclasses of citizens, which is involved in the education and popular\ninstruction which is given by the Catholic clergy. Moreover, as the\npastors of 150,000 of the inhabitants of the state, and wielding a moral\ninfluence over them far superior to that of any other body of clergy, it\nis for the interest and advantage of their fellow\u2010citizens that their\neducation, training in their special functions, and other qualifications\nand advantages for exercising their civilizing power upon such a large and\nincreasing mass of the population, should be elevated to the highest\npossible grade. Therefore the schools, academies, seminaries, and\nreligious houses in which the clergy are trained are deserving of\nencouragement as sources of intellectual, moral, and social benefit and\nimprovement to society at large, which accrue to the benefit of the state.\n\nThe same is true of institutions of religious women, who are a kind of\nfemale clergy in a wider sense of the word, of schools of all kinds, of\norphanages and charitable asylums. In the care of the poor and the sick\nespecially, the Catholic Church can do a work which cannot be done so well\nby any other society, and thus relieve the state of a burden as well as\nheal a sore on the body politic which is frequently dangerous as well as\ndistressing. Besides these more necessary services to humanity, the\nCatholic Church contributes to the decoration and embellishment of life,\nto the refinement of taste, and to the increase of innocent and elevating\nenjoyment. It ornaments towns and villages with specimens of fine\narchitecture, multiplies statues and paintings, cultivates sacred music,\nand by its multifarious ceremonies acts most powerfully not only on the\nsouls of men to raise their minds to an unseen world, but, in their human\nsentiments and manners, to give grace and refinement as well as enjoyment\nto a life rendered too dull and prosaic by the everlasting drudgery of an\nindustrious and material existence.\n\nAll this would not weigh a feather with the severe Puritan ancients who\nfounded this commonwealth. The Catholic religion is a religion of error,\nthey would have said; error is fatal to the soul, and cannot be tolerated\nin a state where laws are framed according to the laws of God. But times\nare changed, and both laws and the minds of the descendants of the\nPuritans are changed with them. Even a great light among the descendants\nof the Scottish Presbyterians, the Rev. Dr. Hodge, has declared that the\nCatholic religion teaches the essentials of Christianity, exercises a\nwholesome moral influence, and cannot be refused the same countenance and\naid by the state which is given to the Protestant religion, without the\nusurpation of an authority to determine what is religious error. Although\nthe _New York Observer_ has raised an outcry against this candid statement\nof a learned and honest man, and has vehemently denounced the Catholic\nreligion as worse than infidelity, I am persuaded that Yale College will\nnot be satisfied to take a more illiberal position than Princeton, and\nthat the general sense of the Protestant people of Connecticut will accord\nwith that of Dr. Hodge, and reject the contrary extreme of the _Observer_.\nThe religious people of Connecticut cannot fail to see that they have a\ncommon cause with us against atheism and progressive radicalism, and that\nwe are a bulwark against a devastating flood which would sweep away their\nrights with ours if it once broke over the surface of our society. Our\nrights stand upon a common basis. They depend from a common chain, which\nis fastened by the same ring. They have nothing to fear from any violation\nof their liberty or usurpation of their rights on our part, even should we\nobtain power enough to be able to attempt such an enterprise. We always\nrespect vested rights and established laws, when these are not contrary to\nthe law of God. The order which is now established is the only one that is\ngood for a state in which the inhabitants are divided in religion, and it\nenables these divided religious communities to live together in political\nharmony and social peace. We will not disturb this harmony, and we\ndenounce those who attempt to stir up the passions of the people to\ndestroy it as the enemies of the state as well as impious transgressors of\nthe law of God. The rights of conscience and the liberty of religion which\nwe possess under our laws are invaluable and precious to all of us. And\nthere is indeed a common bond between the descendants of the Puritan\nfounders of this commonwealth and the descendants of the persecuted\nCatholics of Ireland who have settled on this soil, of which perhaps you\nhave not thought sufficiently. It is the bond which has been made by a\nconflict which the fathers of both these lines of descendants have\nmaintained against a common enemy. That enemy was the despotic tyranny of\nthe successors of Henry VIII. and their ministers. Our ancestors drew the\nsword against an invasion of rights which, they avowed, had been conferred\nupon them by their Creator, and the issue of the war was the establishment\nof this republic, in which the rights of conscience are declared to be\nsacred. The ancestors of the \u201cexiles of Erin\u201d who have found a new home in\nthis republic fought, both with the sword and with the patient resistance\nof martyrdom, against the same despotic violence which invaded all their\nrights both civic and religious. It is fitting, therefore, that their\ndescendants should dwell together in the land rescued by the blood of\nheroes from tyranny, and that here should flourish the religion rescued\nfrom the same tyranny by the blood of martyrs.\n\nI conclude with the eloquent apostrophe of the Bishop of Orleans to the\nBelgians, which came from his mouth like the electric flash, amid thunders\nof applause, at the Congress of Malines in 1867, where I had the privilege\nof being present. \u201c_Vous avez une patrie, sachez la garder!_\u201d\u2014\u201cYou have a\ncountry, _know how to keep it_!\u201d\n\nWhen we look abroad and see the dark, threatening clouds overhanging older\nnations, threatening new tempests to follow those which have lately burst\nupon them, and then look at home on the peace and liberty we enjoy; our\nchurch and religion free, priests, bishops, and the Holy Father from his\nprison in the Vatican, exercising their lawful jurisdiction without\nhindrance, we can esteem at their proper worth the blessings we enjoy. We\nlearn how to value order, good government, and civilization founded on\nreligious ideas, as the most precious of all earthly possessions after the\nfaith and the means of eternal salvation. These advantages we possess in\nthe laws and institutions which are summed up in the one word _our\ncountry_\u2014our native land, or the land of our refuge and our children\u2019s\nnativity. Let us all, therefore, prize, cherish, guard, and loyally serve\nit during life; prepared and resolved, if necessary, to give our blood and\nour lives in its defence, in emulation of the patriotic bravery of our\nnoble brothers and ancestors from whom we have received this fair\ninheritance.\n\n\n\n\nThe Widow Of Nain.\n\n\n\u201cThe only son of his mother, and she was a widow.\u201d\n\n\n    I.\n\n    The dust on their sandals lay heavy and white,\n    Their garments were damp with the tears of the night,\n    Their hot feet aweary, and throbbing with pain,\n    As they entered the gates of the city of Nain.\n\n    II.\n\n    But lo! on the pathway a sorrowing throng\n    Pressed, mournfully chanting the funeral song,\n    And like a sad monotone, ceaseless and slow,\n    The voice of a woman came laden with woe.\n\n    III.\n\n    What need, stricken mothers, to tell how she wept?\n    Ye read by the vigils that sorrow hath kept,\n    Ye know, by the travail of anguish and pain,\n    The desolate grief of the widow of Nain.\n\n    IV.\n\n    As he who was first of the wayfaring men\n    Advanced, the mute burden was lowered, and then\n    As he touched the white grave\u2010cloths that covered the bier\n    The bearers shrank back, but the mother drew near.\n\n    V.\n\n    Her snow\u2010sprinkled tresses had loosened their strands,\n    Great tears fell unchecked on the tightly clasped hands;\n    But hushed the wild sobbing, and stifled her cries,\n    As Jesus of Nazareth lifted his eyes.\n\n    VI.\n\n    Eyes wet with compassion as slowly they fell\u2014\n    Eyes potent to soften grief\u2019s tremulous swell,\n    As, sweetly and tenderly, \u201cWeep not,\u201d he said,\n    And turned to the passionless face of the dead.\n\n    VII.\n\n    White, white gleamed his forehead, loose rippled the hair,\n    Bronze\u2010tinted, o\u2019er temples transparently fair;\n    And a glory stole up from the earth to the skies,\n    As he called to the voiceless one, \u201cYoung man, arise!\u201d\n\n    VIII.\n\n    The hard, rigid outlines grew fervid with breath,\n    The dull eyes unclosed from the midnight of death;\n    Weep, weep, happy mother, and fall at his feet:\n    Life\u2019s pale, blighted promise grown hopeful and sweet.\n\n    IX.\n\n    The morning had passed, and the midday heats burned:\n    Once more to the pathway the wayfarers turned.\n    The conqueror of kings had been conquered again:\n    There was joy in the house of the widow of Nain.\n\n\n\n\nFleurange.\n\n\nBy Mrs. Craven, Author Of \u201cA Sister\u2019s Story.\u201d\n\nTranslated From The French, With Permission.\n\n\n\nPart IV. The Immolation.\n\n\nLIX.\n\n\nSeveral hours had passed since Fleurange\u2019s return. Anxiety, horror,\nsadness, and emotion, which by turns filled her heart during the affecting\nscene we have just described, now gave place to a feeling in which a\nsweet, profound sense of gratitude predominated.\n\nAh! no one could comprehend, without the experience faith alone gives, the\nmysterious joy that penetrates the heart when the salvation of a soul\nseems assured; when, in a tangible manner, as it were, the abyss of divine\nmercy which ever surrounds us, opens and allows us to sound its depths;\nwhen, in answer to our tears, we almost behold the heavens open; when, in\nreturn for _pardon implored_, we are made to comprehend the ineffable\nsignification of two other words, sweet as mercy and boundless as\ninfinitude\u2014_pardon obtained_.\n\nFleurange therefore felt, if not happy\u2014for the impressions of the day had\nbeen too solemn not to have left a veil of sadness on her soul\u2014at least\ncalm and serene. The sight of that death\u2010bed had put to flight some of the\ndreams she so often abandoned herself to now without scruple\u2014dreams of\npassionate joy at her approaching sacrifice, mingled with the perspective\nof a brighter future, in which her happiness with George would be\nincreased and consecrated by the sufferings they first shared together\u2014the\ncherished theme on which lingered her imagination, her heart, and even her\nsoul, which had faith in the efficacy of sacrifice, and instinctively made\nit the basis of its hopes. Everything, even this, was forgotten for the\nmoment. It was as if a graver, purer, holier strain had put to flight the\nmingled harmony in which heaven and earth seemed almost confounded.\nHitherto, the idea of immolating herself with and for another had seemed\nnoble; but at this quiet hour, after a day of so much agitation, a\nsublimer thought sprang up in her soul in spite of herself; it was that of\na sacrifice unknown to the person for whom one immolates one\u2019s self!\n\nWas not the greatest of sacrifices\u2014the sacrifice which is our example\u2014of\nsuch a nature? Was it not made for those who were unaware of it? And has\nnot this very ignorance been regarded by the eternal goodness as a plea\nfor disarming eternal justice?\n\nFleurange did not attempt to thus define her confused thoughts; she\nallowed them to float in her mind without welcoming or rejecting them. She\nwas in that frame of mind which unconsciously enfolds a latent disposition\nin the depths of the soul, that suddenly develops into efforts and\nsacrifices which seem impossible an hour before they have to be made.\n\nShe was alone in one corner of a large, white marble fireplace in which\nblazed a good fire. She preferred this salon to the others, which were\nheated invisibly, though it was the smallest in the house, and it was the\none she habitually occupied. Clement, after accompanying her home, had\nreturned to the sad place they visited together to obtain, if not an\nhonorable, at least a separate burial of his unfortunate cousin\u2019s remains.\nMademoiselle Josephine, at her usual hour, had gone to her fine chamber,\nwhich she now occupied with less uneasiness than the first night, and had\nbeen for an hour in the capacious bed, where she had learned to sleep as\ncomfortably as under the muslin curtains which generally guarded her\nslumbers.\n\nIt was nearly ten o\u2019clock, and Fleurange in her turn was about to retire,\nwhen the noise of a carriage was heard, the bell rang, and a few minutes\nafter a card was brought her. She looked at it: \u201cThe Countess Vera de\nLiningen\u201d\u2014and beneath, written with a pencil: \u201cWill Mademoiselle Fleurange\nd\u2019Yves have the kindness to see me a moment?\u201d\n\n\u201cVera!\u2014the Countess Vera!\u2014\u201d\n\nFleurange repeated the name twice. It was the first time she had thought\nof it since she left Florence. She remembered hearing it once in a\nconversation between the Princess Catherine and the marquis, the first\ntime she ever saw the latter. From that time, Vera\u2019s name had never been\nmentioned before her. The marquis instinctively avoided it in talking with\nher the day before, as he did that of Gabrielle in conversing with Vera,\nand no one mentioned it at the palace. Fleurange\u2019s surprise was therefore\ninexpressible. She remained with her eyes fixed on the card, till the\nvalet de chambre took the liberty of reminding her the Countess Vera was\nwaiting in her carriage for an answer.\n\n\u201cCertainly. Ask her to come up.\u201d Then she waited, with a mixture of\ncuriosity and embarrassment, for the entrance of the visitor, without\nknowing exactly why. She was almost breathless from agitation; but when\nthe door opened, and she saw the beautiful maid of honor, she felt\npartially relieved.\n\n\u201cAh! it is you, mademoiselle,\u201d she exclaimed joyfully. \u201cPardon me for not\nhaving divined it immediately, but I did not know this morning the name of\nher who received me so kindly.\u201d\n\nIt now occurred to Fleurange that the maid of honor had been sent by the\nempress sooner than she expected with the favorable reply promised, but\nthe visitor\u2019s pale face and silence struck her and checked the words on\nher lips.\n\n\u201cYou were unaware of my name this morning, but did you never hear it\nbefore?\u201d\n\nFleurange blushed. \u201cNever would be incorrect,\u201d replied she.\u2014And she\nstopped.\n\n\u201cNo matter,\u201d continued Vera. \u201cI do not care to know when or how you heard\nit. I can imagine they did not say much to you about me. But allow me to\nask you in my turn if you have not another name besides that under which I\nhad the honor of presenting you to her majesty!\u201d\n\n\u201cMy name is Fleurange,\u201d replied the young girl simply, \u201cbut it is not the\none I habitually bear.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd your other name?\u201d asked Vera, with a trembling voice.\n\nFleurange was astonished at the manner in which this question was asked,\nand still more so at the effect of her reply, which produced a frightful\nchange in the listener\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cGabrielle!\u201d repeated she. \u201cI guessed rightly, then.\u201d\n\nAn embarrassing silence followed this exclamation. Fleurange did not know\nwhat to say. She awaited an explanation of the scene which appeared more\nand more strange. But while she was looking at Vera with increased\nsurprise during this long silence, a sudden apprehension seized her, and a\nfaint glimpse of the truth flashed across her mind. Nothing could have\nbeen more vague than the remembrance of the name mentioned before her but\nonce, but that time it was in a conversation respecting George, and she\nbethought herself that she understood it to be a question of a marriage\nthe princess desired for her son. Was it with reluctance Vera had now\nbrought the permission for another to accompany him? Such was the question\nFleurange asked herself. Approaching Vera, therefore, she said to her\nsoftly:\n\n\u201cIf you have come with a message, how can I thank you sufficiently,\nmademoiselle, for taking the trouble of bringing it yourself!\u201d\n\nVera hastily withdrew her hand, and retreated several steps; then, as if\nsuffering from an emotion she could not overcome, she fell into an arm\u2010\nchair beside the table, and for some moments remained pale and breathless,\nwith a gloomy, forbidding air, wiping away from time to time with an\nabrupt gesture the tears which, in spite of all her efforts, escaped from\nher eyes.\n\nFleurange, motionless with surprise, looked at her with mingled interest\nand astonishment, but, the frank decision of her character prevailing over\nher timidity, she came at once to the point.\n\n\u201cCountess Vera,\u201d said she, \u201cif I have not guessed the motive that brings\nyou here, tell me the real one; there is something in all this which I do\nnot understand. Be frank; I will be likewise. Let us not remain thus\ntowards one another. Above all, do not look at me as if we were not only\nstrangers, but enemies.\u201d\n\nAt this word, Vera raised her head. \u201cEnemies!\u201d she said. \u201cWell, yes, at\npresent we are.\u201d\n\nWhat did she mean? Fleurange crossed her arms, and looked at her\nattentively, trying to guess the meaning of her enigmatical words, and the\nstill more obscure enigma of her face, which expressed by turns the most\ncontradictory sentiments; the enigma of her eyes, which sometimes gazed at\nher with hatred, and then with sweetness and a humble, beseeching look. At\nlength Vera seemed decided to continue. \u201cYou are right,\u201d she said; \u201cI must\nput an end to your suspense, and explain my strange conduct; but I need\ncourage to do this. To come here as I have, to appeal to you as I am going\nto do, I must\u2014I must, without knowing why\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Fleurange with a faint smile, \u201ccontinue. You must what?\u201d\n\nVera went on in a low tone, as if affected: \u201cI must have had a secret\ninstinct that you were kind and generous.\u201d\n\nThis result of so much hesitation did not throw any light on the subject,\nbut only made it more obscure.\n\n\u201cThere has been preamble enough,\u201d said Fleurange, with a calm accent of\nfirmness. \u201cSpeak clearly now, Countess Vera, tell me everything without\nreservation. You may believe nothing to fear. Though your words do me an\ninjury I can neither foresee nor comprehend, speak, I insist upon it.\nHesitate no longer.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, here,\u201d said Vera, suddenly throwing on the table a paper till now\nconcealed.\n\nFleurange took it, looked at it, and blushed at first, then turned pale.\n\u201cMy petition!\u201d she said. \u201cYou have brought it back? It has been refused,\nthen?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; it was not sent.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mean that the empress, after showing me so much kindness, changed her\nmind and refused to present it?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; on the contrary, she ordered me to forward your petition, and to add\nher recommendation.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d\n\n\u201cI disobeyed her orders.\u201d\n\n\u201cI await the explanation you doubtless intend giving me. Go on without any\ninterruption; I am listening.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, first, did you know that George de Walden was the husband promised\nme\u2014to whom my father destined me from infancy?\u201d\n\n\u201cWho was promised you!\u2014from infancy! No, I did not know that. No matter;\ngo on.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo matter, indeed; that is not the point, though it is proper to inform\nyou of it. Neither is it a question of his misfortune, or his frightful\nsentence, or that terrible Siberia where you wished to accompany him and\nparticipate in a lot the severities of which you could neither alleviate\nnor perhaps endure. This is the point: to preserve him from that destiny,\nto save him, to enable him to regain life, honor, and liberty\u2014in a word,\nall he has lost. His property, name, and rank can all be restored to him.\nIt is this I have come to tell you and ask you to second.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll can be restored to him?\u201d repeated Fleurange, in a strange voice. \u201cBy\nwhat means?\u2014what authority?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe emperor\u2019s. I have appealed to his clemency, and my prayers have\nprevailed, but on two conditions, one of which is imposed on George, and\nthe other depends on me. To these two conditions, there is a third which\ndepends on you\u2014you alone!\u201d\n\nFleurange\u2019s large eyes fastened on Vera with an expression of profound\nastonishment and anguish.\n\n\u201cFinish, I conjure you, if you are not mad in speaking to me so, or I in\nlistening to you\u2014if we are not both deprived of our reason!\u201d\n\nVera clasped her hands, and passionately exclaimed: \u201cOh! I beg you to have\npity on him!\u201d She stopped, choked with emotion.\n\nFleurange continued to gaze at her with the same expression, and, without\nspeaking, made a sign for her to continue. She seemed to concentrate her\nattention in order to comprehend the words addressed her.\n\n\u201cI am waiting,\u201d she said at last. \u201cI am listening attentively and calmly;\nspeak to me in the same manner.\u201d\n\nVera resumed in a calmer tone: \u201cWell, this morning just as I had finished\nreading your petition and learned for the first time who the exile was you\nwished to accompany\u2014at that very moment the emperor arrived at the palace\nand sent for me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe emperor!\u201d said Fleurange, with surprise.\n\n\u201cYes, and can you imagine what he wished to say to me? You could not, and\nI am not surprised, for you are not aware how earnestly I had solicited\nGeorge\u2019s pardon, and, to this end, how zealously I had sought out every\ncircumstance calculated to conciliate his sovereign. Well, what the\nemperor wished to inform me was that this pardon would be granted me\u2014_me_,\ndo you understand?\u2014but on two conditions.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis pardon!\u201d exclaimed Fleurange. \u201cGo on, I am listening.\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cThe first, that he should pass four years on his estates in Livonia\nwithout leaving them.\u2014\u201d Vera stopped.\n\n\u201cI hear; and next?\u201d said Fleurange, raising her eyes.\n\n\u201cNext,\u201d said Vera slowly and anxiously, \u201cthat the will of my father and\nhis should be fulfilled before his departure.\u201d\n\nFleurange shuddered. An icy chill struck to her heart, and her head swam\nas if with dizziness. But she remained perfectly motionless.\n\n\u201cHis pardon is at this price?\u201d said she in a low voice.\n\n\u201cYes; the emperor has taken an interest in me from my childhood; he loved\nmy father, and it has pleased him to make this act of clemency depend on\nthe accomplishment of my father\u2019s wish.\u201d\n\nThere was a long silence. Vera herself trembled at seeing Fleurange\u2019s pale\nlips, and colorless cheeks, and her eyes looking straightforward, lost in\nspace.\n\n\u201cAnd he?\u201d\u2014she said at last. \u201cHe accepts his pardon on this\ncondition\u2014without hesitation?\u201d\n\n\u201cWithout hesitation!\u201d repeated Vera, blushing with new emotion. \u201cThat is\nwhat I cannot say. It is this doubt that humiliates and alarms me, for the\nemperor would regard the least hesitation as fresh ingratitude, and\nperhaps would annul his pardon.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut why should he hesitate?\u201d said Fleurange, in an almost inaudible tone.\n\n\u201cFleurange,\u201d said Vera, in that passionate tone she had used two or three\ntimes during this interview, \u201clet us rend each other\u2019s hearts, if need be,\nbut let us go on to the end. Have you had permission to see George since\nyou came?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut he expects you; he knows you have arrived, and the devotedness that\nhas brought you here?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, he is still ignorant of all this; he was to be informed of it to\u2010\nmorrow.\u201d\n\nA flash of joy lit up Vera\u2019s black eyes. \u201cThen it depends on you whether\nhe hesitates or not\u2014whether he is saved.\u2014Yes, Fleurange, let him remain\nignorant of your arrival, let him not see you again\u2014let him never behold\nyou again,\u201d she continued, looking at her with a jealous terror she could\nnot conceal, \u201cand his life will again become brilliant and happy\u2014as it\nwas\u2014as it always should be\u2014and the remembrance of the last few months will\ndisappear like a dream!\u201d\n\n\u201cLike a dream!\u201d repeated Fleurange mechanically, passing her hand over her\nbrow.\n\n\u201cI have told you everything now,\u201d said Vera. \u201cI have done you an injury I\ncan understand better than any one else. But,\u201d she continued, with an\naccent that resounded in the depths of the listener\u2019s soul, \u201cI wished to\nsave George, I wished to win him back to me! And I thought, I know not\nwhy, for I am generally distrustful\u2014yes, I thought I could induce you to\naid me against yourself!\u201d\n\nFleurange, with her hands clasped on her knees, and her eyes gazing before\nher with a fixed expression, seemed for some moments insensible to\neverything. She was listening, however\u2014she was listening to that clear,\ndistinct voice which resounded in her soul in a tone so pure\u2014a voice she\nhad never failed to recognize and obey.\n\nIf George were free, if he recovered his name, rank, and former position,\nwould she not still be in the same position as before? In that case, could\nshe treacherously usurp the consent obtained from his mother, and that to\nthe detriment of the one before her\u2014the wife chosen from his infancy?\nWould it not be treachery to him to present herself before him at the\nmoment of recovering his liberty, and thereby endanger its loss with the\nmomentary favor that conferred it?\n\nShe placed her icy hand on Vera\u2019s, and turned towards her with a sweet\nexpression of resolution. \u201cThat is enough,\u201d she said, in a calm tone. \u201cYou\nhave done right. Be easy, I understand it all.\u201d\n\nVera, astonished at her expression and accent, looked at her with\nsurprise.\n\n\u201cDo not be afraid,\u201d continued Fleurange, in the same tone. \u201cAct as if I\nwere far away\u2014as if I had never come.\u201d And, taking the petition lying on\nthe table, she tore it in pieces, and threw it into the fire! There was a\nmomentary blaze, which died away, and she looked at the ashes as they\nflew.\n\nVera, with an irresistible impulse, pressed her lips to the hand she\nseized, then remained mute and confounded. She had come determined to\nprevail over her rival, to convince her, to use every means of contending\nif she failed in her first efforts, but her victory suddenly assumed an\naspect she had not anticipated. It had certainly been an easy one, and yet\nVera felt it had left a bleeding wound. She experienced for a moment more\nuneasiness than joy, and her attitude expressed no more of triumph than\nthat of Fleurange of defeat. While one remained with her head and eyes\ncast down, the other had risen. A passing emotion colored Fleurange\u2019s\ncheek, the struggle of the sacrifice gave animation and an unusual\nbrilliancy to her face.\n\n\u201cI think,\u201d said she, \u201cyou have nothing more to say to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo\u2014for what I would like to say I cannot, dare not.\u201d\n\nVera rose and turned towards the door. A thought occurred to her. She\napproached Fleurange. \u201cExcuse my forgetfulness,\u201d said she; \u201chere is the\nbracelet you lost this morning. I was commissioned to restore it to you.\u201d\n\nAt the sight of the talisman, Fleurange started; her momentary color faded\naway, she became deadly pale, and, as she looked at it silently, some\ntears, the only ones she shed during the interview, ran down her cheeks.\nBut it was only for an instant. Before Vera realized what she was doing,\nFleurange clasped the bracelet around her rival\u2019s arm.\n\n\u201cThis talisman was a present from the Princess Catherine to her son\u2019s\nbetrothed. She said it would bring her good luck. It no longer belongs to\nme. I return it to you; it is yours.\u201d\n\nFleurange held out her hand. \u201cWe shall never see each other again,\u201d she\ncontinued; \u201clet us not bear away any bitter remembrance of each other.\u201d\n\nVera took her hand without looking at her. She had never felt touched and\nhumiliated to such a degree; gratitude itself was wounding to her pride.\nBut Fleurange\u2019s sweet, grave voice was now irresistible, and spoke to her\nheart in spite of herself. She hesitated between these two feelings.\nFleurange resumed: \u201cYou are right. It is not my place to wait for you at\nthis time\u2014you have nothing more to forgive me for, I believe, and I\nforgive you everything.\u201d\n\nAnd as Vera still remained motionless with her head bent down, Fleurange\nleaned forward and embraced her.\n\n\nLX.\n\n\nThe Marquis Adelardi often declared he had witnessed so many extraordinary\nand unexpected events that he was seldom surprised at anything that\nhappened. But the day that now dawned brought a surprise of the liveliest\nkind, and even a second one in the course of a few hours. He rose late,\naccording to his custom, and was breakfasting beside the fire when a note\nwas brought him which put a premature end to the repast just begun. After\nreading it, he fell into deep thought, then rose and strode around his\nroom. Finally he went to the window, and read the following note a second\ntime.\n\n\u201cMY KIND FRIEND: I have changed my mind. I earnestly beg you when you see\nCount George not to mention my name, and, above all, to take the greatest\nprecaution to keep him for ever ignorant of the plans I formed and the\njourney I have made. This will be easy, for no one knows I am here, and\ntomorrow, before night, I shall have left St. Petersburg. Everything will\nbe explained to you, but I only write now what is most essential for you\nto know without any delay.\u201d\n\nIn vain he read and re\u2010read. Such were the words, signed _Fleurange_,\nwhich he held in his hands. For once the marquis was completely at a loss.\nNothing\u2014absolutely nothing\u2014could account for this sudden change. The\nsuccess of her petition presented the empress the day before was certain.\nHe recalled every detail of his recent interview with her, during which,\nhaving nothing more to conceal, she na\u00efvely revealed all the depth and\nsincerity of her sentiments towards George. He had long been aware of her\nfirmness and courage, and the idea of her drawing back at the last moment\nin view of the trial never occurred to him. There was, then, an\nimpenetrable mystery, and he impatiently awaited the hour he could go for\nthe promised explanation. But he must first keep his engagement with\nGeorge. Poor George! he inspired him now with fresh pity, though he had\ndoubted, the evening before, if he was worthy of the consolation in store\nfor him. It seemed now as if he could not live without it, and that a new\nand more frightful sentence had been pronounced against him. The marquis\nwas about to start for the fortress to fulfil more sadly than ever the\npainful duty of his powerless friendship, when another letter was brought\nhim. The mere sight of this second missive made him start, and he examined\nwith extreme astonishment the address and the very envelope that bore it,\nthe impression on the seal, and the slight perfume it gave out. All this\nwas a source of surprise, and, for once, it was not unreasonable, as it\ngenerally is, to dwell on these exterior signs before solving the mystery\nby opening the letter. The reader may judge, after learning that the\nMarquis Adelardi recognized his friend\u2019s writing in the address. Since\nGeorge\u2019s imprisonment, he had neither had permission to write, nor the\nmeans. In the second place, the paper, the arms on the seal, the\nperfume\u2014all these things belonged to a different condition, for certainly\nnone of these elegances had been allowed him in prison. The mere exterior\nof the letter, therefore, had something inexplicable, and, when he opened\nit to solve the enigma, he read as follows:\n\n\u201cMY VERY DEAR FRIEND: Perhaps the very sight of this letter has given you\na suspicion of its contents. If not, know that I am free, or, at least, I\nshall be so to\u2010morrow! Meanwhile, I have left the frightful cell where you\nfound me yesterday, and now, thanks to the governor of the fortress, am\nestablished in his own apartment and surrounded once more by all the\ndelightful accessories of civilized life of which I thought myself for\never deprived\u2014accessories which are only a dawn of the delightful day\nbefore me. Yes, Adelardi, free! by the favor of the emperor, against whom\nI eagerly pledge myself never to enter into a conspiracy as long as I\nlive. Free on two conditions: one to live at my home in Livonia four\nyears; the other\u2014guess what it is! It is not more severe than the first:\nit is to return to my first love\u2014to her to whom I owe my pardon. In a\nword, to end where I began, by marrying Vera de Liningen! What do you say\nto that? Is not this a _d\u00e9no\u00fbment_ worthy of a romance? You predicted it\nonce, do you remember it? \u2018You will renounce this folly which tempts you,\nand keep the promise you made.\u2019 I was far from believing it then, and\nperhaps it is well even now that that beautiful siren is seven hundred\nleagues off, for I know not what would be the result were I subjected to\nthe fascination of those eyes which turned my head, whereas I am now\nwholly absorbed in the happiness that awaits me. Vera still loves me. She\nis also beautiful in her way, and, above all, possesses a charm which\nmakes me forget all others. She has the beautiful eyes of liberty which I\nowe her. Therefore I am not tempted to refuse the hand she is ready to\naccept, or even my heart, though somewhat _blas\u00e9_, but now filled with\ngratitude strong enough to sufficiently resemble the love she has a right\nto expect.\n\n\u201c_Au revoir_, Adelardi! Come when you please; I am no longer a prisoner,\nthough I have pledged myself not to leave here till I go to the empress\u2019\nchapel to meet her who is to accompany me into the mitigated exile to\nwhich _we_ are condemned.\u201d\n\nIt would be difficult to describe the strange effect of this letter,\ncoming so soon after the other, upon the person to whom they were both\naddressed. It would be impossible to say whether he was glad or sorry,\nindignant or affected, relieved or overwhelmed, by such sudden news; and,\nthough only imperfectly enlightened respecting some of the circumstances\nhe wished to know, he felt that somehow Fleurange had been informed of\nGeorge\u2019s pardon before himself, and the conditions attached to it. This\nwas the evident meaning of her note, which now seemed to the marquis so\ngenerous, so touching, and even so sublime, that his whole interest\ncentred, with a kind of passion, in this charming, noble girl. Her letter,\nwhich lay beside George\u2019s before him, displayed the greatest contrast\nimaginable to the cold, selfish levity of the latter. At all events, he\nhad no reason now to be anxious about him on whom everything seemed to\nsmile, but rather about her who was immolating herself to\u2010day as much as\nyesterday\u2014unsuspected by the object\u2014and with a devotedness a thousand\ntimes more disinterested and more generous than before.\n\nAt that moment the door opened, and the marquis uttered an exclamation of\njoy and welcome at hearing Clement announced. He was just thinking of him,\nand wishing he could see him at once. As soon as he looked at him he\nperceived he was unaware of what had occurred. Clement returned home at a\nlate hour the night before, and had not seen Fleurange since their return\nfrom the hospital. He now came from the burial of his unfortunate cousin\nin a distant, obscure spot, to beg the marquis to use his influence to\nobtain permission to place a simple stone cross on his forlorn grave. But\nhe could not find any opportunity of introducing the subject, the marquis\nwas so eager to enter on that which absorbed him. He informed Clement of\nGeorge\u2019s pardon and the conditions on which it was granted; but in his\neagerness he did not at first perceive the effect of the news on his\nlistener. The latter remained motionless, and for moments his excessive\nsurprise prevented him from replying. The aspect of everything was so\nchanged by the intelligence that his mind refused to take it in. He looked\nat the marquis with so singular an expression that he was struck by it,\nand clearly saw he had unguardedly touched a deeper and more vital point\nthan he supposed.\n\n\u201cPardon me, Dornthal, I have excited you more than I wished or expected.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Clement, in a strange voice, \u201cI acknowledge it; but does she\nknow what you have just informed me of?\u201d\n\nThe marquis in reply gave him Fleurange\u2019s note. He read it with a still\nmore lively emotion than he had just experienced; but he succeeded better\nin controlling it.\n\n\u201cPoor Gabrielle! This is evidently a generous, spontaneous impulse, worthy\nof her. But,\u201d continued he, in quite a different accent, in which trembled\nan indignation he repressed with difficulty, \u201cI cannot comprehend how\nthis\u2014how Count George can unhesitatingly consent to the conditions\n_proposed_, for really I can never believe them rigorously _imposed_ by\nthe emperor, still less that they could be accepted if he appreciates as\nhe ought the sentiments which I should suppose would prevent him from\naccepting them.\u201d\n\nThe marquis hesitated a moment, and then said: \u201cHere, Dornthal, time\npresses; it is better you should know everything without delay.\u201d And he\ngave him George\u2019s letter.\n\nAs Clement read it, contempt and anger were so clearly displayed in his\nface that the marquis was confounded at the flash of indignation with\nwhich he crushed the letter and threw it on the table. \u201cThat is exactly\nwhat I should have expected from the man you told me of yesterday. Poor\nGabrielle!\u201d he continued, in a voice trembling with emotion and\ntenderness, \u201cit is thus that the precious treasures of thy heart have been\nlavished and wasted!\u201d\n\nHe leaned on the table, and hid his face in his hands. For some instants\nthere was a silence neither sought to break. At length Clement returned to\nhimself. \u201cOnce more pardon me, M. le Marquis. I really do not know what\nyou will think of me after the weakness I have shown before you. But no\nmatter, it is not a question of myself, but of her. There is one point I\nrecommend to you which there is no need of insisting upon: she must remain\nignorant of the contents of this letter. She must never know\u2014_never_, do\nyou understand?\u2014what kind of a love she thought worthy of hers.\u201d\n\nThe marquis looked at him with astonishment. \u201cAnd it is you, Dornthal, who\nare so anxious as to your cousin\u2019s remembrance of Count George!\u201d\n\nThis total absence of vulgar triumph and selfish hope added another\nnotable surprise to those of the morning. Clement neither noticed\nAdelardi\u2019s tone nor the kind, affectionate expression of regard which\naccompanied the words he had just uttered.\n\n\u201cI wish her to suffer as little as possible,\u201d said he briefly; \u201cthat is my\nonly aim and thought.\u201d\n\nHe rose to go out. The marquis pressed his hand with a cordiality he\nrarely manifested, and after Clement\u2019s departure he remained a long time\nthoughtful. Perhaps at that moment he was thinking how much more\nsatisfaction there was in meeting and studying such a noble heart than\nmost of those whose acquaintance he had hitherto sought and cultivated\nwith so much eagerness.\n\n\nLXI.\n\n\nAt Clement\u2019s return, he learned that his cousin had asked for him several\ntimes. He immediately went up to the room she occupied. His emotion at\nseeing her again, though less sudden than that he had just experienced,\nwas deeper than he anticipated, for he was unprepared for the change\nwrought within so short a time. She was, however, as calm and resolute as\nthe night before, though she had passed through what might be called the\nagony of sacrifice\u2014that hour of inexpressible suffering, not when the\nsacrifice of one\u2019s self is decided upon, not even that in which it is\nconsummated, but the intermediate hour in which repugnance still struggles\nagainst the will. It was this hour endured by our common Master in the\norder of his sufferings after he took upon himself our likeness.\n\nFleurange had only taken a short hour of repose before day. The remainder\nof the night she passed wholly in conflict with suffering. She then\nallowed the repressed sobs that filled her breast during her interview\nwith Vera to burst forth without restraint as soon as she was alone for\nthe night; she gave herself up to the poor solace of tasting at leisure\nthe bitterness of sacrifice, repelling every consoling thought\u2014almost\nallowing the waves of despair to gather round her, and, if not to break\nover her, at least to threaten her.\n\nThe chamber she occupied was more spacious and sumptuous than Mademoiselle\nJosephine\u2019s, being that of the Princess Catherine herself. It was lighted\nonly by a lamp which burned before the holy images enshrined in gold and\nsilver in one corner, according to the Russian custom. Fleurange threw\nherself on a couch, and there, with her head buried in the cushions, her\nlong hair dishevelled, and her hands clasped to her face inundated with\ntears, she gave vent to her grief for a long time without any attempt to\nmoderate it.\n\nOnce before in her life she had abandoned herself to a similar transport\nof grief, though certainly with much less reason. It was when she left\nParis two years before, and it seemed as if she was alone in the world,\nand all the joys of life had come to an end. Those who have not forgotten\nthe beginning of this story may remember that on that occasion the sight\nof a star suddenly appearing in the clear sky brought her a message of\npeace. God knows, when it pleaseth him, how to give a voice to everything\nin nature, and to speak to his creatures by the work of his hands, and\neven of theirs. An impression of such a nature now infused the first ray\nof calmness into the tempest that completely overwhelmed her soul.\nSuddenly raising her head from the attitude in which she had so long\nremained, her eyes naturally turned towards the light diffused by the lamp\nbefore the images in the corner of the chamber, the richest of which\nsparkled in its ray. In these Greek paintings, as we are aware, the heads\nalone on the canvas stand out from the gold and precious stones that\nsurround them. That which now attracted Fleurange\u2019s attention was the\nimage of Christ\u2014that sacred face of the well\u2010known type common to all the\nrepresentations of Byzantine art. That long, grave face, those mild eyes,\nwith their calmness and depth, have a thrilling, mysterious effect which\nsurpasses a thousand times every reproduction of human beauty. This\nimpression, which a pious love of art enables every one to comprehend, was\nassociated with a tender remembrance of Fleurange\u2019s childhood. She had\noften prayed before a face of similar aspect in the chapel of Santa Maria\nal Prato. She now looked steadfastly into those divine eyes gazing at her,\nand it seemed as if that sweet penetrating look pierced to the depths of\nher soul, and infused a sudden, marvellous, inexpressible consolation.\nChanging gradually her previous attitude, she remained for some time\nseated with clasped hands, transfixed. At last, her eyes still fastened on\nthe holy face, she fell on her knees, bent down her head, and remained a\nlong time buried in profound recollection. Her immoderate grief seemed to\ndiminish and change its character. Her tears, without ceasing to flow,\nlost their bitterness and changed their object; for in the mildness of\nthat majestic look she read a reproach which she comprehended!\u2014\n\n\u201cO my Saviour and my God! pardon me!\u201d exclaimed she, with fervor, bending\ndown till her forehead touched the floor.\n\nPardon!\u2014Yes, in spite of her purity, her piety, and the uprightness of her\nsoul, it was a word Fleurange was likewise obliged to utter. In it she\nfelt lay solace and peace for her heart. She perceived it now for the\nfirst time. A new light began to rise in her soul, like the faint flush of\naurora which precedes day, and her grief seemed a punishment merited for\nforgetfulness, her tears an expiation. These thoughts were still confused;\nbut their influence was already beneficent, and she soon felt really\nspringing up within her the courage and fortitude which she outwardly\nmanifested during her interview with Vera. She had always been capable of\naction in spite of suffering, and she now sought it, realizing its\nbenefit. The night was far advanced, but she did not feel the need of\nrepose, and before seeking it she would give her heart and mind, even more\nfatigued than her body, the relief they needed. Under the impression of\nall the incidents and varied emotions of the day, she wrote the Madre\nMaddalena a letter which was the faithful transcript of all she had passed\nthrough. The joy of the morning, the sacrifice of the evening, her despair\nscarcely subsided, nothing was concealed or suppressed, not even a fresh\nardent aspiration towards the cloister which she thought could no longer\nbe shut against her, and which now seemed the only refuge of her broken\nheart.\n\nThere is a certain art in reading the hearts of others; but it is as great\na one to be able to read one\u2019s own, and this art Fleurange possessed in\nthe highest degree when in the presence of that great soul which afar off\nas well as near watched over hers. This outpouring soothed her. She\nafterwards slept awhile, and, on awaking, courageously despatched the\nletter which we have just seen the Marquis Adelardi read and communicate\nto Clement.\n\nBut such a night leaves its traces. Fleurange\u2019s swollen eyes, her\ncontracted features, her pale, trembling lips, and her sad expression\nindicated suffering which was an insupportable torture to Clement. He\nwould have spared her this at the expense of his life, as it is allowable\nto say he had proved. But now that the arduous duty of earnestly desiring\nher happiness through the affection of another was no longer required of\nhim, the impetuous cry of his own heart became almost irresistible in its\npower, and Clement never manifested more self\u2010control than this morning in\nsubduing the impulse which prompted him a thousand times to throw himself\nat his cousin\u2019s feet, and passionately tell her she loved and regretted an\nungrateful man, and that she herself was even more ungrateful than he! But\ninstead of that, he silently pressed her hand. Fleurange saw he was aware\nof everything, and it was a relief to have nothing to tell. In a few words\nthey made arrangements for their departure, and Clement promised her to\nstart within twenty\u2010four hours.\n\nMeanwhile, Mademoiselle Josephine appeared, and Clement, too preoccupied\nto use any circumlocution, simply announced the change in his cousin\u2019s\nintentions, without giving her any explanation. But when, in the height of\nher joy, mademoiselle exclaimed, \u201cShe is going back with us!\u2014O mon Dieu!\nwhat happiness!\u201d Clement frowned and pressed her hand in so expressive a\nmanner that the poor demoiselle stopped short and, according to her\ncustom, buried her joy in utter silence, saying to herself that the day\nwould perhaps come when she would understand all these inexplicable\nthings, and, among others, why, when she wept at Gabrielle\u2019s leaving them,\nit was necessary to conceal her sorrow; and now she was to remain, it was\nnot permitted to manifest her joy.\n\n\u201cAll this is very singular\u2014I always seem to take aim at the wrong moment.\nAnd yet, Clement allow me to say that I suspect that, as to this Monsieur\nle Comte, it was I\u2014and I alone\u2014who was right.\u201d\n\nThis last reflection did not escape her, it is reasonable to suppose, till\nlater, at one of those seasons of special unburdening her mind to Clement\nwhich she sought now and then, and we should add that the smile in return\namply repaid her for the frown we have just noted.\n\nThe evening passed away almost in silence. The Marquis Adelardi spent it\nwith them. The frightful alteration in Fleurange\u2019s features did not allow\nhim to mistake the extent of her sufferings; and her calm, simple manner\nredoubled the enthusiasm she had always inspired him with\u2014an enthusiasm\nwhich gradually ripened into solid friendship, and ultimately wrought a\ndurable, beneficent effect on his life.\n\nBefore Clement and his cousin separated for the night, they spoke of\nFelix\u2019s sad burial, and its lack of any religious ceremony. The marquis\nhad promised to obtain the last favor Clement asked\u2014that a cross should\nmark the spot where he reposed. The following morning Mass was to be\ncelebrated for him in the Catholic church.\n\n\u201cWe will attend this Mass together,\u201d said Fleurange.\n\n\u201cYes, Gabrielle, that was my expectation.\u201d\n\nThe next morning, at an early hour, Fleurange and her cousin were\nprostrate at the foot of the altar in the large Catholic church on the\nNevskoi Prospekt. After all the sorrow that had overwhelmed the young\ngirl\u2019s soul since the night before, this was an hour of sad consolation\nand repose. Her long journey, after all, in spite of the bitter deception,\nin spite of the grief and sacrifice at the end, had not been made in vain.\nHe whose last hours she had consoled, and for whom they were now praying,\nhad carried away with him the blessed influence of her presence into those\nregions to which repentance opens the door! Repentance! the salvation of\nthe soul that feels it, the benediction of the soul that seconds it, the\nmysterious joy of the angels that inspire it and rejoice over it as one of\nthe delights of their eternal beatitude!\n\nThey left the church, and slowly descended the long avenue bordered by\ntrees called the Nevskoi Prospekt. They found their way impeded by a\nnumerous crowd in front of the gate of the Anitschkoff Palace, which they\nhad to pass. Fleurange, lost in thought, was walking slowly along without\nlooking around, and Clement also was absorbed in his own reflections, when\nthey were both startled as if by an electric shock.\n\n\u201cThe newly married pair are coming out,\u201d said a voice.\n\n\u201cMarried!\u2014condemned, you mean,\u201d replied another, laughing. \u201cYou know they\nare both going into exile.\u201d\n\nThey heard no more. Clement\u2019s sudden effort to lead Fleurange away was\npowerless. She resisted it, and, leaving his arm without his being able to\nprevent it, she swiftly made her way to the front, and leaned against a\ntree. She saw the _grille_ open\u2014the carriage appeared; it drew near; at\nlast she saw him! Yes; she saw Count George\u2019s noble features, his smiling\nface, his radiant look, and she caught a glimpse of the black eyes and\ngolden locks of the bride. Then it seemed to grow dark around her, and\neverything vanished from her thoughts as well as from her sight!\n\n\nEpilogue.\n\n\n\u2014\u201cNo, my Fior Angela, I once more say no, as when you made the same\nrequest at Santa Maria that lovely evening in May while we were gazing at\nthe setting sun over the cloisters. What has been changed? And why should\nGod call you now to this retreat if he did not call you then?\u2014Because you\nsuffer still more? But, my poor child, you were suffering then. Life, you\nsaid, seemed \u2018empty and cheerless, unsatisfactory and imperfect.\u2019 And,\nindeed, you were not wrong. That is its real aspect when we compare it\nwith the true life that awaits us. From that point of view nothing truly\ncan give it the least attraction; but with this kind of disgust there is\nno sadness mingled. We are not sad when an object seems poor and valueless\ncompared with another object wonderful and divine of which we are sure. As\nI have already told you, this is the disgust of the world whence springs\nthe irresistible call to the cloister; but, as I likewise said, this\ndivine voice, when it speaks to the soul, resounds alone, to the exclusion\nof all earthly voices. A flame is kindled that absorbs and extinguishes\nall others, even those earthly lights that are attractive and pure. That\ndivine call has not been made to you. The earthly happiness you dreamed of\nhas failed you, that is all. And this disappointment for the second time\nhas inspired you with the same wish as before; but, as on that occasion, I\nbelieve if God claimed your life he would not have permitted such a heart\nas that of my Fleurange to be divided for a day!\n\n\u201cThis time, it is true, everything is at an end, and without remedy. You\nare irrevocably separated from him to whom you gave your heart\u2014allow me to\nsay now, to whom you gave it unreasonably!\u2014You shudder, my poor child, you\nfind me cruel, and all the false brilliancy which fascinated you, now\nlights up anew the image still present and still dear to your imagination;\nnevertheless, I will go on.\n\n\u201cThere is an earthly love which, if it lengthens the road that leads to\nGod, does not, however, turn one from it\u2014which, by the very virtues it\nrequires, the sacrifices it imposes, and the sufferings that spring from\nit, often seconds the noblest impulses of the soul.\n\n\u201cDo you not feel now, Fleurange, that the foundation of such a love was\nwanting to yours? I perceived it at Santa Maria as soon as I heard your\nstory to the end, and looked into the most secret recesses of your heart.\nI then understood why God had placed obstacles in your way, and imposed a\nsacrifice on you. Your sufferings appeared to me the expiation of an\nidolatry you did not realize the extent of.\n\n\u201cIf you had shown any doubt or hesitation as to the course to be pursued,\nif you had been weakly desirous of sparing yourself and escaping the\nsacrifice imposed, perhaps I should at that time have expressed myself\nmore severely. But you acted with firmness and uprightness, and I deferred\nrevealing to you the secret malady of your heart till, with time, peace\nshould be restored to you. Till then, what you suffered seemed to me a\nsufficient punishment.\n\n\u201cBut it was not to be so. The temptation was to be renewed, and under a\nform impossible for my poor child to resist. She yielded to the generous,\npassionate impulse of her heart, and found in the very excess of her\ndevotedness a means of satisfying her conscience which she confusedly felt\nthe need of. But something more was essential: she must suffer still\nmore\u2014more than before. In short, the idol must be shattered, and this\ndestruction seemed to involve the very breaking of her own heart!\u2014\n\n\u201cBut it is not so, Fleurange. Across the distance that separates us I\nwould make my voice heard, and wish it possessed a divine power when I say\nto you: \u2018Rise up and walk.\u2019 Yes; resume your course through the life God\ngives you, and courageously bless him for having snatched you from the\nsnare of a love not founded on him, which must have proved hollow sooner\nor later. Then look around, see whom you can console and aid; see also\nwhom you can love; especially notice who loves you, and banish from your\nheart the thought, equivalent to blasphemy, which you express in saying,\n\u2018My life is stripped of all that made it desirable!\u2019\u2014\n\n\u201cSome day, my Fior Angela, you will again recall these bitter, ungrateful\nwords, and will, I assure you, see their falsity. If God did not create\nyou to love him to the exclusion of those lawful affections which reflect\na ray of his love, you were still less created to find rest in a love\ndeprived of that light\u2014a love whose sudden rending and keen anguish\npreserved you from proving its perishable nature and spared you the pain\nof irreparable deception!\n\n\u201cOnce more, Fleurange, prostrate yourself before God, and give thanks:\nthen rise up and act. No lingering pity over yourself, no dwelling\nregretfully on your deceived hopes and the pain you have suffered.\nCourage! Your heart has been weak, it yielded to fascination; but your\nvolition as yet has never ceased to be strong. However rough the path of\nduty, it was enough for you to see it in order to walk in it without\nfaltering. Courage, I say! You will live. You will do better than live\u2014you\nwill recover from all this, and recall the time that seemed so dark as\nthat which preceded the real day that is to illumine your life.\n\n\u201cAt first this letter will add to your sadness. You will feel yourself\ndeprived of everything, even of the consolation you expected of me; but do\nnot yield to the temptation of burning this letter after reading it. Keep\nit to read over again, and be sure that sooner or later the day will come\nwhen a sweet promise of happiness will respond at the bottom of your heart\nat reading it. You will then comprehend what were the prayers of your\nMadre Maddalena for you, dear Fleurange, for they will on that day have\nbeen heard!\u2014\u201d\n\nThis reply to the letter Fleurange wrote during the night of agitation\nwhich followed her interview with Vera we lay before our readers at its\narrival at Rosenheim after her return from her sad journey; but one summer\nevening, two years after, the young girl, seated on a bench overlooking\nthe river, read it over the second time. She was in her old seat, but her\nappearance was somewhat changed. A severe illness, resulting from the\nemotion and fatigue endured two years before, endangered her life, and to\nher convalescence had succeeded a malady slower, deeper, and more\ndifficult to heal, against which all remedies, though energetically\nseconded by a resolute will, long remained ineffectual.\n\nDuring this period of weakness Fleurange had never known before, life\nassumed a new and formidable aspect. For a long time she was unable to\nstruggle actively against the double languor of illness and depression;\nshe had to endure inaction without making it an additional torture to\nherself and others; in short, she was obliged to be constantly and\nsilently on her guard against herself. She succeeded, however, accepting\nwith grateful docility all the care that surrounded her. She did not repel\nher friends from her crushed heart, but, on the contrary, endeavored to\nconvince them that their affection was sufficient, and that, once more\nwith them, nothing was wanting. By degrees, it required no effort to say\nthis. As the sun in spring\u2010time melts away the snow, then warms the earth\nand covers it with flowers, so, under the influence of their beneficent\ntenderness, everything began to revive in her heart and soul. Was it not\ndelightful, as she lay half asleep on her _chaise longue_ for long hours,\nto hear around her, like the warblings of birds, Frida\u2019s caressing voice\nmingled with the tones of her cousin\u2019s little children whom she loved to\nhold in her arms and caress when they awoke her? Was it not a consolation\nto rest her weary head on a bosom almost maternal? Was it not salutary to\nconverse with her Uncle Ludwig when he wheeled his chair near the young\ninvalid, and spoke of so many things worthy of her attention without ever\nturning it away from the highest of all? And Hilda? And Clara? And Julian\nand Hansfelt? Did they not all come with their constant affectionate\ninterest, each one bringing, as it were, a flower to add its perfume to\nthe air she breathed? Finally, was it nothing when she opened her eyes to\nmeet the kind glance of her old friend who, after fearing to lose her, was\nnever weary of gazing at her now she was again restored to life?\n\nAnd what shall we say of him whom we have not yet named\u2014him whose\nsolicitude for her was not apparently greater than that of his parents and\nsisters, but who, during her long convalescence, ended by taking a place\nbeside her which no one thought of disputing? Clement\u2019s character has been\nbadly delineated if, after the unexpected occurrence that restored freedom\nto his hopes, it is supposed he was prompt to admit them, and especially\nto express them. Nevertheless, since it was no longer an absolute duty to\nmaintain a strong, constant control over himself; since the fear of\nbetraying himself no longer obliged him to a restraint with his cousin\nwhich had extended to every subject, and ended by frequently obliging him\nto partially conceal from her the superiority of his mind and the rare\nnature of his intelligence, a change was wrought in him which he did not\nrealize himself, and now gave to his physiognomy, the tone of his voice,\nand his whole person a wholly different character than before in the eyes\nof her to whom he thus appeared for the first time. She noticed it with\nsurprise, and, when he stopped reading to express the thoughts that sprang\nspontaneously from his heart when moved, or his mind unimpeded in its\nflight, and touched on a thousand subjects hitherto deemed forbidden, she\nbecame thoughtful, and, in spite of herself, compared his eloquence of\nsoul, whose source was so profound, and whose flight was sometimes so\nelevated, with the eloquence of another which once dazzled her, the only\ncharm of which sprang from his carefully cultivated mind, and his mind\nalone. Every day she impatiently awaited this hour for reading or\nconversation. She already appreciated her cousin\u2019s devotedness, the\nincomparable kindness of his heart, his trustworthiness, his energy, and\nhis courage. She had given him credit for all these qualities before, and\nyet, all at once, it seemed as if she had never known him. She even asked\nherself one day if she had ever looked at him, so completely did the\nexpression of his countenance\u2014which beamed with what is most divine here\non earth\u2014a double nobleness of mind and soul\u2014so fully did his look and\nsmile atone for the imperfections already alluded to in Clement\u2019s\nfeatures, but which time had greatly modified to his advantage. She soon\nfelt that, though she had always cherished a strong regard for her cousin,\nshe had been unjust to him and never appreciated his real worth.\n\nBut the day, the hour, the moment when she discovered she had been not\nonly unjust, but ungrateful, and even cruel, we cannot state, and perhaps\nshe did not know herself. Was it the day when, after reading in a\ntremulous tone a passage that expressed what he dared not utter, he\nsuddenly raised his eyes and looked at her as he had never done before?\nWas it on another occasion, when, playing one tune after another on his\nviolin, he ended with that song without words which Hansfelt called\n_Hidden Love_, and suddenly stopped, incapable of continuing? Or was it\nwhen, towards the end of the second spring after their return, she had\nfully recovered, and he saw her for the first time in the open air\nstanding near a rose\u2010bush with her hands full of flowers? Was it when he\nknelt to pick up one that had fallen at her feet, and remained in that\nposition till she extended her hand and blushingly bade him rise? No\nmatter. That day came, and not long before the one when we find her seated\non the bench by the river\u2010side, attentively reading over the letter Madre\nMaddalena had written her two years before.\n\nThe young girl, as we have said, had changed somewhat since we last saw\nher. Her long illness had left some traces, but those traces which are an\nadditional charm in youth, betokening the complete return of brilliant\nhealth. Fleurange\u2019s form was more slender and supple; her complexion more\ntransparent; her long hair, cut off during her illness, and now growing\nout again, encircled her youthful face with thick, silky curls\u2014all this\ngave her something of the grace of childhood, and when she stood beside\nher cousin, whose tall stature and manly, energetic expression added the\nappearance of several years to his real age, it would never have been\nsupposed she was not the younger of the two.\n\nMotionless and absorbed, from time to time as she read her face colored\nand expressed a variety of emotions. But when she came to her own words:\n\u201cMy life is now stripped of all that made it desirable,\u201d and what follows,\n\u201cSome day, my Fior Angela, you will recall these bitter, ungrateful words,\nand will, I assure you, see their falsity,\u201d she stopped short, and,\nraising her eyes full of tears to heaven, she said:\n\n\u201cYes, Madre mia, you were right!\u201d She covered her face with her hands, and\nremained a long time absorbed and overpowered by a flood of thoughts. In\nthe depths of her memory, there were vague recollections of the past\ntraced as if by lightning; and some almost forgotten scenes now rose\nbefore her like a confused dream.\n\nThat violent outburst of grief; the sobs he could not repress when he\nlearned she was determined to go to George; and, later on, the words\nmurmured on the ice when he thought the last hour of his life had come,\nscarcely heard at the time, and then speedily forgotten, came back to\u2010day\nlike invisible writing brought out by the application of heat. The\nsentiments she had discovered only within a few days perhaps had long been\nexperienced by Clement, if not always\u2014and, if so, oh! then, how great had\nbeen his love and constancy, and what sufferings had he not endured for\nher sake! Alas! what had she not inflicted on that noble, faithful soul!\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d cried she aloud, \u201cwas there ever a person more blind, more\nungrateful, more cruel than I?\u201d\n\nShe stopped, started, and raised her head; she thought she heard her\ncousin\u2019s step. She was not mistaken. He sought her in her favorite seat,\nand now stood before her in the same place where, three years before, she\nunwittingly caused him so much suffering as he looked at her. It was the\nsame place, and the same season, and also the same hour. Daylight was\nfading away, and now, as then, the rising moon cast a silver ray over the\ncharming face which he was again seeking to read. But this time his\nquestioning look was comprehended, and the silent response of her\nbeautiful eyes, as expressive as words, imparted to the heart that\nunderstood it one of those human joys reserved here below for those alone\nwho are capable of a pure, constant, peculiar love\u2014a love only worthy of\nbeing named after that for God.\n\nWe might now end this story, and lay down our pen, without attempting to\ndescribe the joy of the family when, as night came on, they saw the two\nabsent ones return, and each one divined from their looks the nature of\nthe conversation which tonight had detained them so long on the banks of\nthe river. But towards the end of an evening so happy, Mademoiselle\nJosephine unintentionally made an exclamation it may not be useless to\nadd:\n\n\u201cSee! see!\u201d she cried, in the exultation of her happiness, mingled with\nsecret pride at her penetration, \u201chow right I was in thinking Count\nGeorge!\u2014\u201d She stopped confounded, suddenly recalling all past precautions,\nand fearing she had been imprudent in neglecting them.\n\nBut Fleurange unhesitatingly exclaimed: \u201cGo on, dear mademoiselle, go on\nwithout any fear, and boldly pronounce a name I now neither shrink from\nnor seek to hear.\u201d And, as she spoke, the remembrance of his past tortures\ncrossed Clement\u2019s memory, giving him a keener sense of his present\nhappiness. She asked him, in a calm tone, \u201cIs he still in exile, or has he\nbeen pardoned?\u201d\n\nClement replied with a smile: \u201cNo, he has not been pardoned; he is still\nundergoing his sentence to the full extent.\u201d After a moment\u2019s silence, he\nadded: \u201cI had a letter from Adelardi this very morning which speaks of\nhim.\u2014Would you like to read it?\u201d\n\nAt an affirmative nod from her, he took out his pocket\u2010book to find the\nletter. As he opened it, a little sprig of myrtle fell out. Fleurange\nimmediately recognized it. \u201cWhat! you still keep that?\u201d said she,\nblushing.\n\nClement made no reply. He looked at it with emotion; it was a part of a\ncarefully hoarded treasure, and for a long time the only joy of his hidden\nlove! \u201cNever, no never!\u201d murmured he. \u201cThat was my reply that evening,\nGabrielle, when you promised me a beautiful bride. Do you remember it?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, for I had said the same words an hour before, and the coincidence\nstruck me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat can we think of it, now you are really the _fianc\u00e9e_ I dreamed of as\nimpossible?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat our presentiments are often illusory\u2014and our sentiments also,\nClement,\u201d added she, turning towards him her eyes veiled with tears which\nseemed to implore his pardon.\n\nWe will not say what Clement\u2019s reply was; only, that it made them both\ncompletely forget Adelardi\u2019s letter. We will, however, lay it before our\nreaders, who may be less indifferent to its contents than he to whom it\nwas addressed was for the moment. It was dated at Florence. The marquis,\nwhose visits at Rosenheim had become annual, announced his speedy arrival,\nafter which he continued:\n\n\u201cThe poor Princess Catherine, after whom you inquire, has had a return of\nher malady, so many times cured, and it is now increased by\ndissatisfaction and annoyance more than by age. No one succeeds in taking\ncare of her so well as she whom she still remembers. Each new attack\nrenews her regrets, which have found no compensation in the gratification\nof her wishes. I have often remarked, however, that there is nothing like\nthe realization of a desire to efface the remembrance of the ardor with\nwhich it was sought, and even the transport that hailed its fulfilment. It\nis certain the princess\u2019 actual relations with her son are by no means\nsatisfactory; they are affected by the ill\u2010humor of both parties. George\u2019s\nexile would seem enviable to many; for the place he inhabits has\neverything to make it delightful excepting the liberty of leaving it, and\nthis mars the whole. He can enjoy nothing, he says, because everything is\nforced upon him. There is reason, therefore, to fear the future he is\npreparing for himself and his wife is very ominous.\n\n\u201cThe Countess Vera is a beautiful, noble woman, capable of self\u2010sacrifice\nto a certain point, but haughty, high\u2010tempered, and jealous to the last\ndegree. She thought the sacrifice she made in marrying George in the\nposition he was then in, would secure his unsteady heart, and bind him\nfaithfully to her through gratitude. She saw only too soon it was not so,\nand that the comparative liberty he had regained was soon regarded as a\nweary bondage. Thence resulted scenes which more than once have disturbed\nthe life whose monotony they are not allowed to break. Will you credit it?\nIn one of them, Vera, in the height of her irritation and jealousy,\nbetrayed the secret hitherto so well guarded, and declared in her anger\nthat _she regretted not having left him to the fate another was so ready\nto share with him_. She afterwards had reason to regret her imprudence,\nfor George exacted a complete revelation, and the remembrance thus\nsuddenly revived and clad with the double charm of the past and the\nunattainable caused him in his turn to overwhelm her with the most bitter\nreproaches. I am not sure but he had the cruelty to tell her he should a\nthousand times have preferred the fate she saved him from to that he now\nhad to endure with her!\u2014There can only be one opinion as to this mirage of\nhis imagination; but, after all this, you will not be surprised to hear\nthat they both long with equal ardor for their liberty, which they must\nwait for two years longer. According to appearances, it will be as\ndangerous for one as for the other. The princess has realized and\npredicted this since her visit to Livonia last summer, where I accompanied\nher.\n\n\u201cDuring her stay, George did not spare her any reproaches, and they were\nthe more keenly felt because she had for a long time seen that the result\nof her wishes had been a sacrifice of her own comfort and happiness\nthrough her opposition to what had at once deprived her of her son and the\nonly companion that had ever satisfied her. And when she is dissatisfied,\nshe must always vent her anger on some one besides herself. Whom do you\nthink she reproached the other day before me for all her troubles?\nGabrielle!\u2014who, she said, did not know how to avail herself of her\nascendency three years ago as she should, and to retain it!\n\n\u201cSince she has seen that I by no means sympathize in her regrets\u2014which\nwill not be shared by you either, I suppose, nor, I like to think, by her\nwho inspires them\u2014she is offended with me in my turn, and declares in a\nmelancholy tone that all friends are unfeeling and all children\nungrateful!\u2014\u201d\n\nClement\u2019s reply to this letter hastened the marquis\u2019 arrival. He had seen\nhis young friend\u2019s hopes spring up and develop, and would not for the\nworld have been absent from Rosenheim on the day of their realization.\nWilliam and Bertha, the discreet confidant who knew how to console Clement\nin his sufferings without questioning him, were the only friends, besides\nthe marquis, who were admitted that day into this happy family. The\nwedding was as gay as Clara\u2019s, but the newly married pair were graver and\nmore thoughtful. They had both passed through severe trials, which now\ngave a certain completeness to their happiness, often wanting here below\nin the most joyful of festivals.\n\nAnd they also, in their turn, set off for Italy, and it may be imagined\nthat, among the places they visited together, the first to which their\nhearts led them was that where awaited the Madre Maddalena\u2019s welcome and\nblessing. At their return, Mademoiselle Josephine\u2019s house, improved and\nembellished, became their home, on the condition imposed by their old\nfriend that she should dwell under their roof the remainder of her days.\n\nWas their destiny a happy one? We can safely reply in the affirmative. Was\nit exempt from pains, sufferings, and sacrifices? We can deny that still\nmore positively. But it was, however, enviable; for of all earthly\nhappiness, they possessed what was most desirable, without ever forgetting\nthat \u201clife can never be perfectly happy because it is not heaven, nor\nwholly unhappy because it is the way thither.\u201d(231)\n\n\n\n\nAmerican Catholics And Partisan Newspapers.\n\n\nTo Catholics, as such, the political discussions of a Presidential\ncampaign have no special significance. Thus far no issues between the two\nchief parties have particularly affected us. Both have generally been\ncareful not to offend us; and although in local elections questions\ntouching our schools and charities have sometimes become prominent, in the\nlarger contest our votes have been fairly divided between the Republican\nand the Democratic candidates. If there ever unfortunately arise a\ndistinctively Catholic party in American politics, it will not be because\nCatholics are unwilling to co\u2010operate freely with their Protestant fellow\u2010\ncitizens in secular affairs, but because we have been thrown upon the\ndefensive by some combination directly and designedly hostile to our\nreligious interests. None know better than we do that there is no excuse\nin this country for uniting religious with political issues. Our\nconstitution gives equal liberty and protection to all, and we should be\nsorry to have it otherwise, for we know that the church makes all the more\nrapid progress in the United States by reason of her absolute\nindependence. Asking nothing of the state but fair play, she gives no\nexcuse to her enemies for making any discrimination against her children.\nHer position has been generally understood and approved; and although\nthere are fiery bigots at all times who rave about the dangerous designs\nof the papists, and affect to dread a crusade with torch and sword as soon\nas we get to be a little stronger, the good sense of the American people\nhas usually treated these sectaries with the indifference they deserve.\n\nWe have intimated, however, in former numbers of THE CATHOLIC WORLD, that\nthe chronic anti\u2010Catholic agitation might assume a new character which\nwould require on our part a new attitude of resistance. A few years ago,\nwhen the settlement of the issues of the war first seemed to menace the\ndissolution of the Republican party, the most active leaders of that party\nbegan to cast about for a \u201cnew departure,\u201d and one of their favorite plans\nfor keeping the organization alive was the scheme of compulsory education\nby the general government. Of this project the Hon. Henry Wilson was a\nprominent advocate. It has not yet been formally brought into politics,\nfor the party has been able to get along without it; but it has not been\nabandoned, and we need not be surprised if it be strongly pushed within\nthe next few years. Now, Catholics look upon the question of religious\neducation as one of paramount importance. They will not surrender the\nteaching of their children into the hands of Protestants and infidels;\nthey will not consent, so far as _their_ young people are concerned, to\nthe separation of religious and secular instruction. Any party which seeks\ndirectly or indirectly to limit the usefulness or hamper the operations of\nCatholic schools, must prepare to encounter in Catholics a united and\ndetermined resistance.\n\nThus far no such conflict has arisen. We may hope that it never will\narise. And yet, during the canvass that has recently closed, two of the\nleading organs of Republican opinion have opened a bitter and apparently\nconcerted warfare upon the Catholics of the United States which we cannot\nhelp regarding as highly significant. In the midst of a Presidential\ncampaign, political organs never make such attacks except for political\nreasons. The papers to which we refer are in close relations with the\nparty leaders. _The New York Times_ became for a time, when _The Tribune_\nabandoned orthodoxy, the principal Republican newspaper of the principal\nstate in the Union. It is known to have reflected with tolerable accuracy\nthe sentiments of the Republican managers in New York, and it has always\nsaid what it assumed to be acceptable at the White House. For a long time\nit has been notoriously unfriendly to Catholics. It has amused itself, in\nits heavy, witless way, laughing at what they hold sacred and abusing all\nthat they respect. Until a few months ago, its offensive utterances seemed\nto be merely the occasional vulgarities of a bigotry that, did not know\nenough to hold its tongue. But when Mr. Francis Kernan was nominated for\nGovernor of the State of New York, its assaults became more methodical,\nmore vehement, and apparently more malicious. Mr. Kernan is a Catholic; so\n_The Times_ instantly denounced him as \u201ca bigot.\u201d An utterly untrue\npretence was made that Democrats were asking Irishmen to vote for him on\naccount of his religion, and thus the point was insinuated rather than\nopenly pressed that on account of his religion Protestants ought to vote\nagainst him. For the first time, to our knowledge, since Know\u2010Nothing\ndays, the question of religious belief was dragged into the dirty arena of\npolitics. Happily, the Catholics as a body kept their temper and their\njudgment during these infamous proceedings. They refused to be drawn into\nthe discussion which _The Times_ wanted to provoke, and even when that\npaper surpassed all its former disreputable acts by reproducing in its\ncolumns a forged handbill, showing the name of Francis Kernan surrounding\na huge black cross, and told the public that such were the devices by\nwhich the Democratic candidate sought to inflame the fanatical zeal of his\nfollowers, the Catholics contented themselves with one word of indignant\ndenial. It would have been a rash display of political courage to which we\ndo not believe _The Times_ capable of rising, if an open attack had been\nmade upon the Catholic faith or Catholic morals. _The Times_ was even\nfrightened at its own frankness in scolding at Mr. Kernan for a bigot. It\nprofessed to be shocked at the introduction of religious affairs into the\ndiscussions of the campaign, and carried on a cowardly anti\u2010Catholic\nwarfare under cover of repelling purely imaginary assaults. Of course this\nsubterfuge was well understood by all parties. The Catholics knew that\nthey had done nothing to draw this fire; the Protestants also knew it, and\na great many of them were indignant at the transaction. Was _The Times_\nitself deceived? That is a question which perhaps we should not attempt to\nanswer. In its wild bigotry, it is capable of believing almost any\npreposterous falsehood against us; but it is equally capable of inventing\none. Some familiarity with the course of political controversies in the\nUnited States has convinced us that in a fight _The Times_ sticks at\nnothing. It would rather stab an enemy in the back than kill him in open\nbattle. It never gives fair\u2010play; it never makes amends for a wrong\u2010doing;\nit never withdraws a calumny. Everybody who has had a controversy with it\nwill bear witness that it is not in the habit of telling the truth about\nits adversaries. That it is in the habit of consciously, or, to speak more\ncorrectly, deliberately, lying we do not go so far as to say. But there is\na kind of falsehood very common with people of strong prejudices to which\n_The Times_ is greatly addicted. It bears about the same relation to truth\nthat hyperbole bears to historical statement. Let us suppose that _The\nTimes_ really imagines the Catholic Church to be a dangerous and immoral\norganization, and its bishops and supporters in this country to be engaged\nin an enterprise which ought to be resisted; with this conviction of the\ngeneral wickedness of Catholic principles, it imagines itself justified in\ncharging upon individual Catholics a variety of specific crimes for which\nit has no evidence whatever. Catholics are none too good to commit murder,\nwe can imagine it saying; therefore let us accuse Francis Kernan of\nkilling his grandmother. The Pope is an impostor; therefore it cannot be\nwrong to call Archbishop McCloskey a thief. Indeed, men who would blush to\ntell an untruth in private intercourse with their fellow\u2010men have no\nhesitation in publishing slanderous accusations which they suppose may\n\u201chelp their party\u201d; and, if we should say that their conduct in doing so\nwas to the last degree infamous, they would affect to be shocked by our\nstrong language. The editor of _The Times_ would think twice before he\nwent into a club parlor, and publicly accused some prominent citizen of a\ncriminal action, unless he had the strongest possible proof of the\ncommission of the offence. But he makes such accusations every day in his\nnewspaper, without knowing, and we presume without caring, whether they\nare true or not. Anybody whom he dislikes he regards as an outlaw. Anybody\nwho comes in his way is a fit subject for the penitentiary. We saw a\nstriking illustration of his entire insensibility to the demands of truth\nand honor in his behavior towards a rival newspaper a few weeks ago. At\nthe close of the year, _The Times_ made great efforts to secure the old\nsubscribers of _The Tribune_, who were supposed to be dissatisfied with\nthat paper\u2019s recent declaration of political independence, and the means\nwhich it took to secure them was one which in any other business would\nhave resulted in a suit for slander and a verdict in very heavy damages.\n_The Times_ first circulated a report that _The Tribune_ had sold itself\nto one of the most disreputable stock\u2010gamblers in Wall Street, and then\nassured the public that the circulation of its competitor had fallen away\nmore than half, and was rapidly going down to nothing at all. Both these\nstories were well known to be entirely untrue, and, if the editor of _The\nTimes_ was not conscious of their falsity when he penned them, he might\neasily have learned the truth by a moment\u2019s inquiry. But he did not want\nthe truth. He wanted to say something damaging, and these were the most\ndamaging things he could think of.\n\nHow much he succeeded in damaging Mr. Kernan by his campaign slanders\nagainst Catholics, we can guess from the figures of the election. Mr.\nKernan received about 5,000 more votes for Governor than Mr. Greeley\nreceived in this State for President; but he received 5,000 fewer than the\ncandidate for Lieutenant\u2010Governor on the same ticket. This loss is\nprobably attributable directly to the anti\u2010Catholic feeling, for Mr.\nKernan is a gentleman to whom no personal objection could possibly be made\nexcept on religious grounds. No doubt an equally large number of voters\nwere repelled, by the bigotry _The Times_ fostered, from supporting the\nDemocratic and Liberal ticket at all; so that we shall not pass the bounds\nof probability if we estimate the fruit of prejudice and falsehood in this\ncase as equivalent to ten thousand votes.\n\nCatholics are used to injustice, and they are not quick to resent it. In\nAmerica, the church has prospered under every sort of obstacle and\ndiscouragement short of the direct hostility of the government, and it is\nnot likely that her course will be stayed by _The New York Times_. But it\nis well for us to look at the situation carefully, and judge who are our\nfriends. If any political party is to make bigotry part of its stock in\ntrade, we cannot help taking notice of such a declaration of hostilities,\nand we shall govern ourselves accordingly.\n\nWe have said that _The Times_ and _Harper\u2019s Weekly_ appear in this matter\nto have acted in concert. Perhaps it is unfair to hold the party managers\nfully responsible for the utterances of these two violent newspapers; but\nwe cannot forget that both journals are in close communion with the\nRepublican administration, and that both have been governed during the\ncampaign by the judgment of the Republican leaders. The editor of _The\nTimes_ enjoys the most intimate association with the federal organization\npopularly known as the \u201cCustom\u2010house faction\u201d in New York City; the editor\nof _Harper\u2019s Weekly_ is the personal friend of the President, and speaks\nthe mind of the President\u2019s chief advisers in Washington. If, then, these\ntwo papers have made a systematic assault upon the Catholic Church in the\nmidst of a sharp political controversy, and have taken pains to give their\nfurious Protestantism a direct political bearing, the party for which they\nspeak must be prepared to face the responsibility. It should be observed,\nhowever, in justice to the sensible and unprejudiced members of the party,\nthat _Harper\u2019s Weekly_, though it may have been encouraged in its\nbitterness by partisan considerations, did not draw from such motives its\nfirst anti\u2010Catholic inspiration. It has always been our enemy. A spirit,\nof commercial fanaticism, the hatred of a religion which it will pay to\nabuse, has distinguished the firm of the Harpers ever since the public has\nknown anything about them. The political campaign of 1872 made no\ndifference in the tone of their paper; it merely gave force, and\nconcentration, and regularity to the attacks which had previously been\nspasmodic.\n\nHow coarsely it attempted to turn to political account the religious\nbigotry upon which it had always traded may be seen in an article entitled\n\u201cOur Foreign Church,\u201d published in _Harper\u2019s Weekly_ of the 14th of\nSeptember last. The writer starts with the assumption that all religious\ndenominations in this country, except \u201cthe Romish Church,\u201d patriotically\nrenounced the authority of their European rulers when the American\nrepublic was founded. The Methodists \u201crejected the control in political\nand ecclesiastical matters of their founders\u201d; the Presbyterians\nrepudiated the General Assembly of Scotland; Episcopalians revolted from\nthe Archbishop of Canterbury; the Jews \u201cthrew themselves boldly into the\ntide of American progress\u201d; while the Catholic Church alone stood aloof,\nand \u201crefused to separate itself from its European masters,\u201d and conform\nits organization to the Declaration of Independence and the constitution\nof the United States. Ridiculous as this complaint sounds, it is no\nburlesque, but a faithful synopsis of the nonsense which Mr. Eugene\nLawrence is permitted to print in _Harper\u2019s Weekly_. A church of divine\norigin, according to this preposterous person, is to change its divine\nlaws to conform to the requirements of temporary human institutions; and\nthe political theories of Thomas Jefferson are to govern the ordinances of\nJesus Christ. It is the glory of the true church that she is above all\nsecular constitutions. She has seen the rise and fall of countless\ndynasties and states; she will survive the ruin, if every form of\ngovernment now known upon earth shall be eventually overthrown. Empires,\nkingdoms, republics, are all alike to her. She was founded for all ages\nand all climes; she was not created, as Mr. Eugene Lawrence seems to think\nshe ought to have been, for the exclusive benefit of the United States of\nAmerica. This is a great country; but we presume that our constitution,\namendments and all, occupies but an insignificant place in the divine\norder of the universe.\n\nObeying its heaven\u2010appointed head, who did not see fit to choose either\nEurope or America for the place of his human birth, the Roman Catholic\nChurch in America, according to _Harper\u2019s Weekly_, is a foreign body, and,\ntherefore, dangerous (as all foreigners are) to the peace of society. \u201cIt\nis loud in its denunciations of American civilization;\u201d it \u201cfurnishes\nthree\u2010fourths of the criminals and the paupers who prey upon the\nProtestant community\u201d; it never intermits its \u201cattacks upon the principles\nof freedom\u201d; and \u201cits great mass of ignorant voters have been the chief\nsource of our political ills.\u201d Moreover, \u201cthe unpatriotic conduct of the\nRomish population in our chief cities during the rebellion is well known.\nThey formed a constant menace and terror to the loyal citizens; they\nthronged the \u2018peace meetings\u2019; they strove to divide the Union; and when\nthe war was over they placed in office their corrupt leaders, and\nplundered the impoverished community.\u201d We are almost ashamed to copy, even\nfor the purpose of denouncing it, this insult to the memory of our dead\nCatholic soldiers. There is not a man in the United States who does not\nknow of the noble share of these outraged \u201cRomish\u201d troops in the terrible\nstruggles of the civil war; not a man who is ignorant of the splendid\nrecord of the Irish regiments under the Union flag on every hard\u2010fought\nfield from the first Bull Run to the last conflict before Richmond. \u201cThe\nRomish population of our chief cities\u201d furnished the bone and sinew of\nmore than one gallant army during those four sad years. They gave up their\nlives for the country of their birth or their adoption with a heroism that\nstirs every sensitive heart. Their priests followed the army on the march\nand into the fight. Their Sisters of Charity nursed the wounded and the\nsick. The greatest of their prelates, aided by another bishop who is still\nliving, spent the last remains of his strength in defending the cause of\nthe Union in hostile foreign capitals. Nothing, in fine, could be more\nmagnificent than the patriotism with which the adherents of this \u201cforeign\nchurch\u201d sacrificed life and fortune for their country during its hour of\nneed; and we have no language to define the infamy of endeavoring to make\ncapital for Gen. Grant by maligning the devoted men whom he led to death\nat Shiloh and in the wilderness, and whose bravery, we are sure, he would\nbe the last man to depreciate.\n\nAnd now, continues the writer in the _Weekly_, as the Presidential\nelection approaches, \u201cour foreign church has assumed more openly than ever\nbefore the form of a political faction.\u201d \u201cRomish priests\u201d and \u201cRomish\nbishops\u201d have taken the field as the partisans of Mr. Greeley, \u201cthe\ncandidate of disunion _and of religious bigotry_\u201d!\u2014the italics are\nours\u2014and the church is engaged in an attempt \u201cto place the fallen\nslaveholders once more in power.\u201d For these statements we deliberately\ndeclare that there is no justification whatever. Mr. Eugene Lawrence\ninvented them out of his own bigotry and malice; and when he had the folly\nand insolence to threaten us, as he did at the close of his article, with\n\u201cthe vengeance of the people,\u201d he added to his untruthfulness a degree of\nhypocrisy which we have rarely seen equalled even in the publications of\nthe house of Harper & Brothers. We say hypocrisy; but perhaps that is\nunfair. Mr. Lawrence may be silly enough to tremble at the bogies of his\nown devising. He may imagine that the rest of the world is as much afraid\nof the Pope as he is. He may fancy that the whole party of which he is\nsuch a hard\u2010working member is burning with desire to take the Jesuits by\nthe throat and hang them on the nearest lamp\u2010post. If he did not suppose\nthat a profitable market could be found for his sensational wares, he\nprobably would not be at the trouble of the manufacture. If the \u201cvengeance\nof the people\u201d do not menace the Jesuits, it will certainly not be the\nfault of Mr. Lawrence. In the issue of the _Weekly_ for Oct. 12, he had a\nfurious narrative of \u201cThe Jesuit Crusade against Germany,\u201d the points of\nwhich are substantially these: The Jesuits, with the aid of the\nInquisition (of which they are the directors) and of a hired band of\nconvicts and brigands, obtained the absolute mastery of the city of Rome\nand the papal government. The wretched people \u201ccowered before their Jesuit\nrulers,\u201d and within the crumbling walls of the guilty capital \u201cpriests and\ncardinals perpetrated their enormities unchecked and unseen.\u201d They then,\nby means of their \u201clawless police,\u201d overpowered the \u0152cumenical Council,\nand forced it, \u201cby intimidation and bribes,\u201d to accept the doctrine of\ninfallibility, to curse liberty and education, and to set on foot a bloody\ncrusade against political and intellectual freedom. This was in accordance\nwith the Jesuits\u2019 time\u2010honored policy. \u201cThe fierce and fanatical Loyola\u201d\nused to burn heretics in Spain and Italy, and taught his followers that no\nmercy should be shown to such offenders. It was the Jesuits who set on\nfoot the persecutions under Charles V. and Philip II., and \u201cexcited the\nunparalleled horrors of the Thirty Years\u2019 War.\u201d In 1870, they were getting\nready for a new religious war. Napoleon III. was their chief backer. In\nfact, the attack upon Germany in 1870 was the result of a conspiracy\nbetween Rome and Paris, concluded at the council, and the purpose of the\nwar was nothing less than the establishment of the Jesuit Order on the\nruins of prostrate Germany! For this scheme _the Irish Catholics of\nDublin, London, and New York __\u201c__furnished men, sympathy, and possibly\nmoney.__\u201d_ And now that the conspiracy has failed, and that the papists of\nFrance have been beaten (in spite of all the sinews of war so lavishly\nfurnished by the Irish laborers and servant\u2010girls of New York), the\nJesuits are getting, up another European convulsion. \u201cThe Romish Church,\norganized into a vast political faction, is stirring up war in Europe,\ncalls upon France to lead another religious crusade, and promises the aid\nof all the chivalry of Catholicism in avenging the fall of Napoleon upon\nthe German Empire.\u201d It purposes to involve all the great states of Europe\nin a common ruin, \u201cand erect the Romish See upon the wrecks of the\ntemporal empires.\u201d The pilgrimage of Lourdes is a part of this scheme. The\nCatholic Union is another. The International Society of Workingmen (of\nwhich the Jesuits are the secret instigators!) is another. Mr. Lawrence\nexhibits the venerable fathers in the unfamiliar garb of communists, and\nsubstitutes the red cap for the beretta with all the effrontery and\n_nonchalance_ in the world. The Order which in one column is the detested\nsafeguard of absolutism becomes in the next the raving propagandist of\nsocial anarchy, revolution, and universal democracy. Can any rational\nperson after this condescend to dispute with Mr. Lawrence?\n\nAs in the other cases to which we have referred, there was a political\nmoral to this story also. If we would avert this horrible era of blood and\nfire, said _Harper\u2019s Weekly_, we must vote for General Grant, and stand up\nfor the straight Republican ticket. Grant is the firm ally of Germany\nagainst Jesuitism. Grant is the champion of public schools against\nreligious education. Grant is the enemy of all manner of Romish fraud and\nviolence. Greeley is the friend of priests and persecutors, the foe of the\nBible and education, the accomplice of that infamous \u201cJesuit faction\u201d\nwhich \u201cwould rejoice to tear the vitals of American freedom, and rend the\nbreast that has offered it a shelter\u201d; and if he should be elected the\n\u201cJesuit Society\u201d would celebrate the victory \u201clike a new S. Bartholomew,\nwith bells, cannon, processions, prayers at the Vatican,\u201d and hasten \u201cthe\nrising of the Catholic chivalry ... in their sanguinary schemes against\nthe peace and independence of Germany.\u201d Such was the wicked nonsense with\nwhich _Harper\u2019s Weekly_ in the autumn of 1872 attempted to make political\ncapital out of the ignorance and bigotry of its readers.\n\nBut this was not the worst. The Jesuits were not only conspirators against\npolitical and mental freedom, they were the principal enemies of the freed\npeople of the South. Their society (_risum teneatis, amici_) had \u201callied\nitself with the Ku\u2010klux of Georgia and Mississippi\u201d! And so infatuated was\nthe _Weekly_ with the monstrous folly of this tale that week after week it\nreturned to the same slander. On Oct. 26 it printed a portrait of the Most\nReverend Father\u2010General, accompanied with one of the most outrageous pages\nof falsehood and defamation ever put into type. \u201cIn our country,\u201d says the\nauthor of the article, \u201cthe Jesuit faction has allied itself with the Ku\u2010\nklux.\u201d \u201cThe Jesuit Society assumes the guise of liberalism, and cheers on\nthe rebel and Ku\u2010klux in their plots against the Union.\u201d \u201cIn America the\nJesuits link themselves with the Ku\u2010klux.\u201d They do this because they hate\nthe republic. They denounce, \u201cwith maledictions and threatenings, the\ncourse of modern civilization.\u201d\n\n\n    \u201cThe world is in danger from the mad schemes of the triumphant\n    society; it is rousing France to a new crusade with omens and\n    pilgrimages; it threatens the German Empire with a war more\n    disastrous and destructive than Europe has ever seen. It summons\n    its adherents to the polls in Italy; it guides the elections of\n    Ireland, terrifies Spain, and even disturbs the repose of London;\n    and in our own country, so recently torn by civil war, the papal\n    crusaders, linked by the tie of perfect obedience, stand ready to\n    profit by our misfortunes, and to stimulate our internal\n    dissensions; to crush those institutions that have ever reproached\n    their own despotism, and destroy that freedom which is the chief\n    obstacle to their perpetual sway.\u201d\n\n\nThe picture which the _Weekly_ draws of these dangerous brethren is\nhorrible enough to throw a child into fits:\n\n\n    \u201cA dreadful mystery still hangs over them. Their proceedings are\n    secret, their purposes unknown. At the command of an absolute\n    master, they wander swiftly among the throngs of their fellow\u2010men,\n    eager only to obey his voice. Obedience is to the Jesuit the first\n    principle of his faith, instilled into his mind in youth,\n    perfected by the labors of his later years; he hears in the\n    slightest intimations of his chief at Rome the voice of his God,\n    the commands from heaven; and in the long catalogue of fearful\n    deeds which history ascribes to the disciples of Loyola, the first\n    impulse to crime must always have come from the absolute head of\n    the Order, and its single aim has always been to advance the power\n    of the Romish Church. Scarcely had its founder gained the favor of\n    the Pope, and fixed his seat at Rome, when he revived the\n    Inquisition. Italy trembled before the spectacle of ceaseless\n    _autos\u2010da\u2010fe_; the tortures and the cries of dying heretics, the\n    ruin of countless families, the flight of terrified and hopeless\n    throngs from their native land to the friendly shelter of Germany\n    and Switzerland, were the earliest fruits of the relentless\n    teachings of Loyola. The Jesuits led the armies of the persecutors\n    into the beautiful Vaudois valleys, and the worst atrocities of\n    that mournful example of human wickedness are due to their brutal\n    fanaticism. Soon they spread from Italy through all the kingdoms\n    of Europe; everywhere they brought with them their fierce and\n    cruel hatred of religious freedom, their cunning, their moral\n    degradation, their bold and desperate policy. They ruled in\n    courts; they terrified the people into submission; they were the\n    most active politicians of their time; their wealth was enormous;\n    their schools and colleges spread from Paris to Japan; and for\n    three centuries the name of the Jesuits, covered with the infamy\n    of the massacres of the Vaudois, the Huguenots, the Hollanders,\n    and the Germans, surrounded by its terrible mystery, the symbol of\n    a dark and dreadful association, has filled mankind with horror\n    and affright.\u201d\n\n\nThe practical conclusion to be drawn from all this rhetoric was that\neverybody, and especially every German, ought to vote for Gen. Grant and\nthe straight Republican anti\u2010Jesuit ticket. It was the Jesuits who\n\u201cnominated Mr. Greeley, a person known to be in friendly connection with\nthe Romish leaders and closely linked to the Papal Church.\u201d The Jesuits\n\u201ccover Grant with monstrous calumnies, and celebrate the erratic Greeley.\u201d\n\u201cLet every German beware lest he lend aid to the enemies of his country.\nLet him shrink from the support of any candidate who is maintained by the\ninfluence of the Jesuits.\u201d \u201cWe trust every sincere Protestant ... will\nlabor ceaselessly to defeat the schemes of the Jesuits, and drive their\ncandidate back to a merited obscurity.\u201d And in the same number we find the\nfollowing wicked paragraph:\n\n\n    \u201cA Jesuit, the Rev. Mr. Renaud, was appointed some time ago by\n    Archbishop McCloskey to superintend the Romish interest in our\n    city charities. The result was at once apparent. The Jesuits\n    excited a revolt in the House of Refuge. One of the keepers was\n    murdered. One of the convicts was sent to the State prison. The\n    rebellion was subdued; but the Jesuits still defend the murderer,\n    and assail with calumnies the House of Refuge, one of the most\n    valuable and successful of our city institutions. This is a\n    curious confirmation of that dangerous character of the Jesuit\n    Society which is painted upon a larger scale in our article in the\n    present number on \u2018The Jesuits.\u2019 \u201d\n\n\nThe next slander of the _Weekly_ was to identify Tweed with the Jesuits.\n\u201cWhen the Romish priests,\u201d says this astonishing journal (Nov. 2, 1872),\n\u201cat the command of their foreign master, began their assaults upon the\npublic schools, they found a ready ally in the Tammany Society.... Tammany\nbecame the representative of a foreign influence and a foreign church. It\nwas European rather than American. It teemed with the coarse prejudices,\nthe dull ignorance, the intense moral blindness that to American sentiment\nare so repulsive, with that mental and moral feebleness that belongs to\npopulations racked by the despot and oppressed by the priest.\u201d An infamous\ncompact was now struck between Tammany and the Papal Church. The\n\u201cRomanists\u201d supported the political leaders in riotous license, gross\nvices, and indecent corruption; while an enormous debt was laid upon the\ncity \u201cto satisfy the demands of the Romish priests.\u201d Thus Tammany, by the\naid of its foreign allies, became despotic master of New York.\n\n\n    \u201cCovered with the ineffaceable stains of treason and of public\n    robbery, its members attempted to rule by force, and in the spring\n    of 1871 New York lay at the mercy of rebels, peculators, and\n    foreign priests. The press was threatened, whenever it complained,\n    with violence, lawsuits, and the frowns of infamous courts. The\n    Common Council was imported from Ireland, and foreign assassins\n    threatened the lives of those ardent citizens who planned reform.\u201d\n\n\nThe overthrow of the Tweed and Connolly Ring was a stunning defeat for the\nPope and his agents. The nomination of Greeley and Kernan (the one openly,\nthe other secretly; a slave of the Jesuits and the Inquisition) was a\ndesperate attempt of the Jesuits to recover what they had lost. And then\nfollowed the usual homily, \u201cVote for Grant,\u201d etc.\n\nIn this bitter political campaign against the church the writers for\n_Harper\u2019s Weekly_ were zealously assisted by their artist, Mr. Thomas\nNast. This individual has done more to degrade his profession than any\nother draughtsman we know of, except, perhaps, the makers of lascivious\npictures for some of the flash newspapers. He has made a practice of\nridiculing the religious belief of hundreds of thousands of honest people\nwho came to America, as he did, from a foreign land, because America\noffers to all immigrants the fullest measure of political equality and\nreligious freedom. It has been his pleasure to depict the priest\ninvariably as a sleek, sensual, brutal, and repulsive rogue; the bishop as\na grim, overbearing, and cunning despot, or now and then as a crocodile\ncrawling with open jaws towards a group of children. In the _Weekly_ of\nOct. 12, he represents Brother Jonathan attempting to sever the tie which\nbinds an American bishop to the Pope, holding out, as he does so, a\nnaturalization paper inscribed \u201cThis ends the foreign allegiance.\u201d The\nPope has his arms full of papers: \u201cOrders to all state officials that are\nRoman Catholics\u201d; \u201cDown with the American public schools\u201d; \u201cThe promised\nland, U. S.,\u201d etc.; and the bishop carries similar documents: \u201cOrders from\nthe Pope of Rome to the Catholics in America\u201d; \u201cVote for Horace Greeley\u201d;\n\u201cVote for Kernan; he is a Roman Catholic, and will obey the orders of the\nchurch.\u201d Another picture, entitled \u201cSwinging around the circle,\u201d was\nintended to represent all the disreputable supporters of Mr. Greeley in\ncompany. \u201cFree love and Catholicism\u201d were side by side, in the persons of\nTheodore Tilton and a priest, and \u201cMass and S. C.\u201d figured as a\nconventional Irishman with one of the Ku\u2010klux. Mr. Kernan was drawn (Nov.\n2) kneeling, in an abject attitude, at the feet of the Pope (\u201cOur Foreign\nRuler\u201d), and swearing, \u201cI will do your bidding, as you are infallible\u201d; in\nthe background stood a priest loaded with papal orders against the public\nschools; and on the wall was a copy of the forged handbill, with the\nlegend, \u201cFor governor, Francis Kernan,\u201d surrounding a black cross. In a\npicture of the \u201cPirates under False Colors,\u201d a priest with a cross held\naloft in one hand, and a tomahawk half hidden in the other, is a\nconspicuous figure in a gang of ruffians. In another cartoon a vulgar\u2010\nlooking priest is seen sprinkling the ruins of Tammany Hall with holy\u2010\nwater.\n\nNow, we know very well that from one point of view the introduction of\nthese calumnies into politics was fraudulent. Mr. Greeley certainly had no\nleaning towards the Catholic Church and no affiliations with Catholic\nleaders, and Gen. Grant, we venture to affirm, is insensible to the\nbigotry which his unworthy followers brought up as a reason for his re\u2010\nelection. We have nothing to ask of any President, and we give our votes\naccording to our individual preferences. But while we do not purpose\nacting as a religious body in any political movement, we do not purpose\neither to be set aside by any political party as an outlawed and degraded\npeople, upon whom venal pamphleteers and ignorant politicians may trample\nat pleasure. If party organs take pains to attack us, and pour out, day\nafter day, and week after week, their filthy libels upon us, the party\nwhich sanctions such a warfare and tries to reap the fruits of it shall\nbear the responsibility. The Catholics of the United States are too\nnumerous, too intelligent, and too public\u2010spirited to be treated with\ncontempt by any faction, whether that faction call itself Liberal, or\nRepublican, or Democratic. We prefer, as we have often said before, to let\nthe politicians alone, and go our various ways in quiet, some after one\nleader, some after another. But it may as well be understood that, if any\nof these parties invite an irrepressible conflict with us, they will find\nout, we trust, that we are not disposed to flinch from the defence of our\nrights, which are identical with the rights of all other American\ncitizens.\n\n\n\n\nBrussels.\n\n\n    \u201cThere was a sound of revelry by night,\n    And Belgium\u2019s capital had gather\u2019d then\n    Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright\n    The lamps shone o\u2019er fair women and brave men.\n    A thousand hearts beat happily; and when\n    Music arose with its voluptuous swell,\n    Soft eyes look\u2019d love to eyes which spoke again,\n    And all went merry as a marriage bell;\n    But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!\u201d\n\n    _Childe Harold._\n\n\nThe roar of cannon that ushered in the day of Waterloo\u2014the deadly\nWaterloo, big with the fate of empires\u2014the fatal Waterloo, that sealed the\ndoom of the mighty conqueror, that hurled him on the prison\u2010island in the\nfar\u2010distant ocean, where expiation could be the only consolation of the\nproud, haughty heart that knew no law but the iron will, which,\nirresistible to all else, was shivered on the Rock of Peter\u2014was not the\nfirst, and may not be the last, sound of fearful strife there heard, as\nBelgium has ever been the chosen battlefield of Europe.\n\nAnd so well is the fact recognized, that the sole condition on which she\nnow exists as an independent state, is that of perfect neutrality. No\nmatter what may be her sympathies, what may be her interests, she cannot\ntake the sword: she can only defend her frontier, and prevent the entrance\nof either friend or foe. This it is that gives her importance; her central\nposition, which makes her the key of the Continent, causes England to\nwatch over her with tender interest, gives the mistress of the seas a\n_pied\u2010\u00e0\u2010terre_ in case of a general war\u2014a contingency which may arise at\nany moment.\n\nThe late King Leopold I., the Nestor of the European sovereigns, held an\nexceptional position; the head of one of the smallest states, he had\nperhaps the largest personal influence. His sagacity and experience made\nhis advice sought and respected by all. When, in the revolution of 1848,\nthrones were tumbling down, and kings flying in every direction, of course\nBrussels had to follow the prevailing fashion, and, without knowing\nexactly what was wanted, the Bruxellois assembled around the palace; but\nbefore they could state their grievances, Leopold appeared upon the\nbalcony, told them there was no necessity of any demonstration; he had\ncome to Brussels at their invitation, and was ready to leave, if his\ndeparture would make them happier. Whereupon they reconsidered the\nquestion, and concluded to let well enough alone.\n\nAfter the separation of Holland and Belgium, Brussels increased rapidly,\nand is now one of the pleasantest capitals in Europe. The new part of the\ncity, the Quartier Leopold, is a beautiful faubourg, and the boulevards\nthat encircle the city with a belt of green verdure, furnish a delightful\npromenade. The park, a portion of the forest of Soignes, is charming; the\ngreat trees meet in arches, and shade the crowds of ladies and children,\nwho live in the open air on fine days. On Sundays, the military bands play\nfrom 2 to 3 P.M.; and every summer evening, from the 1st of June to the\n1st of September, the orchestra of the Grand Opera gives concerts in the\nkiosk of the _Quinconce_, the flower\u2010garden of the park.\n\nLife in Brussels is very pleasant, easy, and independent; all the\nappliances of modern civilization are within reach, botanical and\nzoological gardens, picture galleries, theatres; the opera is a permanent\nfact, at a reasonable rate; the orchestra led by Hanssens (recently\ndeparted for another world) was admirable; numbered among the violinists\nDe Beriot, blind, but playing always with rare skill, and the other\nartists were of equal merit. Of late years Brussels has become a _foyer_\nfor discontented spirits\u2014\n\n\n    \u201cBlack spirits and white,\n    Red spirits and gray.\n    Mingle, mingle, mingle,\n    You that mingle may.\u201d\n\n\nAnd mingle they do without fear of _mouchards_, and air their opinions, no\nmatter how wild and dangerous. If they go a little too far, the government\nor persons attacked interchange a few diplomatic notes with the Belgian\nauthorities, and then the police politely request them either to be silent\nor try another dwelling\u2010place. Prim was for a long time resident, but one\nfine morning was advised to take his departure, as his intrigues were\nbecoming too open and dangerous, but had been kept secret long enough to\nlay the mine that exploded and blew the Queen of Spain into France; and\nHenri Rochefort, driven from France, issued his _Lanterne_, which threw\nlight on many facts then thought to be false, but which events proved to\nhave been only too true.\n\nBrussels is a paradise for women of taste; for where else can be found\nsuch laces and fairy webs, such garnitures of _point de Bruxelles_, of\nValenciennes, of Malines, of Duchesse? A morning stroll down the Montagne\nde la Cour and the Madeleine is a feast for the eye, for lace\u2010making is\none of the fine arts; the large houses employ three or four first\u2010class\nartists to draw the designs, and, as the competition is great, the efforts\nto surpass are immense. In making up a bride\u2019s trousseau, it is etiquette\nfor the mother of the bride to give the white laces, the happy bridegroom\nthe black; and the prices where the parties are wealthy run up to an\nenormous amount.\n\nThe gold embroideries are equally beautiful; in one _fabrique_ we saw a\nset of vestments just finished for the Cathedral of Tournai; they were for\nLent, and were violet, with the instruments of the Passion exquisitely\ndone in raised embroidery. The effect was admirable; on the back of the\nchasuble was the cross with the spear and the sponge, and so perfect was\nthe sponge it seemed as though it could be grasped. The column was on the\nfront of the vestment. It was a complete set for priest, deacon, and sub\u2010\ndeacon, with five copes, so that the artist had full opportunity for the\ndisplay of his talent. The same house had recently sent off the dresses\nfor the Empress of Austria and the ladies of her court, to be worn when\nthey walked in the procession on the Feast of Corpus Christi. Specimens of\nthe embroidery, which was of silver on white satin, were shown us, and,\njudging by what we saw, the effect of the whole must have been charming.\n\nThe Mus\u00e9e Ancien is devoted to the artists of the past. Hubert and Jean\nVan Eyck, whose discovery of the use of oil in mixing colors\nrevolutionized art, are represented by the \u201cAdam and Eve\u201d and the\n\u201cAdoration of the Magi.\u201d Holbein\u2019s portrait of Sir Thomas More is worthy\nof the subject and the artist. Crayer\u2019s Saints and Martyrdoms abound; one,\nthe \u201cApparition of Our Lord to S. Julien,\u201d illustrates the beautiful\nlegend of S. Julien and his wife, S. Basilisse, who founded a hospital,\nwhere they received and tended the sick poor. One winter night, hearing\nsighs and groans at the door, S. Julien went out, and found a man nearly\nfrozen to death. He carried him in, warmed him before the fire, restored\nhim to consciousness, and then laid him in his own bed. The next morning\nthe holy couple went in to see their guest. The bed was empty, and, as\nthey approached it, Jesus, for it was he who had taken the form of the\npoor sick man to try their charity, appeared to them, and said, \u201cJulien, I\nam your Lord and Saviour, who announces to you that ere long you and your\nwife will repose in God.\u201d\n\nThe \u201cMartyrdom of S. Peter,\u201d by Van Dyck, is terrible. The saint is\nfastened to the cross, and three men are placing it in the ground. One,\nkneeling, is endeavoring to push the end of the cross into the hole\nprepared to receive it, another supports the cross on his shoulders, the\nthird steadies it. Meanwhile, all the blood in S. Peter\u2019s body seems to\nhave descended into his head and face, which is brick\u2010dust color, and\nlooks as though it would burst. Altogether it is a fearful picture, so\nlifelike that one waits to hear the thump the cross will give when finally\nplaced. Such pictures make us appreciate our feather\u2010bed Christianity, the\ncomfortable way we try to gain heaven and at the same time keep up an\nagreeable acquaintance with the world, and perhaps its friend, the devil.\n\nThe finest Rubens in this Mus\u00e9e is \u201cChrist ascending Calvary.\u201d It is when\nhe is met by S. Veronica and some other women, who are magnificently\ndressed, thus making the contrast greater between them and the exhausted,\nblood\u2010stained figure of Our Lord, who is sinking beneath the weight of the\ncross, and the agonized face of his blessed Mother, who, supported by S.\nJohn, is advancing with outstretched hands to the assistance of her\nbeloved One.\n\nThe flower\u2010pieces by Seghers, the famous Jesuit painter, are exquisite;\ninteriors by Cuyp and Teniers, displaying their delicate care and finish,\nare numerous; pictures by Rembrandt, with all his wonderful effects of\nlight and shade; some charming faces by Velasquez\u2014two lovely little girls\nhand\u2010in\u2010hand, who look as if they would step out of the frame and speak;\ntwo splendid half\u2010lengths of Albert and Isabella, by Rubens, whose\nportraits are always admirable; and some very good specimens of the\nItalian school, among which are a Madonna of Sassoferrato, and a portrait\nof a young woman, by Guercina, which is very beautiful.\n\nThe Mus\u00e9e Moderne is a collection of the modern Belgian school, which\ndeservedly ranks among the first. \u201cHagar in the Desert,\u201d by Navez, is as\ntouchingly beautiful as any of the masterpieces of the great past; Leys,\nWiertz, Gallait, Portaels, whose \u201cFuite en Egypte\u201d is found everywhere,\nare men whose genius is recognized by all Europe; Van Schendel has\nproduced effects of light as remarkable as Rembrandt; Willems and Stevens\nin finish rival Cuyp and Teniers; and Verboekhoven\u2019s cattle\u2010pieces are\nunsurpassed. Art is encouraged and fostered by the government; every year\nthere is a grand competition for the \u201cPrix de Rome\u201d; a committee is\nappointed by the crown to decide upon the merit of the pictures, and the\nsuccessful one receives the Prix de Rome, which is four thousand francs, a\nsum sufficient to maintain a student in Rome, in artist style, three\nyears, while he continues his studies.\n\nBrussels is comparatively modern; it was a mere village when Malines,\nLouvain, and other towns had acquired importance. In 1005, it passed by\nmarriage into the possession of the Comtes de Louvain, under whom it\nrapidly increased; in 1040, it was surrounded by massive walls, of which\nsome portions still remain in the garden of the Cur\u00e9 of S. Gudule. In\n1106, Comte Godfrey le Barbu acquired the title of Duc de Brabant, but\nLouvain continued the most important town in the duchy, and preserved the\ntitle of capital until the time of Albert and Isabella, who preferred\nBrussels on account of its healthful climate and the vicinity of the well\u2010\nstocked forest of Soignies.\n\nThe Grande Place of Brussels is unique; any change is forbidden by law; as\nit has been for generations, so it must remain; and when one descends\nsuddenly from the park and boulevards, brilliant and gay with all the\nsparkle of modern life, into the Grande Place, it is like another world.\nThe H\u00f4tel de Ville is on one side; opposite is the Maison du Roi, adorned\nwith a statue of the Blessed Virgin, beneath which is the legend, _A\nFeste, Fame et Bello, libera nos, Maria Pacis_, placed there in 1625 by\nIsabella in gratitude to our Lady of Peace, for having delivered the city\nfrom plague, famine, and war. In the place immediately below, is the noble\nmonument erected in reparation to the memory of the unfortunate Comtes\nd\u2019Egmont and de Hornes, on the spot on which, as the inscription runs,\n\u201cthey were unjustly executed by the decree of the cruel Duc d\u2019Albe.\u201d\n\nIt was unjust and cruel, but still we cannot judge the past by the\npresent. Then, principles were positive facts, not vagaries expected to\ngive way at any moment to expediency, but realities plain and palpable,\nupon which depended not only this perishable present, but the never\u2010ending\nfuture, with its eternity of weal or woe. As men were expected to live up\nto their principles, so were they expected to die for them. It is a high\nstandard by which to live, but it is the safest. We fancy nowadays that\nthe cruelty then dealt out for thoughts and opinions was abominable, but\nwe forget that those ideas, those thoughts, produced the frightful effects\nof the ravages of the Gueux, of the orgies of John of Leyden; that from\nreligious they degenerated into social excesses of the lowest\nkind\u2014excesses which, if prolonged, would have reduced Christian Europe to\nVandal barbarism.\n\nAnd so the brave, unfortunate Comte d\u2019Egmont, the hero, whose valor\ncontributed so signally to the brilliant victory of Philip II. at St.\nQuentin, lost his life for having tampered with the political sectaries,\nor rather by being led into the snare by the Prince of Orange; when too\nlate, he saw his error, which was only political; his faith he ever kept\npure and untarnished. The Prince of Orange, on the eve of leaving Brussels\nto join the enemy in Germany, urged him to go, but Egmont refused; the\nprince told him if he remained he would be lost; that he was a fool to run\nthe risk. Friends until then, they parted in anger. Egmont spurned him,\nand said, \u201cAdieu, prince sans terre\u201d; the prince replied, \u201cAdieu, comte\nsans t\u00eate\u201d\u2014words which were too fatally verified soon after. The Maison du\nRoi is now occupied by the Cercle Artistique et Litt\u00e9raire, and it was in\na small room in the second story that Comte d\u2019Egmont passed the night\npreceding his death, and wrote those touching farewell letters to his wife\nand the King of Spain which reveal the nobleness of his character. The\nfamous picture by Gallait, \u201cLa t\u00eate d\u2019un supplici\u00e9,\u201d is a portrait of\nEgmont. We have seen the original in the _atelier_ of Gallait, and he\nassured us it was an accurate resemblance. _Requiescat in pace._\n\nThe H\u00f4tel de Ville on the Grande Place is the finest of the municipal\npalaces found in almost every city of Belgium. It is built round a\nquadrangle, and the oldest part is the wing to the east of the tower,\ncommenced in 1402, at the angles of which are elegant turrets; the fa\u00e7ade\nconsists of a gallery of open arches, surmounted by the Grande Br\u00e9t\u00e8que, a\nbalcony from whence proclamations were made; above this are two rows of\nwindows, and an enormous battlemented roof, pierced with thirty\u2010seven\ndormer windows.\n\nThe tower is 330 feet high; the lower half, from the basement to the\nsummit of the roof, is square; the upper part, built in 1444, is\noctagonal, surmounted by a magnificent spire of open\u2010work, remarkable for\nits lightness and delicacy; on its apex is fixed a table of stone, twelve\nfeet in circumference, and on this stone a globe of copper, supporting a\ncolossal figure of S. Michael trampling on the devil, thirteen feet high,\nmade of a number of thin plates of copper\u2010gilt, in 1454, which serves as a\nweathercock, and turns with the least breath of wind. There is a shocking\ntradition, currently reported, but not positively confirmed, that the\narchitect of the beautiful tower hung himself on its completion, because\nhe had not placed it exactly in the centre of the fa\u00e7ade; which certainly\ndid not remedy the evil, as putting himself out of the world did not put\nthe tower in the right place.\n\nThe first story of the H\u00f4tel de Ville contains a gallery in which are\nmagnificent full\u2010length portraits of Philippe le Beau, Charles V., Philip\nII., Albert and Isabella, and other dignitaries; the council\u2010room,\naudience\u2010chamber, and all the other apartments are splendidly ornamented,\nthe walls hung with Gobelin tapestry, representing scenes in the life of\nClovis and Clotilda. The ceiling of the council\u2010chamber is a masterpiece\nof Janssens, in which the most extraordinary effects of light and shade\nare produced; it represents an assembly of the gods, and their majesties\nvary in their positions as they are seen from different points.\n\nThe remainder of the Grande Place is lined with venerable old houses,\nterminating in fantastic gables, most of which were originally the halls\nof various guilds and corporations; their fa\u00e7ades pierced with numerous\nodd little windows and covered with quaint designs, bas\u2010reliefs,\npilasters, balustrades, and inscriptions; some of the houses are gilded,\nwhich adds to the picturesque appearance of the place, and on the summit\nof the Brewers\u2019 Guild is a fine equestrian statue of Prince Charles of\nLorraine\u2014the good prince, as he is still affectionately called. In\nmedi\u00e6val times, the Grande Place was the ordinary scene of tournaments and\nexecutions; here the Knights of the Golden Fleece held their brilliant\n_r\u00e9unions_, and Philip l\u2019Asseur\u00e9 and Charles V. gave splendid f\u00eates, which\nin the reign of Philip II. were succeeded by very different scenes, under\nthe stern rule of the Duc d\u2019Albe.\n\nJust behind the H\u00f4tel de Ville, at the corner of the Rue du Ch\u00eane and the\nRue de l\u2019Etuve, is the beloved little statue of the \u201cPremier Bourgeois de\nBruxelles.\u201d The present bronze statue, after a model by Duquesnoy, was\nmade in 1619, and this replaced an old stone statue which is said to have\nexisted in the IXth century. Its origin is not known, but the favorite\ntradition is that it represents a youthful Duc de Brabant, whose father\ndying left him an infant of three years under the regency of his mother,\nthe Duchesse Lutgarde. The neighboring Comte de Malines coveted the fair\ninheritance, declared war against the boy\u2010duc, and approached Brussels,\ndetermined to take it by force of arms. The Braban\u00e7ons flew to defend the\nrightful heir, and, when the decisive day arrived, they besought the\nduchesse to let them carry the little fellow in his cradle, and suspend it\nfrom a great oak\u2010tree that overlooked the battle\u2010field. The duchesse in\ntears consented, accompanied them to the field of Ransbeek, and remained\nby the tree, from the highest branch of which the cradle was suspended.\n\nThe battle raged with fury; three times the Braban\u00e7ons were driven back to\nthe tree, but the sight of the brave little boy, who looked on with\nintense interest, never exhibiting fear or impatience, spurred them on to\nfresh efforts; at last the day was won, and the cradle carried back in\ntriumph to Brussels, the duchesse radiant with joy. To commemorate the\nevent, the oak\u2010tree was transplanted to Brussels, placed at the corner of\na street, since then called Rue du Ch\u00eane, and the statue erected at its\nside; in the course of time, the tree has disappeared, but the statue\nremains, the object of undying love and interest. To steal it is\nconsidered an impossibility; in 1585, he was seized and carried off to\nAntwerp, but was speedily recaptured and brought home in triumph by a\nsmall party of Bruxellois; again he was taken away in a baggage\u2010wagon by\nthe English troops after the battle of Fontenoy, and, on being recovered,\nwas allowed for a short time to delight by his presence the inhabitants of\nGrammont, until he was reclaimed by the Bruxellois. In 1747, he was stolen\nby some soldiers of Louis XV., and again a few years later by two English\nsoldiers, who, however, found him too heavy to carry away; the last time\nhe was disturbed was in 1817, but the same good fortune attended him, and\nhe was again recovered, to the great joy of the Bruxellois, who look upon\nhim as the good genius of the city, and consider his loss a public\ncalamity.\n\nIn the XVIth century, Louvain and Brussels gave him two splendid dresses\nfor f\u00eate\u2010days; Charles V. presented him with a complete suit, and settled\na pension on him. In 1698, the Elector of Bavaria not only gave him a\nuniform, but invested him with a military order, and appointed a valet\u2010de\u2010\nchambre to wait on him. Peter the Great visited him, and added to his\npension. In 1747, Louis XV. made him a knight, and solemnly decorated him\nwith the Order of S. Louis, at the same time presenting him with a suit of\ngold\u2010laced uniform, a _chapeau\u2010bros_, and a sword; and in 1780 he was the\nfirst who wore the national cockade of Brabant, hence his present title,\n\u201cLe Premier Bourgeois de Bruxelles.\u201d\n\nOn national f\u00eates, and during the _Kermesse_ in July, he is always dressed\nin the uniform of the Garde Civique, which he has worn since 1830, his\nnumerous orders displayed on his infant breast. In addition to these\ngifts, several persons have made him presents, while some have actually\nremembered him in their wills. He thus possesses a positive revenue which\nis regularly paid, a treasurer who is responsible for his disbursements, a\nlawyer, and a valet\u2010de\u2010chambre; and let any stranger beware of ever\nspeaking disrespectfully or slightingly to any Bruxellois of the \u201cPremier\nBourgeois de Bruxelles\u201d!\n\nBrussels abounds in charitable institutions and convents of every order;\nsome are peculiar to the place. There is but one house in the world of the\n\u201cDames de Berlaimont\u201d\u2014an order of canonesses who follow the rule of S.\nAugustine\u2014and it was founded by the Comtesse de Berlaimont, whose husband\nwas one of the great officers of the court of Charles V. It is eminently\naristocratic in its design. Any number of quarterings was required for the\nfair candidates in the palmy days of the old r\u00e9gime, but ideas have been\nmodified by the wheel of the revolution, and now, if the head and heart\nare right, whether the blood is more or less blue is not strictly\nconsidered. The convent is splendid, the canonesses charming, and the\neducation received by the young ladies under their charge leaves nothing\nto be desired.\n\nConvents of Poor Clares are now few and far between; one is still found in\nBrussels. The rule is very strict\u2014the strictest, we believe, for women in\nthe world, not even excepting those of the Trappistines and Carmelites. It\nis forbidden to see strangers, but the superioress graciously relented in\nour favor, drew aside the heavy serge curtain behind double iron grilles\narmed with spikes, and told us we could look at her, but not speak. This\nannouncement was made before the curtain was drawn. We kept profound\nsilence, and for a few moments contemplated the figure, that stood\nmotionless and speechless. What could have carried her there, from family,\nfrom home with all its charms? At the moment of solemn choice, the world\nenters but little into the thoughts: it is the strong ties that God and\nnature have implanted in the human heart that are the hardest to unloose.\n\nShe had left all for the rigid rule, for the self\u2010denying life, of a Poor\nClare; the happy unbroken sleep of youth for the broken night of prayer\nand meditation; and, when sleeping, not even to lie down, but to sit half\u2010\nupright; to go barefooted, never to touch meat, never to speak\u2014only\nimagine it, a woman, and never to speak!\u2014never to her fellow\u2010beings\u2014ever\nto God. It was for him she had left home and friends, to find her eternal\nhome and the never\u2010failing Friend; to be thirteen hours a day in prayer\nand adoration before the Blessed Sacrament, to expiate by her life the\nsins of the world around her. It is a wonderful life, a supernatural life;\nbut, when truly desired, supernatural grace is given to lead it\ncourageously to the grave.\n\nThe oldest church in Brussels is Notre Dame de la Chapelle, in the Rue\nHaute, which derives its name from having been at first a simple oratory\nin which the great S. Boniface, the apostle of Germany, had said Mass. The\nstyle is Gothic, and recently the choir, which is very fine, has been\nrestored; it had been disfigured by an atrocious high altar in the style\nof the Renaissance; but in this reign of good taste it was decided to\nremove it, and in making the changes it was found there was a false wall,\nwhich, on being destroyed, disclosed the beautiful circle of the apse,\nwhich is remarkable for having the presbyterium and the credence\u2010table cut\nin the wall, something that has only been found in two other churches\u2014one\nin France, another in Germany.\n\nNotre Dame des Victoires\u2014or Notre Dame du Sablon, as it is more generally\ncalled from its situation on the Place du Petit Sablon\u2014is in the form of a\nLatin cross, with a polygonal apse to the choir. The Place du Petit Sablon\nduring several centuries was the favorite residence of the aristocracy,\nand is yet surrounded by the H\u00f4tel de Merode, and the palace of the Duc\nd\u2019Aremberg, which was formerly occupied by Comte d\u2019Egmont. Consequently in\nthis church the monuments are very fine, especially the mortuary chapel of\nthe Princes of Tour and Taxis, in which is an exquisite statue of S.\nUrsula, by Duquesnoy, and the tombs of the De Hornes, d\u2019Egmonts, and De\nChimay.\n\nThe beautiful collegiate church of SS. Michel and Gudule is built on a\nheight formerly called Mont St. Michel, and its great towers dominate the\ncity, and can be seen from every point. Its plan is cruciform. The choir\nis entirely surrounded by chapels, from which it is separated by double\nrows of columns; on one side is the Chapel du Saint\u2010Sacrement de Miracle,\non the other the Chapel of the Blessed Virgin, behind that of S. Mary\nMagdalen. It is a magnificent church, one of the richest in Belgium, and\nthe vestments and appointments are superb. The laces are a treasure in\nthemselves\u2014laces which now cannot be bought, are used in the sanctuary,\nand the vestments and antependiums are of corresponding magnificence. One\nantependium, which is the Lamb surrounded by the symbols of the four\nevangelists, is considered the finest piece of embroidery in Belgium.\n\nBut the glory of S. Gudule is not the gold, and silver, and lace, but the\nTr\u00e8s\u2010Saint\u2010Sacrement de Miracle, which is there preserved, and which is\nthe object of the profoundest love and veneration. For it did Charles V.\nbuild the exquisite chapel whose four splendid windows were presents from\nhis sisters, the Queens of Portugal and Hungary, his brother Ferdinand,\nKing of the Romans, and Francis I. of France. Sovereigns, princes, nobles,\nand people for five hundred years have adored the sacred Body of our Lord,\nso cruelly profaned and outraged by the Jews, on Good Friday of 1370, who\non that day, the day of Redemption, assembled in their synagogue, and\nstabbed the consecrated hosts stolen from S. Catherine\u2019s, and, when they\nstabbed them, the blood which had flowed for them on Calvary, flowed again\nbeneath their sacrilegious hands.\n\nDay and night reparation is offered; the synagogue is now a _chapelle\nexpiatoire_, attached to which is a community for perpetual adoration, and\nthe Confr\u00e9rie du Tr\u00e8s\u2010Saint\u2010Sacrement de Miracle, established in S.\nGudule, embraces thousands. The Duc d\u2019Aremberg gave the monstrance, which\nis a cross of diamonds, surmounted by a triple crown of diamonds, from\nwhich hangs a little ship of the same precious stones, presented by the\ncaptain and crew of a vessel, in gratitude for delivery from shipwreck.\nMarie Antoinette sent her wedding necklace of diamonds to be suspended\naround it, and the lamps around the sanctuary are kept burning by the\nchildren of the family d\u2019Aremberg.\n\nThe great ornament of the nave is the pulpit, elaborately and exquisitely\ncarved in oak by Verbruggen in 1699, originally in the church of the\nJesuits, in Louvain, and, on the suppression of the Order, given to S.\nGudule by Maria Theresa, in 1776. The lower part represents the expulsion\nof Adam and Eve from Paradise by the angel of the Lord, armed with a\nflaming sword. On the left is seen Death gliding around with his dart. The\npulpit itself, in the hollow of the globe, is supported by the tree of\nknowledge, crawling up which is the serpent, while on the extreme summit\nstands the Blessed Virgin holding her divine Son, whom she is assisting to\nbruise the serpent\u2019s head with a large cross. On either side the railing\nof the steps is formed by a hedge in which numerous birds are enjoying\nthemselves; on the side of Adam are the eagle, the jay, and a monkey;\nwhile in the vicinity of Eve are the peacock, the ape, and the parrot.\n\nAnd why these birds are there is the result of a little domestic\ndisagreement between the artist Henri Verbruggen and his wife Martha Van\nMeeren, whom he married, hoping to find a tenth muse, but who only proved\na prosaic everyday somebody, who fretted herself to death because Henri\nloved pleasure even more than art, and, while amusing himself with his\nfriends, forgot there was no money in the house, nothing in the larder,\nnothing wherewith to dress Mme. and Mlle. Verbruggen. Poor Martha, who\nloved order, and would have been the treasure of some honest burgher, only\nprovoked and irritated Henri by her occasional plain statement of facts.\nAffairs were in this sad condition when the Jesuits of Louvain, knowing\nthe splendid talent of Verbruggen, ordered a pulpit for their church. The\nartist was enchanted. Here was a field for his genius; he immediately\nconceived an admirable work, which should contain, as in a book, the whole\nhistory of the Christian religion.\n\nSaid he, \u201cI will make a globe, which will represent the earth, under which\nI will place Adam and Eve, the moment after their fatal disobedience,\nwhich entailed on us such misery. This globe will be the pulpit, the\ncanopy of heaven will cover it, the tree of knowledge will overshadow it,\naround which will creep the serpent, and above, Mary, crowned with stars,\nthe moon at her feet, her infant Son before her, will bruise the serpent\u2019s\nhead with the cross. By the side of the man I will place the cherubim with\nthe flaming sword; near the woman, young and beautiful, hideous death\u2014that\nwill be a contrast!\u201d\n\nThe artist commenced his work with ardor. The wood grew animated beneath\nhis fingers. But pleasure for ever distracted him; the more people\nadmired, the more he amused himself. Martha was miserable; she could see\nno hope of order and plenty. Irritated by the complaints of his wife,\nVerbruggen determined to revenge himself in his _chef\u2010d\u2019\u0153uvre_, and so\nperpetuate his vengeance. He was making the stairs of the pulpit. In his\nangry malice, Verbruggen thought he would punish Martha by placing\nsatirical emblems to characterize women. On the staircase, by the side of\nEve, who has just sinned, and who still holds the apple, he placed, as\nsymbols, a peacock for pride, a squirrel for destructiveness, a cock for\nnoise, an ape for malice\u2014four defects of which poor Martha was totally\ninnocent.\n\nMan he made with pleasure. On his side he placed, first, an eagle, to\ntypify genius\u2014but just then Martha bade adieu to the world and her\ntroubles, and Verbruggen was a happy widower. Too late, the sculptor\nunderstood his loss; the gentle, patient wife was gone, and now he only\nremembered her good qualities; his courage and energy forsook him; he\ncould not work. Months rolled on; his friends pitied him, and tried to\nrouse him from his deep despondency.\n\n\u201cYou weep for Martha,\u201d said they; \u201cthere are others as good; you are only\nthirty\u2010six\u2014marry Cecile Byns. She is joyous and lively like you. She will\nbe a mother to your daughter, a charming companion for you.\u201d\n\nVerbruggen listened to the good advice; he asked the hand of Cecile Byns,\nwho was one of those women that rule while laughing, that carry the point\nwhile appearing to submit. Cecile knew her power over Verbruggen, and made\nhim obey.\n\n\u201cI love you,\u201d said she, \u201cbut I will not marry you until the work which\nwill make me proud of the name of Verbruggen is finished.\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly say the word,\u201d replied Henri, \u201cand I will complete it.\u201d\n\nAccompanied by her mother, she visited his _atelier_. She asked the\nexplanation of the emblems he had placed on the side of Eve. The sculptor\nblushed.\n\n\u201cWhen I made what astonishes you,\u201d he stammered, \u201cI did not know Cecile\nByns.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well,\u201d replied the young lady; \u201cbut after the symbols of our\ndefects, which perhaps we have not, how do you intend to designate your\nown noble sex?\u201d\n\n\u201cI had just commenced,\u201d he answered, blushing redder than before. \u201cYou\nalready see the eagle, perhaps it typifies vanity.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at all,\u201d interrupted Cecile. \u201cThe eagle is a bird of prey, an emblem\nof brutal tyranny. What do you intend adding?\u201d\n\nVerbruggen was silent. Cecile continued: \u201cTo be just to men, as you\nfancied you were towards us, you will place near the eagle a fox, a symbol\nof vain gossip; a monkey eating grapes, for drunkenness; a jay, for\nfoolish pride. You must avow, my dear Verbruggen, these defects belong to\nmen as much as the faults you have given to us, and which adorn the other\nstaircase. And now, when this great work is completed, I will accompany\nyou to the altar.\u201d\n\nThe sculptor did not reply. He obeyed, fulfilled faithfully the orders\ngiven, and received for reward the hand of Cecile Byns; since which happy\nevent he was never known to offer any further insult to the devout female\nsex.\n\nAnd so the pulpit was finished and placed in the church of the Jesuits in\nLouvain, where it was the object of universal admiration, as it still\ncontinues to be in beautiful S. Gudule the pride and joy of Brussels.\n\n\n\n\nSayings Of S. John Climacus.\n\n\nIt is better to displease our relatives than displease God.\n\nObedience is simply going about anything without any judgment of our own.\n\nLet your conscience be the mirror in which you behold the nature of your\nobedience.\n\nA new wound is easily closed and healed; but the old wounds of the soul\nare cured, if ever, with great difficulty.\n\nHe is truly virtuous who expects his death every day; but he is a saint\nwho desires it every hour.\n\n\n\n\nMarriage In The Nineteenth Century.\n\n\n    \u201cHeaven and earth shall pass, but my words shall not pass.\u201d\u2014Matt.\n    xxiv. 35.\n\n\nIt is only truth that is immutable in this world, and only truth\u2019s\nrepresentative that dare speak to\u2010day the same language it spoke eighteen,\ntwelve, or three centuries ago.\n\nTruth cannot progress, for it partakes of the nature of God\u2019s perfection;\nit is not an ideal of our own evolving, susceptible of improvement as our\nknowledge grows wider, but a type towards which we are, on the contrary,\nmaking slow stages of assimilation. Of all individual parts of truth,\nhardly one of which remains in our day unassailed, none is so fiercely\nattacked as the truth about marriage. And yet, as we have shown in a\nprevious paper,(232) almost every argument against it has repeatedly been\nput forward by barbarians and Romans, Byzantine emperors and feudal\nchiefs, and borne out by all the imposing display of military force, legal\nservility, and even ecclesiastical truculence. One might almost say of the\nagitation against marriage in our day, \u201cWhat has been will be, and what\nwill be has been.\u201d If it is no longer in the individual passions of kings\nand nobles that the conflict centres, it is still a \u201csovereign\u201d who plays\nthe part of Philip Augustus or Henry VIII.\u2014the \u201csovereign people.\u201d Instead\nof one mighty colossus, it is a legion of personally obscure individuals\nwhich the church finds opposed to her; but the principle is the same, the\nissue is identical. What councils and embassies did formerly is now done\noftener and in privacy; new agencies have widened the possibilities of\ncommunication, of discussion, and of adjustment, and causes are more\nrapidly multiplied, as well as more speedily settled. The press has lent\nits power to the altar, and redeemed, in part, its too well\u2010earned\nreputation as a pander and a tempter; and besides these new helps, we\nhave, as of old, all those oft\u2010tried resources of personal eloquence,\ncanonical censures, and grievous penances.\n\nStill the question is exactly the same in the nineteenth as it was in all\npreceding centuries: Shall passion or reason rule mankind? Shall the most\nsacred of all rights of property be protected and maintained, or shall\ncommunism be allowed gradually to extirpate the human race?\n\nThe historian Rohrbacher, whom we have often quoted in the paper referred\nto above, specially insists upon the confusion which the legalized\ndisruption or total disregard of the marriage vow would introduce into\nsociety, and supports his opinion by that of De Maistre. He also adduces\nthe argument that, since the creation of man in the earthly Paradise was a\nperfect and complete act, and only one woman was there joined to one man,\ntherefore the union of one man and one woman was distinctly God\u2019s type of\nwhat he meant all future unions to be. We might speak of many Scripture\nproofs of the original institution of marriage being a state of perpetual\nmonogamy until death, but such proofs would involve too lengthy a sketch\nof _one_ portion of the subject, and this aspect has been so often\ndiscussed that we turn with a feeling of relief to any less hackneyed view\nof the question.\n\nSpeaking broadly, we may say that the Hebrews were the first, as they were\nfor a long time the only, people whose laws protected both the honor and\nthe property of women. Because they did so, they were also most stringent\nas regards the tie of marriage. Again, with them ancestry and descent were\nof paramount importance, and every family jealously guarded its record and\nregisters; this also implied a strict protection of marriage, and, in\nfact, would have been impossible without it. Even when dispensations were\nallowed the Jews \u201cbecause of the hardness of their hearts,\u201d the son of the\nfirst wife was not to be put aside for the son of the second, if the\nlatter were more pleasing to her husband than the former, and this because\nthe sacred rights acquired at her betrothal were absolutely\ninalienable.(233) In the marriages mentioned in the Old Testament, the\nconsent of the woman is always formally asked,(234) and she is considered\ncompetent to inherit property and transfer it to her husband.(235)\n\nAmong other nations of antiquity, the more truth was obscured in their\nreligious forms, the more degraded became their ideal of marriage. This is\npatent even among such civilized nations as the Greeks and Romans; the\nwhole of mythology is a deification of the passion of lust, and a\ncaricature on marriage. Still, where greater genius abounds, there also we\nfind glimpses of a higher morality. For instance, in Homer\u2019s magnificent\npoems, conjugal love and fidelity stand out nobly as the themes of his\nespecial admiration. It would require a thorough examination of many of\nthe passages of the _Iliad_, and greater space than we have now before us\n(since this idea can only be used here as a collateral one), to bring out\nthe full force of this striking fact, and some day perhaps it may be our\ngood fortune to return to this topic; suffice it to say at present, that\nany one who reads Homer attentively will be struck by the majestic\nattitude of Juno, the constant protectress of the Greeks, and by the\nhearty sympathy shown by the poet in a struggle undertaken purely to\nvindicate the dignity of marriage and the rights of hospitality. This is\nperhaps even more obvious from the fact that even the good personages of\nthe poem, the self\u2010sacrificing and devoted Andromache, the noble Hector,\nthe infirm and guiltless Priam, are all included in the sweeping\nmisfortune which is the swift and just retribution of the cowardly rape of\nHelen. The vindication of the principle of marriage is evident, while in\nthe _Odyssey_ its glorification is even more obvious. This illustration,\nfor which we have to thank a very zealous and learned religious whose\nkindness put the suggestion entirely at our own disposal, is one which it\nis worth while for thoughtful persons to consider, as it gives a far\ngreater moral importance, and consequently a more perfect artistic\ninterest, to one of the few colossi of the intellectual world.\n\nThe law of Jesus Christ succeeded the preparatory dispensation of Moses,\nand perfected all its enactments, marriage among the rest. It gave the\nmarriage contract an added dignity by making it the image of the\nunion\u2014single and indivisible\u2014of Christ and the church, and by elevating it\ninto a sacrament; in other words, a means of sanctifying and special\ngrace. In this is certainly the secret of the church\u2019s inflexibility with\nregard to marriage. Since by it a distinct and sacramental grace was\nvouchsafed, it followed that this grace in itself was sufficient to enable\nthe contracting parties, provided they faithfully corresponded to it, to\nremain holily in the state of matrimony until death; so that, whenever any\nserious breach took place between them, the church could reasonably argue\nthat the fault lay with their dispositions, not with the contract itself.\nIn the old law, marriage, though holy, was not a sacrament, and was\nsusceptible of greater relaxations; but in the new law, with a higher\ndignity added to it, and more abundant grace attached to it, it is too\nstrong to need concessions and too noble to wish for them.\n\nThe Hebrews also, in propagating their own race, used the only means then\nin their power of propagating the knowledge of the true God; but in the\nnew dispensation we have substituted a generation according to the spirit\nfor the previous generation according to the flesh. Polygamous marriages\namong the Jews were a mysterious channel provisionally used for the\nincrease and maintenance of God\u2019s worship upon earth; but, since the\ncoming of Christ, men have been won by the Word of God, the preaching of\nhis servants, the sufferings of his martyrs, and the learning of his\ndisciples. Those who are now constantly born into his fold are born \u201cnot\nof blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of\nGod.\u201d(236) Having said so much upon the historical and Scriptural aspect\nof marriage, we leave it to others to dispute the particular meaning of\nsuch and such texts, and the particular inferences to be drawn from the\ncontext, and go back to the church\u2019s firm stand upon this matter.\n\nNot only has she been the foremost champion of the integrity of marriage\nin past ages, but she is now almost its only one. No body of such force or\nnumbers exists in the world, which alone gives her the priority among the\nupholders of Christian marriage; and when the tenets of the few other\nbodies to whom marriage is sacred are examined, they will be found to be\ninspired and created by her principles, so far as they refer to this\nmatter.\n\nOf the Anglican communion, especially in its more advanced branches, it is\nsufficient to say that, having better than any other body preserved the\nforms, it has as its reward attained to more of the spirit, of a \u201cchurch,\u201d\nand consequently inculcates a higher morality. But the following\ntestimony, which, from the name of the sheet furnishing it (the _Reformed\nMissionary_), we suppose represents some other Protestant body, is more\ninteresting because more unexpected. A Catholic paper of Nov. 16, 1872,\nthe _Standard_, has preserved this testimony for us. Under the title of\n\u201cThe Divorce Question Again,\u201d it discusses church authority and its\nrelation to the civil law, and uses the following strong language:\n\u201cSpiritual interests and spiritual _discipline_ belong to that\nsupernatural order of grace which has its home in the bosom of the\nChristian church.... There are many things besides loose divorce\nlegislation which the state either tolerates or legalizes, but which the\nchurch cannot sanction or countenance for a single instant without\ncommitting spiritual suicide. And if the state should expressly dictate to\nthe church a line of action at variance with the plain teaching of Christ,\nthen it would be our _solemn duty_ to obey God rather than men.... The\n_church must interpret God\u2019s Word_, and exercise spiritual discipline in\naccordance therewith, no _matter what course the state may take_ in\ndisposing of kindred questions. As Dr. Woolsey has expressed it:\n\u2018_Whatever be the attitude_ of the state, the church _must stand_ upon the\nprinciples of the New Testament as she expounds them, and apply them to\nall within her reach!\u2019 \u201d\n\nWhat is here said of the \u201cstate\u201d may be applied to the people, the press,\npopular license, and all the modern agencies which the evil one has added\nto his former royal and learned tools. But if among earnest though\nmistaken Christians we find such auxiliaries as the _Reformed Missionary_\nand the eloquent sermons of Anglican divines,(237) we have also to\nencounter such authorities as the following on the side of passion and\nlicentiousness: \u201cDr. Colenso, embarrassed by the obstinate adherence to\npolygamy which he observed among the Kaffirs, came to the resolution,\nafter conference, it is said, with other Anglican authorities of the\nhighest rank, to remove the difficulty by a process which, though adopted\nin a well\u2010known case by Luther and Melancthon, had not previously received\nthe official sanction of Anglican bishops. As polygamy would not yield to\nProtestantism, Dr. Colenso agreed to consider polygamy \u2018a Scriptural mode\nof existence.\u2019 Here are his own words: \u2018I must confess that I feel very\nstrongly that the usual practice of enforcing the separation of wives from\ntheir husbands, upon their conversion to Christianity, is quite\nunwarrantable, and _opposed to the plain teaching of our Lord_.\u2019 And then\nhe proves, of course from the Bible, that polygamy is not inconsistent\nwith the all\u2010holy religion of the Gospel. Here is the _proof_: \u2018What is\nthe use,\u2019 he asks, \u2018of our reading to them (the heathen) the Bible stories\nof Abraham, Israel, and David, with _their_ many wives?\u2019 But Dr. Colenso\nwas not without support in his view on polygamy. \u2018The whole body of\nAmerican missionaries in Burmah,\u2019 he observes, \u2018_after some difference of\nopinion_, came to the unanimous decision to admit in future polygamists of\nold standing to communion, but not to offices in the church (as if the\nlast were a greater privilege than the first!)\u2019 \u2018I must say,\u2019 he\ncontinues, \u2018that this appears to me the only right and reasonable\ncourse!\u2019 \u201d\n\nAt the beginning of this extract, we read that Dr. Colenso was\n_embarrassed by the obstinate adherence to polygamy_ among the Kaffirs.\nThis means, we infer, that he had originally withstood this heathen\npractice. Why had he done so? If he believed it sufficiently immoral to\nattack it, he was guilty of violating his conscience in ceasing his\nattack; if he had always believed it \u201cScriptural\u201d or allowable, he was\nguilty of hypocrisy in attacking it at all. Then, when he asks, \u201cWhat is\nthe use of our reading to them the Bible stories of Abraham, Israel, and\nDavid, with _their_ many wives?\u201d he gives us unconsciously another\nadvantage by tacitly confessing the necessity of a divinely inspired\ninterpreter of the Bible. If Dr. Colenso had been a Catholic, the\ndifficulty would not have existed. Does he suppose that Catholic converts\namong savage nations do not hear the same stories? But in their case, a\nteaching and speaking church comes to their rescue, and explains what\notherwise would seem dark. It is strange to hear a Protestant Christian,\nbred up on the rule of \u201cthe Bible, the whole Bible, and nothing but the\nBible,\u201d hesitate as to the effect of certain stories in the Bible. If the\npoor Kaffirs were to be evangelized upon the principle that a Bible\nprecedent was practically a permission for all time, they would soon have\nJudiths and Jaels among them, as well as Abrahams, Israels, and Davids.\n\nIn the _Times_ (London) of Dec. 20, 1872, on the occasion of a public \u201cDay\nof Intercession\u201d for more missionaries, we read the following stringent\ncriticism upon the body which of all others most nearly approaches the\nideal of a church: \u201cThe Church of England,\u201d says the _Times_, \u201cutterly\nabandons large regions on the ground that in tropical climes there will be\npolygamy or an equivalent disregard of the marriage ties, and that no\npreaching can prevail against it\u201d\u2014a confession of powerlessness which\nquite coincides with what we have said of Dr. Colenso. Still it is not\nfair to class the Anglican communion, despite this weak shrinking from a\ndifficult task, with the more systematic deserters from the championship\nof duty; but, if we are grieved and astonished at her defection under\ncertain circumstances, what shall we say of the following breach of\necclesiastical discipline on the part of those whose very names argue in\nthis case a departure from the path of known duty? In the New York _World_\nof the 5th of January, 1873, we read among the announcements of business\ntransacted in the mayor\u2019s office the previous day this startling\ndisclosure: \u201cDuring the day the mayor was waited upon by a wedding\u2010party,\nthe principals of which were Michael M\u2019Clannahan and Mary Donovan, who\nwished to be united in matrimony without going to the trouble of getting\nup a public church celebration. Mr. H\u2014\u2014 performed the duty according to\nthe statute, and the bride and bridegroom went on their way rejoicing.\u201d\n\nIt is not for us to judge these persons, nor speculate upon the motives\nthat led them to take such a step; but the occurrence is nevertheless a\nsign of the demoralization which is every day on the increase among our\npeople.\n\nPolygamy, under the name of Mormonism, is still tolerated and protected in\nthe United States, and the annals of divorce in the states where Mormonism\nis illegal quite make up the deficiency. In Connecticut, according to the\ndeposition of the Rev. Dr. Woolsey, President of Yale College, made before\nthe Western Social Science Congress in Chicago, the ratio of divorce is\none in every _eight_ marriages. We were told by a distinguished New\nEngland convert that the Vermont marriage law was practically so lax that\nthe following \u201ccause\u201d for a divorce was considered legal: A couple, not\nvery long married, mutually wished for a separation, simply on the score\nthat they were dissatisfied with their bargain. They went to a lawyer to\nascertain the technicalities of the case, and were told\u2014appearances having\nto be saved!\u2014that some specific cause must be alleged. The easiest was\ncruelty. But the parties had never been violent; so the lawyer suggested\nthat the husband should, in his presence, give his wife a \u201cblow.\u201d This was\nsoon accomplished by a light slap on the cheek of the willing \u201cvictim\u201d;\ncruelty was pleaded, and the divorce obtained.\n\nIn Rhode Island, the proportion of divorces to marriages in 1869 was one\nto fourteen, and the law of that state leaves it practically to the\ndiscretion of the courts to annul any ill\u2010assorted marriage on the ground\nof uncongenial temper, desertion, drunkenness, or any sort of bad conduct.\nIn that year, out of 166 divorces, only 66 were granted on the plea of\nadultery, while it must also be borne in mind that this grave charge is\noften unjustly and maliciously made to cover some shameful behavior on the\npart of the plaintiff, or to gratify his or her revenge. Speaking of a\nclergyman who was reported to have married one man successively to five\nwives, all of whom were living at the same time, a Protestant paper\ncomments thus on the story: \u201cIt may be true or false. _It is not\naltogether improbable._ It suggests very serious reflections, as\nindicating what is possible under our laws, and the course things are\ntaking in American society.\u201d The paper goes on to speak of the clergyman\u2019s\nresponsibility in such a case, and although advocating the desirability,\n\u201cfor many reasons,\u201d of the office of solemnizing marriage being \u201cconfined\n_almost entirely_ to ministers of the Gospel,\u201d does not see that it\nstultifies itself directly after by explaining that \u201cthe trust is reposed\nin them, _not by any right to it on their part, as holding an\necclesiastical office_, but on account of their position and general\ncharacter(!). They are able to guard marriage, and _give it_ a religious\ncharacter and sanction. But they act, so far as the law goes, simply as\ncivil magistrates.\u201d\n\nAnd let us add that here is precisely the evil, and that as long as\nclergymen are lowered to the level of magistrates, loose morals will never\nbe uprooted.\n\nThe _Nation_ of March 2, 1871, has the following:\n\n\n    \u201cWe cut from the marriage notices of the _Philadelphia Press_ the\n    following illustration, omitting names, of the way in which\n    attempts to reduce human marriages to the level of those of the\n    lower animals are dressed up in fine language:\n\n    \u201c \u2018In Philadelphia, February 23, S\u2014\u2014 and S\u2014\u2014, the parties\n    protesting against all marriage laws, whether legal or\n    conventional, which subject either the wife or the husband to any\n    control or influence on the part of the other which is not in\n    accordance with the dictates of pure and mutual love.\u2019\n\n    \u201cThis is, of course, simple \u2018pairing.\u2019 Marriage means the\n    assumption by a moral agent of an obligation to perform certain\n    duties, even after they become disagreeable. The arrangement by\n    which the parties live together as long as they find it thoroughly\n    pleasant is that common among birds, beasts, and fishes, and has\n    nothing human about it.\u201d\n\n\nThe _Independent_, a Protestant religious paper, sneers at all barriers to\ndivorce, Catholic, Protestant, or civil, as \u201cshallow,\u201d and declares that\n\u201cno matter with what solemn ceremony the twain may have been made one, yet\nwhen love departs, then _marriage ceases_ and divorce begins.\u201d\n\nA certain unhappy section of those waifs of womanhood, the advocates of\nwoman\u2019s rights, is known as the champion of \u201cfree\u2010love,\u201d that is, in plain\nwords, adultery. Mrs. Stanton, one of the leaders, has said somewhere that\n\u201cmarriage is but a partnership contract terminable at the will of the\nparties,\u201d and has advocated marriages for three years.\n\nTo this last proposition we have only one objection. Why _three_ years? If\na marriage is based on mere passion, three _months_ or six at the furthest\nwould be enough to exhaust the cohesive element, for if the adage be true\nthat \u201c_no man is a hero to his valet_,\u201d it is equally certain that no man\nand woman could by any human possibility live together for that time in\nthe familiar intercourse implied by marriage, without discovering to each\nother certain asperities of temper, inequalities of disposition, in short,\nall the little meannesses of our poor human nature. This disenchantment,\nfollowing the close and daily companionship that is almost inevitable in\nmarried life, is enough to kill passion, though it cannot even daunt\nprinciple. Again, in a marriage based on passion, the satiety that follows\nin the train of unlawful love would be reproduced, and would break up the\nconnection in far less than three years. In fact, when we come to sift the\nquestion, we find that, putting aside the religious spirit presiding over\nmarriage, that state of life has no appreciable sign to distinguish it\nfrom the score of illicit connections punished by law or branded by\nsociety. We find here almost a parallel to the question lately agitated in\nEngland among Episcopalians, as to the reason why the Church of England\nshould be called a \u201cchurch,\u201d and not, like all other independent\nProtestant bodies, a \u201csect.\u201d We ask, What is to distinguish such a\n\u201cmarriage\u201d as our modern reformers advocate from the \u201c_liaisons_\u201d at which\nsociety pretends to be so virtuously shocked? Where is the intrinsic\ndifference between a woman who sells her honor to many men at once and one\nwho surrenders it to a single man at a time for just that period during\nwhich pleasure shall keep her constant to him?\n\nAnother form of attack upon the sanctity of marriage is the trade of the\ngreat journals in daily advertisements such as these, which meet our eyes\nevery morning:\n\n\n    \u201cAbsolute divorces legally obtained in different states.\n    Desertion, etc., sufficient cause. No publicity. No charge until\n    divorce is obtained. Advice free.\n\n    \u2014\u2014, _Attorney_, \u2014\u2014 Broadway.\u201d\n\n\nOr, with slight variations, thus:\n\n\n    \u201cAlso Commissioner for every State.\n\n    \u2014\u2014, _Counsellor\u2010at\u2010Law_,\n    \u2014\u2014 Broadway.\u201d\n\n\nHere we see the press and the law conspiring to lend aid\u2014and, more than\nthat, encouragement\u2014to the loosest and most devastating of passions. Then,\nagain, the tone of the newspapers with regard to moral irregularities is a\npainful sign of the times. Thus we read in a great \u201cdaily\u201d:\n\n\n    \u201cOut West they call divorces \u2018escapes.\u2019 A speedy and safe \u2018escape\u2019\n    is guaranteed for a very low figure, and, _as usual_, a great many\n    parties figure for it.\u201d\n\n\nThere is a levity about such remarks that is saddening, when taken in\nconnection with the future of a great people.\n\nThe morbid curiosity of the public is thus excited under the convenient\nplea of satisfying it, while, with regard to the institution of marriage\nitself, the saying is exemplified, \u201cGive a dog a bad name, and then shoot\nhim.\u201d Marriage is ridiculed, conjugal affection put down as antiquated,\nhome\u2010lovingness pitied as old\u2010fashioned, family reunions voted dull, and,\nas a natural consequence, youth is more or less alienated from the\nunfashionable circle. It is easy, then, to turn on marriage as a\nprinciple, remove the stumbling\u2010block altogether, paint in seductive\ncolors a substitute for home, and familiarize the public with so\u2010called\nlegal but transient unions. Once this principle is established in the\nabstract, it will be merely a question of time as to its practical\nextension. Granted that a man or woman may change companions as often as\nthey choose, who is to regulate _how_ often? Like the husband of\nScheherazade in the _Arabian Nights_, every day? Why not? Again, if one\nman may have many \u201cwives,\u201d why should not a woman have many \u201chusbands\u201d?\nAnd so on _ad infinitum_ the license might spread unchecked, till there\nwould be as many conflicting interpretations of marriage as there are\nalready of the Bible. Absolute communism would be quite a logical\nsequence, and, in a society so utterly confused as to parentage, there\ncould be little question as to inheritance!\n\nChristian marriage, on the contrary, has both a social and a sanitary, as\nwell as a religious aspect. It creates a strong and healthy race, and at\nthe very outset of each man\u2019s career gives him a position by investing him\nwith a responsibility. He feels that the pride which his old father and\nmother have in him must not be shamed; that the honor of his family is\nbound up in his actions; and that his behavior may influence for good or\nfor evil both the moral and temporal prospects of his near kindred. A man\nso weighted feels a just pride, which, in default of higher motives, may\neven yet guide him into greatness; and though such a man may yield to\ntemptation, fall into vice, and disgrace himself, so much at least of his\nearly training will survive as to make him feel keenly the shame of his\nposition. This alone has saved hundreds. It has been the serpent in the\nwilderness to many, but it would no longer be an imaginable motive were\nthe ideal of Christian marriage, with its attendant responsibilities, to\nbe swept away. There is another aspect under which the frequency of\ndivorce and the condoned irregularities of intercourse between the sexes\nare a constant threat to public security\u2014we mean in provoking murder.\nThree parts of the fearful murders committed in New York, and also in many\nother parts of the Union, are traceable more or less to ill\u2010assorted\nmarriages and a spirit of unchristian rebellion against lawful restraints.\nLately there has been a glaring case in point, the details of which are\nfresh in the memory of every one. A man is deliberately shot dead on the\nvery threshold of what is practically a \u201cDivorce Court\u201d; the murderer is a\nbrutal husband incensed at the victim\u2019s testimony against himself. In\n1872, three of the most famous New York \u201ccharacters\u201d figured in a terrible\ndrama ending in death, imprisonment, and disgrace. What was the reason\nthat set two of the most unscrupulous speculators in the world at deadly\nenmity? The disputed favor of a woman who, according to the new code, only\nasserts her rights, and claims to change \u201chusbands\u201d as often as she\npleases. God help the age and nation in which such things are daily done,\nand where animal passion laughs in the teeth of law! Who does not see how\nevery right and security hangs by the sanctity of marriage? Marriage, in\nthe proper sense of the word, implies exclusive and permanent possession,\nand represents the first and greatest right of property. If that property\nis to be made movable, salable, _takable_, in a word, why not other less\nsacred and less valuable property also? \u201cProperty is theft,\u201d say the\nsocialists, and certainly it is, if we can previously agree to consider\nmarriage so. If all kinds of possessions (life itself included) are to be\nthus transferable, every individual will be reduced to protect them\nsingle\u2010handed against the world, and from this state of things will grow a\nmonster system of organized murder and legalized rapine. The early\nCalifornian society would be nothing to this imaginary community.\n\nIn France, Italy, and Spain, the infamous laws not only encouraging but\nactually enforcing _civil_ marriage are sapping the foundations of\nsociety; and in England, a country hitherto held as a model for its\nconjugal and homely tendencies, the tenets of \u201cfree\u2010love\u201d are making giant\ninroads into social life, and leavening the mass of everyday literature.\nBigamy and divorce are almost worn\u2010out sensations; they have supplied the\nablest pens with thrilling subjects, and have furnished the best theatres\nwith the only dramas that really \u201ctake.\u201d Something new and more monstrous\nyet is needed, and the prurient imagination that shall first succeed in\noriginating a new version of social sin will become the power of the\nmoment.\n\nSuch is the present situation. We do not know if there ever has been a\nworse stage of immorality, except, perhaps, that before the Flood; for at\nall times of unparalleled license there have been some extenuating\ncircumstances, of which we are afraid we must own ourselves bereft. In the\nbeginning of the Christian era, license was confined to pagans; for in the\ntottering Roman Empire the Christians were all soldiers of the cross, and\ntheir watch for the Bridegroom was too eager to allow them time for\ntemptation; in the transition state that followed, the church\u2019s power\nalready made itself felt, and though barbarian kings still defied their\npastors, the latter had at hand ecclesiastical terrors that seldom failed\nin the end to subdue the half\u2010converted Goth or Lombard. In the days of\nthe ill\u2010starred Renaissance, when a spirit of neo\u2010classicism threatened\nonce more to deify sin under the garb of art, the Council of Trent sat in\nsolemn judgment, and condemned abuses which had unhappily paved an easy\nway for heresy: while later on, even in the days of the wicked and\nbrilliant court of Versailles, there was found a Bourdaloue to rebuke the\npublic sinners who sat in the high places, and to eulogize Christian\nmarriage in the midst of a gathering which seemed to have utterly\nforgotten its meaning.\n\nFaith still lingered\u2014the faith that made the middle ages what they\nwere\u2014that faith that condemned public sin to as public a penance, and out\nof great excesses drew great examples. Louise de la Valli\u00e8re was almost\nthe last representative of this medi\u00e6val spirit of generous atonement; and\nher heroic words, when told in her cloister of the death of her son, \u201cI\nshould weep rather for his birth than for his death,\u201d were the genuine\noutcome of a faith that could restore a prostitute to innocence, and place\nupon a once guilty brow almost a virgin\u2019s crown.\n\nWith Voltaire, the work that Luther had begun was perfected, and\nhenceforth it was not Europe that believed, but only a few scattered\nexiles who here and there kept the lamp of the faith dimly alight in the\nstifling atmosphere of universal and fashionable doubt. Even among\nbelievers the spirit of ready sympathy, with the slightest indication of\nthe church\u2019s unspoken meaning was gone, and there remained only the too\nself\u2010conscious effort of unquestioning loyalty. Still, thank God! it did\nand does remain, and, though shorn of all poetry, it is none the less\nvigorous in self\u2010defence. But we may now say that indeed the flood has\nbroken loose, the Philistines are upon us, the whole array of the world\u2019s\nnewest forces is brought to bear against us, and behind her dismantled\noutposts the church retreats to her citadel, the naked Rock of Peter. Men\nsay that the Council of the Vatican was inopportune, presumptuous, and\nimprudent; let the world\u2019s gracefully lapsing course be a living\nrefutation to such words. Every outward stay is gone; every difficulty in\nthe way of the reunion of pastors is trebled; every see is hedged about\nwith physical bars that are insurmountable; nothing remains free but what\ncannot be fettered\u2014the tongue. Who can wonder if the church, in this dire\nemergency, delegates to one man the power she can no longer collectively\nexercise in peace? As in old Flemish cities there sits up in the lonely\nbelfry of the cathedral a watcher whose duty it is to guard the city\nagainst fire, and to warn the people through a brazen trumpet at which\nspot he descries the first appearance of danger, so in the heart of the\nCity of God there sits now the watchman whose eye and voice are bound to\nraise the alarm and direct the remedies through the length and breadth of\nlistening Christendom.\n\nThe Council of the Vatican has made the word of the Pope the brazen\n_tocsin_ of the Christian world.\n\nAnd now, having said so much of the possibilities opened up by the present\nlax spirit in morals and equally lax interpretation of what remains in the\nshape of legal restraints upon vice, let us speak of what Christian\nmarriage ought to be. We will be brief, for the position almost defines\nitself. Of the indissolubility of marriage under all circumstances, even\nin the case of one of the parties breaking the marriage vow, we will not\nspeak, nor even of the fidelity which marriage requires in every thought\nand slightest intention. But we would insist upon that which ensures a\nhappy and holy union, namely, the preliminary motive. We have seen how bad\nmarriages and an unworthy idea of this state of life lead to shame, to\nsocialism, to violence, sometimes to a criminal ending in a common jail;\nlet us see now what leads to bad marriages themselves. Two motives there\nare\u2014one mercenary, and one sensual. We heard a very impressive Jesuit\npreacher say a few years ago, in the pulpit of one of the most beautiful\nand frequented churches in London, that to make a good marriage _both_\nprayer _and_ seemly preparation are necessary. Some parents, he said, in\ntheir pious anxiety to leave all things to Providence, and to avoid that\nsolicitude for worldly things which the Gospel condemns, neglect to avail\nthemselves for their children of the allowable means and legitimate\nopportunities of social life; but to these he would say, Remember the\nwords of Christ: \u201cNot every one that saith to me, Lord, Lord, shall enter\ninto the kingdom of heaven.\u201d(238) On the other hand, many parents sinned\nfar more grievously and\u2014he was loth to say it\u2014more frequently by\naltogether leaving the Creator out of the question in the serious matter\nof their children\u2019s settlement in life. Which of these two extremes is the\nprominent one in this country? We need not answer the question. We know\ntoo well how nine\u2010tenths of those marriages are made which within a few\nmonths or years are broken in the divorce courts, or otherwise dissolved\nby a shameful _esclandre_. We know how wealth especially, position,\nassociations, beauty, and accomplishments all rank before moral worth in\nwhat is called lightly but too truly the \u201cmarriage\u2010market.\u201d We know how\nmarriage is looked forward to through girlhood, not as the assumption of a\nsacred responsibility, but as the preliminary step to emancipation; we\nknow how it is heartlessly canvassed by men as an expensive but\nadvantageous luxury, its cost being in proportion to the social figure it\nwill enable them to make, but its essence of no deeper moral account to\nthem than the purchase of one trotter or the undertaking of one\nspeculation more or less. We do not say that there are no exceptions to\nthis rule\u2014far from it; but that is just the point: however honorable these\ncases are, the fact still remains that they _are_ exceptions. Again, where\nthe motive is not directly mercenary, it is often selfish; old men will\nmarry for mere comfort, physical luxury, and the regularity of a well\u2010\nappointed home\u2014things which the presence of a handsome, thoughtful, and\ntolerably intellectual woman alone can ensure; women no longer young, but\nstill hungering for the whirl of fashion, will marry unsuitably for the\nsake of an assured position and means to continue the frivolous course of\ntheir former lives; in fact, all shallow disguises of selfishness have\ntheir representatives in the \u201cmarriage\u2010market,\u201d from that of the\nmillionaire who wants a wife to sit at the head of his table and wear his\ndiamonds, to that of the day\u2010laborer who wants one to cook his dinner,\nmend his clothes, and eke out his week\u2019s earnings by her own hard work.\nMarriages made in this spirit are unblest and always end badly: the\nmillionaire will divorce his wife, and the laborer murder his in a fit of\nintoxication; the end is the same, the means differ only according as\nnatural temperament and habits of education diverge.\n\nHow far otherwise with marriage in the true Scriptural, Christian sense of\nthe word! In poverty or in riches, alike sacred and full of dignity;\nalways conscious of its sacramental crown; ever mindful of its holy\nministry, the salvation of two souls, the ladder to heaven of two lives\nthat without it might have made shipwreck of their eternal interests! A\nthing apart from the common unions of earth, different from a commercial\npartnership, stronger than a political coalition, holier than even a\nspontaneous friendship. A thing which, like the riddle of Samson, is\n\u201csweetness out of strength,\u201d and whose grace is so sublime that in heaven\nit can only find one transformation worthy of itself. \u201cYou err, not\nknowing the power of God; for in the resurrection they shall neither marry\nnor be married; but shall be as the angels of God in heaven.\u201d(239) We are\nnot told that the tie will be like brotherhood or like friendship; we are\nleft to infer that between husband and wife some more peculiar link will\nexist hereafter than will be common to us all as children of the same\nFather, and it is plainly foretold that this relation will be as that of\nthe angels towards each other.\n\nWe have only to look into the gospels and the teachings of the Apostle of\nthe Gentiles to see by what means we may in the married state so sanctify\nour lives as to deserve this heavenly transformation; we have only to read\nthe marriage\u2010service to learn the plain, straightforward, but most solemn\nduties, the performance of which will secure us spiritual peace and joy in\nthis life or the next. To use the sacrament worthily, we must come to it\nwith worthy preparation and steadfast intention, first as Christians\nresolved never to perjure themselves before God, then as rational beings\nwilling to abide by whatever unforeseen consequences their deliberate vow\nmay entail in the future. For it is an idle pretext to allege that, if one\nparty breaks the engagement, the other is _de facto_ absolved from it.\nWhere in the formula, Catholic or Protestant, is this proviso? The only\nqualifying sentence is this, \u201cUntil death do us part.\u201d How, then, can any\nreasonable person interpret \u201cdeath\u201d to mean sin, incompatibility, or any\nother incidental unpleasantness? We think that those who are so ready to\nfoist unwarrantable meanings on the plain and naked oath they have sworn\nin full possession of their senses at the altar, would hardly be the\npersons we should like to trust as men or women of unimpeachable honor in\nthe ordinary transactions of life.\n\nIf mercenary motives are uppermost in the majority of marriages in this\nage and in this nation, sensuality is none the less responsible for a\nshare of the misery attendant upon modern unions. We have already spoken\nof the evil of marriages founded on passion, and of the shameful way in\nwhich the colloquial adage, \u201cMarry in haste, and repent at leisure,\u201d is\nthus frequently illustrated. To this also the remedy lies in a serious\nChristian spirit of preparation for marriage. The root of all evil\ndevelopments in the relations between the sexes lies in the early\neducation of the contracting parties, and it is here that the only radical\ncure can be tried. The church bids her children be especially circumspect\nat the juncture of marriage, but she also teaches them to reverence the\nsacrament from childhood upward as a type of the union between herself and\nher divine Spouse. If, as children, marriage appears to us in the shape of\nthe angel of home, watching over the existence it has created, and\ndignifying the parental authority it has built up; if in youth the goal of\nmarriage is looked forward to as the _toga virilis_ of life, the reward of\na dutiful childhood, the ennobling badge of our enrolment among the\nsoldiers of the cross, then and only then will our country find in us\nefficient citizens, earnest patriots, and reliable defenders. If among men\nthere is revived the chivalrous spirit of deference and forbearance\ntowards women which sealed the middle ages as a charmed cycle among all\ndivisions of time, and among women there is cultivated that generous and\ntrue womanliness which made SS. Monica and Paula, and Blanche of Castille,\nthe typical heroines of the wedded state, then may we expect to see \u201ca new\nheaven and a new earth.\u201d Marriage means reverence for each other on the\npart of the persons married, as representing in themselves the sacrament\ntypical of Christ\u2019s union with the church; it means reverence for the\nchildren who are entrusted to their care by God and their country, and\nwhom they are bound by the solemn adjuration of Christ not to scandalize;\nit means reverence for themselves, as the tabernacles of a special grace\nand the progenitors of new worshippers at God\u2019s feet, new subjects of the\nkingdom of heaven. It is the woman especially who is bound to feel and\nexpress this reverence, for woman is, as the French poetically say, the\npriestess of the ideal. Besides, the highest perfection ever reached in\nthe married state was reached by a woman, the Blessed Virgin, Mother of\nGod. Among married saints there have always been more women canonized than\nmen. The women of a nation form the men; and, if marriage is to be\nreformed, it must be done first through the women. We hope and pray that\nit may soon be so, but we fear that outside the church, where the reform\nis, in the abstract, not needed, there is not sufficient impetus to ensure\nits being made. We say in the abstract, because practically there are many\nmarriages made among Catholics, celebrated in Catholic churches, and\ndecorously observed through the course of a blameless life, which yet call\nloudly for reform, and sadly lack the noble Christian spirit that made\nperfect the unions of Delphina and Eleazar, and of S. Louis of France and\nMargaret of Provence. But however deficient in some cases our practice may\nunhappily be, our doctrine remains ever unchanged, and our laws ever\ninflexible. Thanks to the church, marriage is still recognized as an act\nnot purely animal nor yet purely civil; and, thanks to the infallibility\nof the church and her calm expectancy of eternal duration, it will remain\nto the end of time an honored institution. If threatened, it will still\nlive; if derided, it will nevertheless conquer. Christian marriage is the\nmould in which God has chosen to throw the lava of natural passion, and\nwithout whose wholesome restraints we should have a shapeless torrent of\nlicentiousness, scathing mankind with its poisonous breath, carrying away\nall landmarks of ancestry, property, and personal safety, and finally\nexterminating the human race long before the appointed time for the dread\njudgment in the Valley of Josaphat.\n\n\n\n\nA Pearl Ashore.\n\n\nBy The Author Of \u201cThe House Of Yorke.\u201d\n\nIf one should wish to enjoy perfectly a fugue of Bach\u2019s, this is perhaps\nas good a way as any: listen to it on a warm afternoon, in a Gothic\nProtestant church, in a quiet city street, with no one present but the\norganist and one\u2019s self. If any other enter, let him be velvet\u2010footed,\nincurious, and sympathetic. It would be better if each listener could\nsuppose himself to be the only listener there.\n\nThe wood\u2010work of the church is dark, glossy, and richly carved. Rose,\npurple, and gold\u2010colored panes strain the light that enters, full and\nglowing up in the roof, but dim below. On the walls, tinted with such\ncolors as come to us from Eastern looms, and on the canvas of the old\npainters, are texts in letters of dull gold\u2014those beautiful letters that\nbreak into bud and blossom at every turn, as though alive and rejoicing\nover the divine thought they bear. A sunbeam here and there, too slender\nto illumine widely, points its finger at a word, touches a dark cushion\nand brings out its shadowed crimson, or glimmers across the organ pipes,\nbinding their silver with gold, as though Light would say to Song, \u201cWith\nthis ring I thee wed!\u201d\n\nThose clustered, silvery pipes are surrounded by a border of dark, lace\u2010\nlike carving, and a screen of the same hides the keyboards. Through this\nscreen shines the lamp on the music\u2010desk. Some one is stirring there. You\nlean back on the cushions, so that the body can take care of itself.\nMentally, you are quiescent with a delightful sense of anticipation. If\nthe situation should represent itself to you fancifully, you might say\nthat your soul is somewhat dusty and weary, and has come down to this\nbeach of silence for a refreshing bath. Knowing what you are to hear,\nwatery images suggest themselves; for in the world of music it is the\nocean that Bach gives us, as Beethoven gives us the winds, and Handel the\nstately\u2010flowing streams.\n\nWe have made a Protestant church our music\u2010hall, because, though not the\ndwelling\u2010place of God on earth, it is often the temple of religious art,\nand, having nothing within it to which we can prostrate ourselves in\nadoration, it can yet, by signs and images, excite noble and religious\nfeeling. Indeed, we would gladly banish to such concert\u2010rooms all that\nmusic, however beautiful in itself, which intrudes on the exclusive\nrecollection proper to the house of God.\n\nThis, we repeat, is as good a way as any to hear a fugue of John Sebastian\nBach\u2019s. So also thought Miss Rothsay; and she was one who ought to know,\nfor she was a professional singer, and as sensitive musically as well\ncould be.\n\nIt was an afternoon in early September, and she had only the day before\nreached her native city, after a prolonged residence abroad. Hers had been\nthat happy lot which seems to be the privilege of the artist: her work,\nher duty, and her delight were the same. That which she must and ought to\ndo she would have chosen above all things as her recreation. Now, with a\nperfected voice, and a will to use truly and nobly that gracious power,\nshe had returned to her native land.\n\nHer first contact with the New World had given her a slight jar. Utility\nseemed to mean here something rough and harsh, and the utility of beauty\nto be almost unrecognized. She had as yet met with only two kinds of\npeople: those who regarded her talent as beautiful indeed and useful, in\nso far as it brought her money, but otherwise superfluous; and that yet\nmore depressing class who were enthusiastic in hailing a new amusement, a\nnew sensation, and who valued the singer as a necessity to elegant\ndissipation. As yet, she had met with no serious disciple of music.\n\nYet, when she stepped from her door to walk about, to renew her knowledge\nof familiar scenes, and make acquaintance with changed ones, she was\npleased to perceive some of that tranquillity which, in her foreign life,\nhad been so conducive to a steady growth in art. The fine streets she\ntraversed were quiet, distant from the business world, and out of its\ntrack. The September air was golden, and the sun so warm as to make the\nshade welcome. Here and there, through openings between the houses, or at\nthe ends of long avenues, were to be seen glimpses of country; and a thin\nhaze, so exquisite that it might be the cast\u2010off mantle of Beauty herself,\nhalf veiled, while it embellished, the landscape. It was quite in keeping\nto see an open church door. One who loitered on the steps explained that\nthere was to be an organ recital, but could not say who the organist was\nto be.\n\nMiss Rothsay entered, scarcely seeing her way at first, seated herself,\nand looked about. The atmosphere of the place suited her taste. None but\nnoble and sacred images presented themselves. Art was there in its\nsublimity, and in its na\u00efve simplicity. Here was a form full of austere\nbeauty, there one whose grace verged on playfulness. The scene had the\neffect of a sacred picture, in the corner of which one can see children\nplaying or birds on the wing.\n\nMiss Rothsay, without knowing it, made, herself, a lovely picture in the\nplace. Her oval, pale face was lighted by liquid gray eyes, now lifted,\nand drinking in the upper light. On her fair hair was set a foreign\u2010\nlooking black hat, turned up over the left temple with an _aigrette_ and\nfeather. A slight and elegant figure could be perceived beneath the dark\u2010\nblue mantle.\n\nWondering a little, while she waited, who the organist might be, she ran\nover in her mind those she had known before going abroad. From that,\ndismissing the present, her thoughts glanced over those she had known\nabroad, and at last rested on one she had not seen nor heard of for eight\nyears. Eight years before, Laurie had gone to Germany to study, and he was\nprobably there yet. She recollected his face, more youthful than his\nyears, and full of a dreamy beauty; the figure, tall and graceful, yet\nwanting somewhat in manly firmness. She heard again, in fancy, that\nchangeful voice, so low, eager, and rich\u2010toned when he was in earnest; she\nmet again the glance of his sparkling blue eyes, full of frankness and\nenthusiasm. Where was he now?\n\nHad he been a common acquaintance, she would have inquired concerning him\nfreely; but he was a rejected lover, and she would not, by mentioning his\nname, remind people of that fact. Why had she rejected him? Simply because\nhe had seemed to her not to reach her ideal. It had occurred to her since\nthat time that possibly his manner and not his character had been at\nfault. At twenty years of age, she had been more mature than he at twenty\u2010\nfive. She liked an appearance of dignity and firmness, and had made the\nmistake often made by those older and wiser than herself, of thinking that\ndignity of soul must always be accompanied by a grave manner, and that an\nair occasionally or habitually demonstrative and variable, which is merely\ntemperament, indicates a fickle or superficial mind. Sometimes, indeed,\nthe strongest and most profound feelings, in reserved and sensitive\npersons, seek to veil themselves under an affectation of lightness or\ncaprice, and the soul looks forth with a sad scorn through that flimsy\nmask on the hasty and egotistical judge who pronounces sentence against\nit.\n\n\n    \u201cAnd you must love him, ere to you\n    He will seem worthy of your love,\u201d\n\n\nis true of some of the finest natures.\n\nMiss Rothsay, during these eight years of her separation from Laurie, had\nmore than once felt a misgiving on his account, lest she had done him\ninjustice. Observing and studying the manners of those she met, she saw\nthat what passed for dignity was sometimes only the distrustfulness of the\nsuspicious, the caution of the worldly\u2010wise, the unsympathizing coldness\nof the selfish, or the vanity of the conceited. She had lost not only her\nadmiration, but her respect for that unchangeable loftiness which chills\nand awes the demonstrative into silence; and she had remembered, with a\ngrowing regret, Laurie\u2019s cordial ways, that seemed to expect friendliness\nand sympathy from all, and to appreciate the purity of his soul, that\nnever looked for evil, and turned away from it when it intruded itself,\nand thus seemed scarcely aware that evil existed. Still she had been too\ndeeply engrossed in her studies to give him much thought, and it was only\nnow that she became conscious of regret.\n\nMeantime, the organist had taken his place, and was arranging his music.\nThe light of the lamp shone on a face wherein were exquisitely blended\nstrength and refinement. One could see there passion purified by prayer,\nand enthusiasm too deep for trivial excitement. The face showed, too, when\nstudied, that tranquil reserve, not without sadness, which is learned by\nthose who have too often cast their pearls before swine, yet who do not\ndespair of finding sympathy.\n\nHe placed the music, sat an instant in fixed recollection, as though he\nprayed, then lifted his tapering hands, so nervous, light, and powerful,\nand let them fall on the keys. To the listener beyond the screen, it was\nas though her reverie had been broken by a burst of thunder. Then the sea\nrolled in its waves of sound, strong, steady, a long, overlapping rhythm.\nWhat did it mean, that fugue? Did it symbolize the swift\u2010coming assaults\nof evil that seek to drag the race of man downward, as the persistent sea\neats away, grain by grain, the continents? Was it, perhaps, the ceaseless\nendeavor of the faithful will that, baffled once, returns ever to the\ncharge, and dies triumphantly struggling? Did it indicate the generations\nof men flowing on in waves for ever, to break at the feet of God; or the\nhurrying centuries, cut short, at last, by eternity? However it might be\ninterpreted, the music lifted and bore the listener on, and the silence\nthat followed found her otherwhere than the last silence had left her. She\nwas the same in nature, but her mood was higher; for music does not change\nthe listener, it merely intensifies what is positive in his nature,\nwhether it be good or bad, to its superlative degree.\n\nVibrating and breathless still with the emotion caused by that grand\ncomposition so grandly rendered, Miss Rothsay perceived a slip of paper on\nthe cushion, and reached her hand for it. It proved to be a programme of\nthe Recital. She glanced along the list, and read the name of the organist\nat the end\u2014it was Duncan Laurie!\n\nShe heard, as in a dream, the soft\u2010toned Vorspiele that followed, and only\ncame back to music when the third number, a toccata, began. But the music\nhad now to her a new meaning. It seemed to triumph over and scorn her. She\nheard through that melodious thunder the voice of Nemesis.\n\nBut when the closing piece, a noble concerto by Handel, sang out, it\nreproved that fancy of hers. There was no spirit of revenge nor mean\ntriumph in Laurie\u2019s nature.\n\nThe audience, small and select, went out quietly. The organist closed the\ninstrument, and prepared to follow, yet waited a moment to recover full\nconsciousness of the everyday world he was going to meet. The air seemed\nto pulse about him still, and wings of flying melodies to brush his face.\nNever had he felt less inclined to meet idle compliment or talk\ncommonplace. \u201cI hope no one will wait for me,\u201d he muttered, going out into\nthe vestibule.\n\nBut some one was waiting, a pale\u2010faced, lovely woman, who looked at him,\nbut spoke not a word. The look, too, was short; for when he exclaimed and\nreddened up to the eyes, and held out a trembling hand, her eyes dropped.\n\nThere is a commonplace which is but the veil to glory or delight, like\nMinerva in her russet gown. The conventional questions that Laurie\nproperly asked of the lady, as they walked on together, were of this sort.\nWhen did she come home? was as one should say, When did Joy arrive? When\ndo the stars come? And the steamer that brought her could be as worthy of\npoetical contemplation as the cloud that wrapped a descending Juno, or the\neagle that bore away a Ganymede.\n\nNot long after, when some one asked them who was their favorite composer,\neach answered \u201cBach!\u201d and, when alone together, each asked the other the\nreason for that answer.\n\n\u201cBecause,\u201d said the lady, blushing, \u201cit was on the waves of one of Bach\u2019s\nfugues that I reached the Happy Islands.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd because,\u201d returned the lover, \u201cwhen some of Bach\u2019s music had rolled\nback into the ocean, it left a pearl ashore for me.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nThe Benefits Of Italian Unity.\n\n\nFrom The Etudes Religieuses.\n\nRevolution is a dangerous syren. The nations of the earth have yielded to\nher seductions, but the day is coming when with one voice they will curse\nthe great enchantress who has lured them on to apostasy. For a century she\nhas not ceased to announce an era of prosperity to the rising generation,\nbut at length we see her promises are as deceptive as her principles are\ncorrupt. From the heart of all nations rise up groans and maledictions\nagainst her teachings, and against her agents who have betrayed the hopes\nof their partisans, brought death instead of life, ruin instead of\nprosperity, and dishonor instead of glory. In a word, revolution is in a\nstate of bankruptcy. This is not acknowledged by the politicians of the\n_tiers\u2010parti_ and their followers. They still continue to proclaim the\nsovereignty of the \u201cimmortal principles,\u201d declare revolution a success,\ncelebrate its material and moral benefits, and boast that \u201creal social\njustice was _for the first time_ rendered in 1789\u201d\u2014after eighteen\ncenturies of Christianity! But people are ceasing to be duped by any such\npolitical sophisms; they are beginning to regret profoundly the peace,\norder, and security, and all the benefits assured to the world by the\nsupremacy of religion, and lost through social apostasy. The wisest of\npoliticians are tired of revolutions. People who have lost their sacred\nheritage, and find themselves deprived of the highest blessings of life,\nare beginning to remember their baptismal engagements, and to feel the\nnecessity of putting an end to revolution, and returning to the social\norder established of God. The prodigal son, famished with hunger, makes an\nenergetic resolution: _Surgam et ibo ad patrem!_ Hesitation is no longer\npossible. Weary of your modern theories, we will return to our Father\u2019s\nhouse\u2014to Christ and his church!\n\nThe man who comprehended most thoroughly the Satanic nature of the\nrevolutionary spirit\u2014Count Joseph de Maistre\u2014had an intuitive assurance of\nthe calamities that would avenge the disregard of the laws of order, and\nlead future generations back to the sacred principles of their ancestors.\nThe foresight and warnings of this eminent writer are well known.\nAddressing the French, he says: \u201cUndeceive yourselves, at length, as to\nthe lamentable theories that have disgraced our age. You have already\nfound out what the promulgators of these deplorable dogmas are, but the\nimpression they have left is not yet effaced. In all your plans of\ncreation and restoration you only leave out God, from whom they have\nalienated you.... How has God punished this execrable delirium? He has\npunished it as he created light\u2014by a single word\u2014_Fiat!_\u2014and the political\nworld has crumbled to atoms.... If any one wishes to know the probable\nresult of the revolution, they need only examine the point whereon all its\nfactions are united. They all desire the degradation, yea, the utter\nsubversion, not only of the monarchy, but of Christianity; _whence it\nfollows_ that all their efforts must finally end in the triumph of\nChristianity as well as the monarchy.\u201d(240) In these few words the great\nphilosopher gives us a complete history of the era of revolution in the\npast as well as the future. He declares it a widespread overturning of\norder, necessarily followed by terrible misfortunes, till a counter\u2010stroke\nturns the nations back to the way appointed by God.(241)\n\nWhile M. de Maistre was regarding the progress of events from the heights\nof his genius, he gave the most minute attention to the ravages of the\nrevolutionary spirit in every department. In the _M\u00e9langes In\u00e9dits_, for\nwhich we are indebted to Count Joseph\u2019s grandson, and which appeared on\nthe very eve of our great disasters (1870), we find more than a hundred\npages devoted to reviewing the _benefits_ of the French Revolution. They\ncontain an inventory drawn up by the aid of the republican papers of the\ntime, in which the moral and material results of revolutionary barbarism\nare attested by the avowal of the barbarians themselves. A certain\nhistorian of the Revolution would have done well to examine this catalogue\nbefore officially undertaking, in the presence of the National Assembly,\nthe awkward apology so generally known. And what if he had continued to\nverify the benefits of the revolutionary syren, still beloved of certain\npoliticians, till the end of the year 1872? How glorious would be the\nbalance\u2010sheet of the \u201cimmortal principles\u201d in the eighty\u2010fourth year of\ntheir reign! Every Frenchman knows what it has cost to be the eldest son\nof the Revolution!\u2014As statistics are held in such high honor in our day,\nwhy not draw up the accounts of \u201989, and establish clearly the active and\npassive of the revolutionary spirit now spreading throughout the world?\n\nWe lay before our readers some notes that may be of service in this vast\nliquidation, taken from two valuable works that have been kindly brought\nto our notice.(242) We do not feel at liberty to designate the eminent\nperson who wrote these _Notes_, which, if we are rightly informed, were\nfirst published in the _Messager Russe_. All we feel permitted to state is\nthat we can place full confidence in the probity of this traveller. He\nbelongs to the diplomatic corps, but unfortunately is not of the Catholic\nreligion. We will let him testify for himself. It will at once be seen by\nthe frequent quotations we shall make that he is a man of superior mind,\ndecision and honesty of character, and of an upright and incorruptible\nconscience.\n\n\u201cEleven years ago, I witnessed the foundation of the kingdom of Italy. I\nhave just seen the work completed\u2014the edifice crowned\u2014Rome made the\ncapital.\u2014My observations have been made in person, and are impartial, as I\nhad no preconceived opinions. My numerous quotations are taken in a great\nmeasure from Italian sources, nay, even _the most Italian_. My position as\nan independent observer, unbiassed by any feeling of responsibility,\nenables me to judge events in a cooler manner than might be done by an\nopponent of the various publicists that have treated of the successive\nphases of the great Italian drama.\u201d(243)\n\nHere, then, is contemporaneous Italy studied by an observer of\nincontestable impartiality\u2014studied on the spot, and from authentic\nsources. It is by no means uncommon to hear the correspondents of Catholic\njournals accused of exaggeration. Certain newspapers under party\ninfluence, like the _Journal des D\u00e9bats_ and the _Ind\u00e9pendance Belge_, are\npaid to divert public attention from facts that cannot be denied. We are\nsure the Italo\u2010Parisian and the Italo\u2010Belgian press will not say a single\nword about the _Etudes sur l\u2019Italie contemporaine_.(244)\n\n\n\nI.\n\n\nHow shall we characterize the Italian crisis as a whole? Is it merely one\nof those accidental revolutions which history is full of, or is it a\ngenuine revolution with its systematic hatred of Christian society? Our\nreaders must not be astonished at such a question. I know some Catholics\u2014a\nlittle too liberal, it is true\u2014who have not thereon, even in these times,\nperfectly correct notions. We remember certain unfortunate expressions\nrespecting the governments of the _ancien r\u00e9gime_ which committed the\nunpardonable fault of injuring Italian liberty, and even respecting that\nvenerable Christian administration that has been dragged through blood and\nfire. Did not the honorable M. Dulaurier recently confess in an ingenuous\nmanner the illusions he was under before he set foot on Italian soil, and\nhow he believed in the possibility of a reconciliation between the Pope\nand the excommunicated king? He says he heard on all sides a sentiment to\nwhich he gave credence without much reflection: \u201cWhy interpose between the\ntwo parties contending for Rome? Pius IX. and Victor Emmanuel are both\nItalians: they will end by settling the difficulty, and we shall trouble\nourselves for nothing.\u201d The reality, the sad reality, forces us to a\ndifferent opinion.\n\nIt was a beautiful illusion\u2014once greatly dwelt upon in official papers\u2014to\nthink Piedmont sincerely and uniquely preoccupied about the freedom of\nItaly; to believe in the Subalpine posture of disinterested chivalry, and\nin Napoleon III. going to war in a great cause merely for the glory of\nbeing a liberator. Doubtless there was, for some time, a liberal party in\nItaly dreaming at once of a confederacy and of national independence. But\nMazzinism and its ideas of unity prevailed, and it was manifest to those\nwhose eyes were not blinded that the Piedmontese government superseded\n_Giovane Italia_ by taking advantage of the _na\u00efvet\u00e9_ of honest\nliberals.(245) All sincere and upright minds must free themselves from so\nillusive a deception. The mask has fallen off, so must the scales from\ntheir eyes. The Italian movement is essentially revolutionary\u2014or Satanic.\nIt is not one of those transformations so frequent in the political life\nof a nation: it is a work of subversion, a war on the church, a religious\npersecution, and \u201cpure impurity,\u201d to use Joseph de Maistre\u2019s words.\n\nIt has been demonstrated quite recently in this magazine that the whole\ntendency of the Italian Peninsula, and its providential destiny, are\nopposed to unity; that the Revolution has done violence to nature and\nreligion, to the institutions and traditions of the past, and to the faith\nand morals of the people weighed down by the yoke of unity; and that it\nhas lied to history, to the world, and to God. _Les Etudes sur l\u2019Italie\ncontemporaine_ takes a similar view of the case:\n\n\n    \u201cThe unity of Italy was not a national necessity; ... the movement\n    was not spontaneous, but forced.... The Piedmontese government has\n    shown some shrewdness (unscrupulous shrewdness) in borrowing its\n    programme from Mazzini. The campaign of 1859 led the way to this\n    political intrigue. As to the nation, it imagined the promised\n    regeneration would produce a new era of happiness when the\n    foreigner was once got rid of. The masses have given in to the\n    ambition of the minority.\n\n    \u201cIn the transformation of Italy, we see action precede reflection;\n    we see what Frederick the Great said of Joseph II.\u2014the second step\n    taken before the first.... It must be remembered that the\n    geography of Italy was one of the causes of its division, the\n    length being so disproportionate to its width, which prevented a\n    common centre, and led to separate developments and outlets....\n    Even if railways are now a means of greatly shortening distances,\n    the union of the remote parts ought to be the result of a natural\n    and progressive tendency\u2014not revolutionary.\n\n    \u201cThe first idea of Rome as the capital sprang from the classics.\n    It was a rhetorical expression (according to Senator Stefano\n    Jacini).... If official Italy had need of Rome, Rome by no means\n    had need of Italy.... And what do they wish to do with Rome? The\n    unionists in favor of a monarchy wish to transform it into a\n    modern capital that it may become the centre of the general action\n    and influence which united Italy is ambitious of exercising in the\n    world. The Mazzinians, the socialist republicans, and the free\u2010\n    thinkers wish to make it the centre of the doctrines they are\n    desirous of substituting for Christianity. These new apostles are\n    not agreed among themselves, but they are all fighting in the\n    breach against the Catholic organization, and their real object is\n    the destruction of Christian principles.\u201d(246)\n\n\nTo effect the unification of Italy, it was therefore necessary to conspire\nagainst the natural inclinations of the inhabitants, against the rights of\nlocal principalities, and against the real interests of the nation, to\nconspire not only against the temporal, but the spiritual power of the\npapacy. Where they do not find the normal conditions of assimilation, they\ndo not hesitate to resort to deeds worthy of brigands. Conspirators, alas!\nhave never been wanting in the country of Machiavelli. In the present age\nthey superabound. \u201cIt has been the misfortune of Italy\u2014its robe of\nNessus\u2014that for twelve years all who have succeeded to power, even the\nbest, have been conspirators.\u201d(247) Yes; and foremost among them is the\n_great_ and _good_ Cavour, whom a French diplomatist\u2014an honest man,\nhowever\u2014has lately depicted, with an enthusiasm that has hardly died away,\nas struggling to promote the greatness of his country.(248) We do not\ndispute Cavour\u2019s ability, or his perseverance in striving after a certain\nend, or his subtleness and patience in the execution of his designs, or\nhis skill in availing himself of the very passions he pretended to yield\nto. He succeeded\u2014is it not a glorious title to fame?\u2014in keeping Napoleon\nIII. in leading\u2010strings till a Prussian Cavour is found to continue the\n_r\u00f4le_ and lead the emperor on to Sedan. But herein Cavour showed himself\ncrafty, deceitful, and\u2014why should we not say it?\u2014criminal. Has not M.\nGuizot called a certain writer a \u201c_malfaiteur de la pens\u00e9e_?\u201d Besides,\nCavour spoke of himself to his friends somewhat as we do. Our French\ndiplomatist, M. Henry d\u2019Ideville, in a curious page of his _Notes\nIntimes_, lets us into the secrets of the game and those who took part in\nit.\n\n\n    \u201cYou see, my dear d\u2019Ideville (it is Cavour who is speaking), your\n    emperor will never change. His fault is a disposition to be for\n    ever plotting.... With a country as powerful as yours, a large\n    army, and Europe at peace, what is he afraid of? Why is he for\n    ever disguising his intentions, going to the right when he means\n    to turn to the left, and _vice versa_? Ah! what a wonderful\n    conspirator he makes!\u201d\n\n\nM. d\u2019Ideville is a man of wit. With all possible courtesy, he replied:\n\n\n    \u201cBut, M. le Comte, have you not been a daring conspirator also?\u201d\n\n    \u201cI? Certainly,\u201d replied M. de Cavour. \u201cI have conspired, and how\n    could I do otherwise at such a time?... We had to keep Austria in\n    the dark, whereas, your emperor, you may be sure, will remain for\n    ever incorrigible. I have known him a long time! To plot, for ever\n    plot, is the characteristic of his nature. It is the occupation he\n    prefers, and he pursues it like an artist\u2014like a _dilettante_. In\n    this _r\u00f4le_ he will always be the foremost and most capable of us\n    all.\u201d(249)\n\n\nUS ALL! Yes, there it is ably expressed in a word: all conspirators and\naccomplices, not to speak of the dupes. On the 24th of March, 1860, M. de\nCavour, after signing the treaty that ceded Nice and Savoy to France,\napproached M. de Talleyrand, and, rubbing his hands, whispered in his ear:\n\u201cWe are accomplices now, baron, are we not?\u201d(250) Alas! wrongfully\nacquired, and never any benefit, we now see why we have lost Alsace and\nLorraine!\n\nThe entire route from Turin to Rome is marked by the deeds of these\nconspirators, by their tricks and intrigues, and by their crimes and\ndouble\u2010dealings, which have resulted in the profit of Piedmont and\nPrussia, and the disgrace of our poor France. M. d\u2019Ideville\u2019s conscience\nevidently reproached him at last for having liked Cavour so well, and for\nimprudently interesting himself in the Italian scheme. The other\ndiplomatist, who has anonymously given his _Etudes sur l\u2019Italie_ to the\npublic, seems never to have had the least sympathy with the iniquitous and\nsacrilegious ambition of the Sardinian government. It is true he does not\nbelong to the French diplomacy infatuated with the ideas of \u201989!(251) He\nfinds nothing seductive in the policy of the conspirators. The fiction\ndisguised under the attractive title of national rights, the age of\nannexations, the trick of the plebiscites, the system of moral agency, the\nso\u2010called exigencies of civilization and progress, and the revolutionary\nmessianism which constitutes the foundation of the Napoleonic ideas, have\nno attraction for him. His style is tolerably forcible when he speaks of\nall these stratagems: \u201cSuch tactics are nothing new. They have always been\nresorted to in order to palliate schemes of ambition and hypocrisy.\u201d(252)\n\n\n\nII.\n\n\nA government given to conspiracy condemns the nation that supports it, as\nwell as itself, to degradation\u2014to moral and material ruin. If for a while\nit flatters itself with the hope of systematizing the revolution and\ndirecting its energies, it soon becomes its slave and finally its victim.\nWhen the hand is caught in machinery, the whole body is soon drawn after\nit, the head as well as the rest.\n\nOur diplomatic traveller states some aphorisms in connection with this\nsubject that are full of significance, and reveal the genuine statesman.\n\n\n    \u201cA government that owes its existence to a revolution is not\n    viable in the long run unless it has the power and wisdom to\n    sunder all the ties that connect it with the party to which it\n    owes its origin.\n\n    \u201cEvery government that has a similar origin to the Napoleonic\n    Empire, and, still more, one which owes its existence thereto,\n    will find itself in danger when traditionary principles once more\n    assert themselves for the safety of society.\n\n    \u201cGovernments of a revolutionary origin have been known to become\n    conservative and renounce their former principles of action. The\n    Italian government may likewise wish to do this, but it cannot.\n\n    \u201cAll who have risen to power in Italy have had some connection\n    with the revolutionary party, and are obliged to favor it. In\n    particular instances, they have sometimes manifested a certain\n    firmness towards its factions, but in essentials they have yielded\n    to the inevitable pressure.\n\n    \u201cRevolution leads to disorder, and, when it triumphs, the destiny\n    of the country is thrown into the hands of its adherents.\n    Political bias must take the place of capacity and often of honor\n    itself.\u201d(253)\n\n\nOne of the first material disasters produced by a triumphant conspiracy is\nthe squandering of the finances. There is an immediate necessity of\nenriching itself, repairing all deficiencies, paying traitors, buying\nconsciences and votes, keeping a secret reserve of ready money to reward\nthe zeal of journalists, and stimulate or lull the passions according to\nthe exigencies of the moment. The wretched state of the budgets in United\nItaly will become as proverbial as the _march\u00e9s_ of the 4th of September\nin France. With all the domains Piedmont has received from the annexed\nstates, it ought to be rich\u2014rich enough to pay the debt its accomplice,\nthe Empire, has bequeathed to us. The finances of the different states,\nespecially of Rome, were in perfect order, and, with the exception of the\nkingdom of Sardinia, the receipts surpassed the expenses. Now the credit\nof Italy is destroyed, and nothing is heard of but duties and taxes, such\nas were unknown throughout the Peninsula in 1859, more particularly at\nRome. Figures are eloquent\u2014we must refer to them:\n\n\n    \u201cPrevious to 1860, there were seven states in Italy, each with its\n    court, ministers, administration, and diplomatic corps. All these\n    governments expended about five hundred millions of francs a year,\n    and the imposts amounted to nearly the same sum. These seven\n    states had a debt of about two milliards and a half. At the\n    present time, without reckoning the interest on the floating debt\n    to the National Bank, Italy annually pays about three hundred\n    millions of interest, corresponding to a debt of seven milliards,\n    and all this notwithstanding the sale of domanial property\n    amounting to six hundred and fifty millions, notwithstanding the\n    alienation of the railways of the state and the manufacture of\n    tobacco, and notwithstanding the seizure of ecclesiastical\n    property, all of which have amounted _in nine years_ to nine\n    milliards three hundred and sixteen millions of francs received at\n    the state treasury. Nevertheless, the public debt amounts to the\n    aforesaid sum of seven milliards. And yet the army is badly\n    maintained, the navy poorly organized, and the administration in a\n    state of chaos and unparalleled demoralization.\u201d(254)\n\n\nAnd here is M. Quintino Sella, who has just made known the projected\nbudget for 1873; he acknowledges a deficit of sixty millions, as had been\nanticipated, while the ordinary receipts amount to eight hundred and five\nmillions. If the kingdom of Italy were administered as economically as in\nthe time of the seven sovereigns, a budget of eight hundred and five\nmillions would leave a surplus of three hundred millions. And yet one of\nthe pretexts of unification was that it would save the expense of so many\ncourts, which bore hard on the people! Poor people! they know now what to\nthink of cheap governments, and will soon see that the ministration of the\nimposts is leading to bankruptcy, in spite of the fresh confiscations and\nappropriation of conventual property about to be made at Rome.(255)\n\nAnd it must be remembered that, in spite of these great budgets, the army\nis badly maintained and the navy poorly organized. Custozza and Lissa had\npreviously convinced us of this. Austria was well aware of it, and even\nthe France of M. Thiers suspects that, in spite of the valor of the old\nPiedmontese soldiery, and the discipline of the Neapolitan army; in spite\nof the aptitude of the Genoese and Venetian sailors, the military forces\nof Italy are a mere illusion, particularly on account of the inefficiency\nof the leaders of the army and navy. Since the time of M. de Cavour, whose\nability is by no means beyond doubt, there have been only second\u2010rate men\nbeyond the Alps\u2014not a statesman, not an orator, not a minister, not a\nfinancier, not a genuine soldier\u2014everywhere and in everything there is the\nsame disgraceful deficiency. _Facundum sed male forte genus._\n\n\n    \u201cI knew well the men of 1848, some of whom are still remaining,\n    but they must have degenerated through ambition and the necessity\n    of sustaining their position, for even in the revolutionary ranks\n    there was more elevation in 1848 than at the present time.\n\n    \u201cPrevious to 1860, the armies of the different states, including,\n    of course, the Piedmontese army, constituted a more powerful and\n    better organized force than is now under arms. \u2018Our army,\u2019 says\n    General La Marmora, \u2018has the traditional reputation of being\n    disciplined, but it is demoralized by a want of stability in its\n    organization, and a lack of moral influences.\u2019 La Marmora opposes\n    among other things the exclusion of chaplains and of the religious\n    element among the troops.\n\n    \u201cThe Sardinian and Neapolitan navies greatly surpassed the\n    Italian. The men were better drilled, and the shipping in better\n    order. Such is the opinion recently expressed by the English naval\n    officers in port at Naples who were at the exposition of the\n    present year.\u201d(256)\n\n\nAnd yet the military forces are the only remaining bulwark of order in\nItaly\u2014I mean material order, for moral order no longer exists anywhere.\nThe so\u2010called conservative party, that is to say, the moderate\nrevolutionists, rely on the army. But the ultra revolutionary element is\nalso to be found there, and some day the advanced party will, for its own\ndesigns, entice away the officers that followed the hero of Caprera in his\ncampaigns. It will not be sufficient to name Cialdini, Cadorna, or even La\nMarmora, to counteract the fatal consequences of Castelfidardo and the\nPorta Pia. By excluding religious influences from the army, and giving it\na false idea of patriotism, the source of courage and energy is dried up.\nAfter all, revolution will never be friendly to the army, and the genuine\nsoldier will always execrate revolution, whether instigated by princes,\ncitizens, or the mob. A soldier who entered Rome through the breach,\nlately wrote to the _Libert\u00e0_: \u201cThe day the King of Italy is satisfied\nwith mere volunteers, as the Pope was, we shall see whether it is the Pope\nor the king that is loved and esteemed the most by the Italian people.\u201d\n\nIn opposing the system of territorial divisions on account of the army,\nwhich he considers unsuited to the Peninsula, General La Marmora\u2019s opinion\nis founded on a proof that has the misfortune to prove too much. \u201cIf there\nwere small territorial armies,\u201d says he, \u201cin addition to separate\nadministrations in the various regions of Italy, the unity for which we\nhave done so much, and Providence still more than we, would incur great\ndanger.\u201d(257) Why not boldly declare, general, that there are two\nItalys\u2014the _Reale_ and the _Legale_, one of which has a tendency to revolt\nagainst the other? And, above all, why utter a blasphemy against the\nsovereign providence of God?(258) _Italia legale_ labors in vain; the\nrevolutionary impulse given to it by Cavour is an accelerated movement; it\nwill never reascend the declivity that leads _al fondo_. It will always\nhave against it not only the betrayed interests and the revolted\nconscience of _Italia reale_, but, above all, Divine Providence, who will\none day show that the favors and proofs of protection accorded to the\n\u201cregenerators\u201d were merely for them, as for Napoleon III., the snares of\navenging justice. _In insidiis suis capientur iniqui._\n\n\n    \u201cAs to greatness and political importance, admitting even the\n    possibility of indefatigable and intelligent effort, Italy will\n    never equal the glorious traditions of its past history. Italian\n    glory is the glory of the different states of the Peninsula.... To\n    acquire fresh glory, there must be, besides unity, a strength of\n    organization it does not possess, and cannot, because it is a\n    mirage and not a reality.\n\n    \u201cThe North invades the South: this cannot be called community of\n    interests. It is an attempt at absorption on the part of the\n    North, and at the expense of the South.\n\n    \u201cOnce at Rome, the programme was to have ended. A new life was to\n    commence; fresh energy was to be the signal of an era of grandeur\n    and prosperity; interiorly, there was to be a more perfect\n    administration; exteriorly, a prudent _national_ policy, that is\n    to say, the Napoleonic idea of the Latin races that Italy was to\n    revive. Rome was to be the great centre of liberal influences....\n    All this had been announced and promised. As for me, I see no\n    choice between a blind alley and a _politique d\u2019aventure_.\n\n    \u201cIt seems to me the union, at a critical moment, should find\n    protection in the wishes of the inhabitants. I can testify that if\n    the former sovereigns of Naples, Florence, Parma, and Modena could\n    return, the day would be hailed by a majority of the inhabitants\n    as one of deliverance. In Lombardy it is different, I acknowledge.\n    The _noblesse_ say, as I myself heard a personage of great note:\n    We are badly governed, but at least it is no longer by foreigners.\n    The middle classes are republicans, and in the country the\n    Austrian rule is regretted. The people of Venice either aspire to\n    a republic or regret the unfortunate Archduke Maximilian, whom\n    they would have liked as an independent sovereign. In the old\n    pontifical provinces called the Legations, they would not care to\n    return to the former condition of things as they were, but some\n    would be satisfied with the Pope and a local autonomy; the\n    remainder form a sufficiently numerous republican party.\u201d\n\n    \u201cIn a word, THERE IS EVERYWHERE DISSATISFACTION AS WELL AS\n    DISAPPOINTMENT, AFTER TWELVE YEARS OF EXPERIENCE.\u201d(259)\n\n\nIt is not astonishing, therefore, that at an audience on the 18th of last\nNov., the Grand Duke Nicholas, nephew of the Emperor of Russia, said to\nPius IX., with all a young man\u2019s frankness: \u201cMost holy Father, since I\nhave been in Italy, everywhere I go, I hear nothing but evil of King\nVictor Emmanuel and his government.\u201d(260)\n\nWe need only open our eyes to see the interior condition of united Italy\nas soon as there was any question, no longer of conspiring and declaiming,\nbut of organizing and governing. And its exterior political relations\ncompare quite as unfavorably with the programme of emancipation. By a kind\nof divine irony, Italy has become a mere humble vassal of Germany\u2014of the\nHoly Protestant Empire of Berlin\u2014and the future King of Rome was only\nacting his part when he proclaimed himself the King of Prussia\u2019s\nhussar.(261) It is well known at the Quirinal that, though influenced for\nthe moment by the dominant party, the authorities may some day return,\neven through interest, to traditional principles and the old political\ncode which does not recognize the revolutionary schemes of nations or\nparties. Besides, the Italian princes, who represent the law, are still\nliving. Francis II. may be found to be a genuine Neapolitan, Ferdinand IV.\na very good Tuscan, Robert I. an excellent Parmesan, and Francis V. the\nbest of Modenais. And, lastly, is not Pius IX. more of an Italian than the\nSavoyard who styles himself the King of Italy?... And if the French, whose\nconnivance can no longer be expected, even under M. Thiers, should favor\nthe restoration of the throne to a prince, \u201c_qui a la justice dans le sang\net dans l\u2019\u00e2me_,\u201d and would at need have it in his hand, the Italian\nframework, which merely stands through toleration, would be threatened\nwith sudden and ignominious ruin. It is all this that recently induced the\n_prince\u2010h\u00e9ritier_ to mount like a Hungarian foot\u2010soldier behind the\ntriumphal chariot of the German C\u00e6sar.\n\nAnother evil: the Prussians are not the most scrupulous people in the\nworld about other people\u2019s property, and their investigations in the\nPeninsula have excited suspicions as to the object of their cupidity. Let\nM. de Bismarck, more audacious and grasping than the late M. de Cavour,\nonce succeed in driving the Hapsburgs from Germany, will it not occur to\nhim to take advantage of the title of the Lombardo\u2010Venetian kingdom for\nthe benefit of the C\u00e6sar of Berlin? For it is skilfully demonstrated in\nGermany that the Germanic race has the power, and, therefore, the right,\nto a powerful navy, and, for the benefit of this navy, an outlet on the\nAdriatic. And there is no other possible ally but Prussia to protect what\ncalls itself the kingdom of Italy!\n\n\n    \u201cAlliances are beneficial when the parties unite their influence\n    for a common end. (Allies, in our day, no longer seek to know each\n    other\u2019s principles or origin.) But when they are not formed _inter\n    pares_, or nearly so, and especially when they are intended to\n    guarantee the very existence\u2014the vital principle\u2014of the weaker\n    ally, then the alliance loses its true character, and soon ends in\n    subjection on the ground of politics or economy, and sometimes\n    both.\u201d(262)\n\n\nSuch are the glories of Italy _free from the Alps to the Adriatic_! If, in\nspite of her presumptuous _far\u00e0 da se_, she was obliged to have recourse\nto a foreign hand in order to rise, and still needs a foreign arm to stand\nerect, she will, according to appearances, have need of no one to aid her\nin falling: she will topple over of herself. The so\u2010called free country is\nonly an enslaved kingdom\u2014a vassal, a satellite without strength and\nwithout prestige.\n\n\n\nIII.\n\n\nOf all the Italian formulas that have served to mislead the liberal mind,\nthere is not one more odiously false and deceptive than the too famous\nexpression, _A free church in a free country_. History has already\ninterpreted it, A persecuted church in an enslaved country. The\nrevolutionary factions that have assumed the authority have imposed\nthereon the complete execution of their plan, and we know that the Masonic\nlodges, though they denounce Mazzinian deism, have fallen into the atheism\nof Renan, _al fondo_!\n\nThe sacrilegious frenzy of the Revolution, and the madness of those that\nencouraged it, have been stigmatized in forcible terms by the august\nprisoner of the Vatican:\n\n\n    \u201cUnbelief assumes an air of authority, and proudly stalks\n    throughout the length and breadth of the earth, doubtless\n    imagining it is to triumph for ever.... Woe to those who are\n    linked with the impious, and dally with the Revolution under the\n    pretence of directing it! Sooner or later they will be drawn into\n    the abyss. The recent disasters at Naples may be adduced as an\n    example. A great number of curious people, heedless and devoid of\n    all prudence, hastened to get a nearer view of the devouring\n    flames issuing from the fearful mouth of Vesuvius, and many of\n    them became victims of mistaken curiosity. So it is with those who\n    covenant with the Revolution and the revolutionists, hoping to\n    overrule the former and keep down the latter. Rash people! they\n    will all become a prey to the flames that surround them on every\n    side.\u201d(263)\n\n\nThe revolutionary lava floods the streets of Rome and covers the whole\nPeninsula. It began in the cities, spread into the country, and will end\nby swallowing up the army. The universities and common schools are\ninvaded, the torrent engulfs the workshops and stalls, and undermines the\nwalls of palaces. Princes even have opened their gates at its approach. In\nvain the Holy Father sounds the cry of alarm; in vain his prime minister\npublicly denounces the progress of the deadly current\u2014party spirit seems\nto have paralyzed all in authority.\n\nWe will not describe the exploits of this new Islamism against the papal\npower. The history of its ambuscades and pillages is sufficiently well\nknown. There never was a richer treasure of dishonor for revolution to\nendow a people with. \u201cThe title of liberators was all the same retained.\u201d\nYes, all the same!\n\nJoseph de Maistre somewhere refers to an English functionary as saying\nthat every man who spoke of taking an inch of land from the Pope ought to\nbe hung. \u201cAs for me,\u201d adds the witty writer, \u201cI cheerfully consent, in\norder to avoid carnage, that _hung_ should be changed to _hissed_.\u201d(264)\n\nLet us wait. An avenging God will do both: _subsannabit_, _conquassabit_.\nHad the plots of the unionists merely aimed at the temporal power, perhaps\ndivine justice would have been satisfied with a hiss at the hour of some\nItalian Sedan, but the gibbet\u2014it is a law of history\u2014is reserved for\npersecutors and apostates.\n\nWhen the Sardinian government knocked at one of the gates of Rome, as it\nawaited a propitious moment for battering it down, it bound itself before\nall Europe to solve the problem of the separation of church and state\nwhich had puzzled all the doctors of liberalism, and of which it pretended\nto have found the key. It was said the Roman question and the Italian\nquestion were to cease to be antagonistic, or, at least, they were to\nresemble those rivers that, while mingling their waters, preserve their\nown colors, as we see in the Rh\u00f4ne and the Sa\u00f4ne. It was promised a\nchannel should be made wide enough for this double current of opinions.\nHence the origin of the famous law of the Guarantees. This scheme of\nconciliation is properly appreciated in the _Etudes sur l\u2019Italie\nContemporaine_:\n\n\n    \u201cHow many times I have heard it said that the Papacy and the\n    Italian government, even though they never came to an agreement,\n    might at least be like two parallel lines indefinitely and\n    pacifically prolonged! This is a mistake arising from a judgment\n    founded on impressions\u2014and when I say impressions, I mean\n    appearances.\n\n    \u201cFrom the beginning, this law of Guarantees was a one\u2010sided and\n    fruitless attempt.... The government and the Chambers never had\n    any doubt as to the refusal of the Pope. This law was like an\n    olive branch presented at the point of the sword as a suitable\n    corrective to palliate the violent occupation of Rome.... I do not\n    think a single statesman could really have believed in the success\n    of this law, otherwise than as the decree of the conqueror.\n\n    \u201cBesides the moral, juridical, and historic reasons to hinder an\n    understanding between the Pope and a sovereign master of Rome,\n    there was also the impossibility of coexisting with a power that\n    rests on an unstable foundation.\n\n    \u201cEven from the point of view of modern but not subversive ideas, A\n    SEPARATION MORE IMPORTANT THAN THAT OF STATE AND CHURCH IS THE\n    SEPARATION OF STATE AND REVOLUTION.\u201d(265)\n\n\nThese are golden words. But our diplomatic traveller is forced to\nacknowledge that the Italian government cannot break its iniquitous bonds,\nthat it lacks honesty and force, and that all the factions seek their own\ngood first and then the evil of others. Our author, though, unfortunately,\ntoo indifferent a spectator to Italian persecution, at least has the\nadvantage of being an unexceptionable witness.\n\n\n    \u201cPractically, it is not the state, it is society, that modern\n    Italy separates from the church.... One of the greatest mistakes\n    the unionists have made since the beginning of the Revolution has\n    been the war declared against the clergy and the church. It is at\n    once a political and historical error, and the greater for being\n    committed at Rome.\n\n    \u201cTolerance (practised from time to time according to orders) has\n    its reaction, and of the deepest die, in a recrudescence of\n    insults, sequestrations and confiscations imposed on the ministers\n    of the sanctuary and even the sanctuaries themselves.\n\n    \u201cAnti\u2010Christianity has established itself with a bold front at\n    Rome\u2014with its schools of free\u2010thinkers, speeches in which atheism\n    is proclaimed without the least reticence, burial without any\n    religious ceremony, and irreligious books sold at low prices.\n\n    \u201cIn everything relating to teaching, the choice generally falls on\n    the unbeliever.\n\n    \u201cMaterialism is taught _ex cathedra_ in all the universities.\n\n    \u201cThey have not yet touched on the most vital question\u2014the\n    suppression of the convents (at Rome) and the incameration of the\n    property of the clergy. But they will come to that, and\n    speedily.... The attempt at what is called a conciliation must\n    sooner or later end in an outbreak.\u201d(266)\n\n\nThey did come to it\u2014to that shameful encroachment of the government on the\nreligious corporations. The party demanded it, M. de Bismarck advised it,\nand the diplomatic corps tolerated it. What will not diplomacy tolerate?\nIt was, however, clearly demonstrated to the representatives of different\ngovernments the urgent necessity there was of taking under their united\nprotection the independence of the Sovereign Pontiff so poorly guaranteed\nby the usurper, of declaring the inviolability of church property, the\npossession of which\u2014and it is a wholly legitimate one\u2014is a _sine qua non_\ncondition of pontifical independence, without considering that most of\nthese establishments have a double claim as to their origin and\ndestination, to be regarded as international property.(267) Nothing was\ndone. The tolerance of official Europe towards the Piedmontese\nfilibustering has been unlimited, though unrestricted usurpation has been\nfollowed by open persecution. Pius IX. had good reason to severely allude\nto \u201cthe so\u2010called governments\u201d that find amusement in the Revolution.\nEurope seems to have sent its diplomatists to the court of the usurper in\nthe capital of the Christian world, that they might close their eyes to\nall the schemes of Freemasonry, and the numberless vexations and\nspoliations, that they might play the _r\u00f4le_ of stage\u2010dancers in the\nsacrilegious comedy! Such base complacency justifies the expression of a\nCatholic writer: \u201cEurope is in a state of mortal sin!\u201d\n\nI am almost ashamed to be obliged to refer to the authority of a\ndiplomatist who belongs neither to our nation nor our religion. I wish I\ncould quote some official report of a minister from France! Might not M.\nFournier have employed his time better than in figuring at banquets\noffered to a renegade, and in listening to heretical and atrocious\nspeeches from the professors of the Romano\u2010Piedmontese university? I will\nconsole myself in transcribing a page from M. Dulaurier, the honorable\nmember of the Institute, likewise an ocular witness, and a witness worthy\nof credit, even from a subscriber to the _D\u00e9bats_:\n\n\u201cThese grievances and many others are aggravated by the excesses to which\nthe press\u2014the illustrated press, above all\u2014has given itself up, and by the\nincessant war it wages against religion. Ignoble caricatures are daily\nexposed for sale in the sight of the police, and to their knowledge, in\nall the Kiosques and newspaper shops, and on the walls, or are hawked\naround by miserable creatures in rags. The _Don Pirloncino_, a humorous\npaper, obsequious to the government, diffuses three times a week its\nabominations on the most august mysteries of the Christian faith and the\nministers who dispense them. The cross itself\u2014the cross before which\nChristians of all communions bow with respect\u2014not only Catholics, but\nschismatics, Greeks, and Orientals, and even Protestants\u2014is not safe from\nits insults. My heart swells with horror when I recall one of these\npictures\u2014a caricature of the Crucifixion. In the place of the God\u2010Man is\nDr. Lanza, Minister of the Interior. The words put in his mouth, and on\nthe lips of his murderers, are untranslatable. Under his feet, at the\nlower extremity of the tree of the cross, is fastened transversely an\ninstrument that I dare not designate otherwise than by saying it is made a\nburlesque use of at the end of the first act of _M. de Pourceaugnac_. Our\nFrench revolutionists, in their senseless fury, have broken the cross in\npieces, but it never occurred to them to defile it in such a manner. So\nrevolting an idea could only spring from imaginations the country of\nAretino alone is capable of producing.\n\n\u201cIn the presence of these abominations echoed by the political press\ndevoted to the advancement of free\u2010thinking, the Sovereign Pontiff, the\nclergy, and the Roman people who are fundamentally religious, can only\nveil their faces, resign themselves, and have recourse to prayer. And\nprayer rises unceasingly to heaven in expiation of so many horrors. It is\nthe only consolation left to all these afflicted souls. There is a\nconstant succession of triduos, announced by blank notices, headed _Invito\nsacro_, and signed by Mgr. Patrizi, the Cardinal Vicar. One of these\nnotices, which I saw affixed to the columns at the entrance to his\neminence\u2019s palace near the Church of Sant\u2019 Agostino, gives an idea, in the\nvery first line, of the indignation that is fermenting in every Catholic\nbreast: \u2018The earth is full of the most horrible blasphemies. _La terra \u00e8\npiena della pi\u00f9 orrende bestemmie._\u2019 \u201d\n\n\n\nIV.\n\n\nWe will not deny one benefit\u2014and this time a real one!\u2014that has sprung\nfrom the Italian Revolution: it has served to revive the fidelity and\nfervor of all true Italians. It can be rightly said of it, as M. Guizot\nsays of the Reformation of the sixteenth century, It has awakened, even\namong its adversaries [we must correct this Protestant writer\u2019s mistake\u2014he\nshould have said among its adversaries alone], religious faith and civil\ncourage. Some natures that were formerly nonchalantes, timid, and\ndelicate, are no longer satisfied with groaning over the evil, but take a\nbold stand against the inroads of impiety. Italy, somewhat inclined to the\n_far niente_, might of itself have yielded; sustained by the hand of a\ngreat Pope, she is roused to withstand the unloosed tempest. She no longer\nfalters before the responsibility of a religious manifestation or an anti\u2010\nrevolutionary vote. No longer afraid of the threats of the poniard, or of\nconciliating, through culpable prudence, her temporary masters, she at\nlast ventures to show herself openly, as she really is\u2014the cherished and\nfaithful daughter of the Church of Rome. Roused by provocations and\nblasphemies, her filial piety towards the Papacy has become more lively\nand aggressive. She protests solemnly against the schemes of the\nadventurers who have trampled under foot their faith, honesty, morality,\nand honor. At the sight of these sublime outbursts of a spirit at once\nCatholic and Roman, the church is consoled, and observant Christendom\nbegins to hope the reaction will be the more salutary from the extreme\nviolence of the crisis.\n\nOne of our co\u2010laborers has expressed all this much better than we can:\n\n\n    \u201cIf there is a country we have reason to conceive such consoling\n    hopes of, assuredly it is Italy, in spite of all the scandals and\n    all the infamy that now degrade it. All who have had a favorable\n    opportunity of observing the moral condition of the country agree\n    in declaring the greater part of the inhabitants faithful to their\n    belief. It is merely the froth and pestilential impurities that\n    are seething on the surface. Some day it will doubtless be with\n    this impure froth as with the stagnant waters for which Pius IX.\n    some years ago made an opening to the sea, giving fresh fecundity\n    to the old Italian soil. Purified by trials, as by a new baptism,\n    this nation, in many respects so highly gifted, will once more\n    have acquired a beneficial discipline of mind and character, the\n    advantages of a robust and manly training, the practice of\n    energetic individual action, and especially of great combined\n    efforts which she is beginning to give us the consoling spectacle\n    of in the recently formed Catholic associations.\u201d(268)\n\n\nIn France we think lightly, or rather we have an incorrect idea, of what\nour brethren in Italy are effecting. The very people among us who only\ntalk of harmony and compromise reproach the Catholics of the Peninsula for\nbeing inactive and inefficient. They even make them partly responsible for\nthe national misfortunes and the decay of moral principle beyond the Alps.\nWe protest against such superficial judgments. We know Italy too well not\nto have a right to speak in favor of those who are so unjustly accused.\nCatholics in Italy decline public offices, _ne eletti, ne elettori_; and\nthey do well, because the Sardinian government imposes an oath after the\nstyle of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth. Tell us if it is proper for a Catholic\nto take a seat in a parliament established at Rome between the Vatican\nwhere the Pope is imprisoned, and the Quirinal where the Piedmontese has\nestablished himself by the aid of a false key. Does the military career\noffer much attraction when he might be ordered to assassinate the\npontifical zouaves, open a breach in the walls of Rome, bombard Ancona or\neven the quarter of the Vatican? He might without any great difficulty\npresent himself at the municipal and provincial ballot\u2010boxes. The faithful\nNeapolitans, at the invitation of their archbishop, formed a majority\nthere, and this is not an isolated case. But do you, who are the safety of\nFrance, set the example of hastening to the polls?\u2014No; good Christians in\nItaly are far from being inert, nor do the clergy inculcate inertness.\nAbstaining is quite a different thing from inaction. Is the public aware\nthat the Catholic press is one of the glories of the Peninsula? There are\na hundred journals and reviews on the other side of the Alps consecrated\nto the service of the truth, and some of these publications are of\nunequalled merit. It is sufficient to name the _Civilt\u00e0 Cattolica_, the\n_Unit\u00e0 Cattolica_, and the _Voce della Verit\u00e0_. We confess our admiration\nfor the courageous journalists who keep their own course in spite of\narrests, law\u2010suits, fines, imprisonment, and threats of _coltellate_. And\nthe tone of these papers, with some insignificant exceptions, is healthier\nthan with us, the union of sentiment stronger, and their adhesion to the\napostolic constitutions more sincere and open. Associations have spread\nfrom one end of the Peninsula to the other, and everywhere produce the\nmost beneficial results. I need only mention the Society of Catholic Youth\nat Bologna, celebrated on account of the generous filial stand it has\ntaken from the first in favor of Pius IX., and the Roman Society for the\npromotion of Catholic interests, which, by its branches and parish\ncommittees, exercises so prodigious an influence over the city of Rome as\nto excite the anxiety of those in authority.\n\nBut let us once more listen to our unexceptionable witness, whom I think\nevery one will feel indebted to us for quoting so much at length:\n_testimonium anim\u00e6 naturaliter Christian\u00e6_.\n\n\n    \u201cThe religious reaction is more and more decided, even in the\n    middle and lower classes, owing to the zealous associations that\n    have assumed the direction. This movement is worthy of study....\n    At Rome, and throughout Italy, this reaction has given rise to\n    societies composed for the most part of men still young, whose\n    object is to oppose all pernicious doctrines. These societies are\n    to be found at Rome, Florence, Venice, Milan, Naples, Turin,\n    Verona, Genoa, Lucca, Padua, Pisa, and Bologna.\n\n    \u201cIn January, 1871, the following statement was made in the\n    _Riforma_, the organ of Rattazzi: \u2018The clerical party is being\n    more and more reinforced at Rome; the clerical press every day\n    acquires more strength, its organs increase in number and\n    boldness.\u2019... The clerical press is really well sustained, and, in\n    spite of the persecutions and ill\u2010treatment of all kinds the\n    editors of these journals have to undergo, they do not cease their\n    energetic efforts.\n\n    \u201cThe administering of the oath has caused wholesale resignations\n    in all the _dicast\u00e8res_ (at Rome). Many of these functionaries are\n    left without any means of subsistence.... As early as the year\n    1871, there were more than four thousand resignations.\n\n    \u201cThousands of Romans go to the Vatican to give their plebiscites,\n    and to the basilica of St. Peter to offer solemn prayers for\n    hastening THE DAY OF DELIVERANCE.\u201d(269)\n\n\nThe day of deliverance will arrive, and, in spite of the sneers about our\nwailing over disappointed hopes, it will come soon! But how will this\ndeliverance be effected? United Italy has against it the upper and nether\nfires\u2014the Catholic reaction that will never stoop to parley, and the\nexertions of the demagogues, which are continually increasing. At present\nthe nether fires seem like the prelude of the Internationale.\n\nThe intermediate party, which would like to consolidate _le fait\naccompli_, and which recruits adepts from the very opposers of the _mezzi\nmorali_, is not sufficiently free from all alloy of party spirit to\nconstitute a government capable of resistance and of exacting respect from\nthe league of destruction.\n\nUnhappy but beloved Italy! Great and holy city of Rome! shall we have the\nsorrow of seeing the enemy _flamber_ your palaces, your museums, your\nchurches?\n\nNot long since we were asked at Florence to read the prophecy of Joel, so\napplicable to the future of Italy: \u201cHear this, ... tell ye of this to your\nchildren, and let your children tell their children, and their children to\nanother generation. That which the palmer worm hath left, the locust hath\neaten; and that which the locust hath left, the bruchus hath eaten; and\nthat which the bruchus hath left, the mildew hath destroyed. Awake, ye\nthat are drunk, and weep, and mourn, all ye that take delight in drinking\nsweet wine; for it is cut off from your mouth.\u201d\u2014Joel. i. 2\u20105.\n\nIt is true too large a part of the Italian nation have grown giddy from\nthe intoxicating draught of liberalism, and it is to be feared they may be\ncondemned to drink the bitter cup of expiation to the dregs. The\ninternational \u201clocusts\u201d will devour that which the Sub\u2010Alpine \u201cpalmerworm\u201d\nhath left. To\u2010day, the taxes of Sella; to\u2010morrow, the communism of\nCastellani: yesterday, a political revolution; to\u2010morrow, a radical\nrevolution: yesterday and to\u2010day, the hypocrisy of the tribune; to\u2010morrow,\nthe bloody scenes of the national Comitia. After the physicians and\nlawyers, after the members of the Consorteria and the friends of Rattazzi,\nthe lowest grade of society\u2014the \u201cbruchus\u201d and the \u201cmildew\u201d\u2014like a\nbarbarous horde, will overturn, and destroy, and deluge with petroleum.\n\nItaly, more than France or Spain, has abused the divine gift. She has \u201cthe\nlight of Rome and the sun,\u201d but has been ungrateful, proud, impious,\nshameless, and reckless. The whole land is now a mere haunt for banditti,\ntraitors, and buffoons.\n\nAlas! it is so: but Pius IX. still prays for his beloved Italy! Following\nthe example of its lawful ruler, the nation\u2014at least, the better portion\nof the nation\u2014have multiplied their holy prayers, which daily grow more\nfrequent from the delay of the benefit and the example of France. It has a\nclearer sense of equity and justice; it already feels disposed to renew\nits former covenant with God, return to the path of order, and take up its\nnational traditions of glory. It is awakening from its dreams of moral and\nsocial primacy. It will be satisfied with, and glory in, being the _patrie\nenvironnante_ of the Vicar of Christ. Would that France, once more\nregenerated, might speedily aid her in breaking loose from the tyranny of\nlodges, and shaking off the Prussian suzerainty!\n\nIn 1860, the unhappy King of Sardinia said to M. de la Tour d\u2019Auvergne,\nthe French minister at Turin: \u201cI do not wish you to leave me under false\nimpressions. I feel sure you regard me as impious\u2014as an infidel, as people\npersist in saying. You are wrong.\u2014If I number kings among my ancestry,\nthere are likewise saints. Here, look around.\u2014Well, do you think that in\nyonder world all these sainted relatives of mine have any other occupation\nthan to pray for me?\u201d(270)\n\nOur Saviour prayed for those who knew not what they did! _Pater dimitte\nillis._ May all the saints in heaven and on earth pray for poor Italy! It\nhas need of it.\n\n\n\n\nSonnet.\n\n\nFROM THE ITALIAN OF GIOVANNI BATTISTA ZAPPI, UPON THE MOSES OF MICHAEL\nANGELO IN THE CHURCH OF SAN PIETRO IN VINCOLI, AT ROME.\n\n\n    Whose form there, sculptured in such mass of stone,\n      Sits like a giant, carrying art so far\n    Beyond all works most beautiful and known?\n      On those quick lips life\u2019s very accents are!\n    That man is Moses: on the awful front\n      The double ray,(271) the glory of his beard,\n    Reveal as much: \u2019tis Moses from the Mount\n      When much of Deity in his face appeared!\n    So looked he once when he the vasty fount\n      Of sounding waters with his one word stayed.\n    Such was his aspect when the sea obeyed\n      And swallowed Egypt. O ye tribes that bent\n      Before the calf! had you an image made\n      Like this to worship, less were to repent.\n\n\n\n\nRecollections Of P\u00e8re Hermann.\n\n\nFrance has a strange, magnetic power of attracting to herself, and\nabsorbing into her mould, all the great talent of the world. How many men\nthere are in Paris, who, from the ends of the earth, come together to lose\ntheir nationality in her appreciative bosom, and to gain there instead a\nreflected light of popularity ensured by her endorsement alone! All\ncountries have adopted citizens, it is true, some by social, some by\nartistic, some by political adoption, but no country has a larger share of\nadopted intellect than France.\n\nTo all intents and purposes, the famous artist\u2010convert and artist\u2010monk,\nP\u00e8re Hermann, was a Frenchman, though he was born a German Jew, in the\nfree city of Hamburg. His biographers have told us all the striking\nincidents of his life; they have dwelt on his intoxicating success during\nyouth, his mad extravagance of opinion, of expenditure, and of depravity,\nand, lastly, on his almost miraculous conversion and religious vocation.\nHis death, which was a fitting crown to his life, and can be dignified by\nno lesser title than martyrdom, has endeared his memory still more to all\nthose who knew him personally and had many secret reasons to admire his\nsanctity and feel grateful for his spiritual direction. His was a figure\nnot easily forgotten, and perhaps a few touches of personal reminiscences\nwill not be unacceptable to our readers, since all that links us to the\nsaints, and brings the shadow of their sanctity nearer to our littleness,\ncan hardly fail to be of interest.\n\nThe first time we were brought in contact with him was in the summer of\n1862, when he came by special invitation to spend a few days with us in\nthe country. The house itself had a monastic appearance and origin. It had\nbeen, so said tradition, a rural dependency, half farm, half infirmary, of\na great Franciscan convent. It had been restored in 1849 and 1850, or\nthereabouts, and thanks to the good taste of the owner and the talent of\nthe architects employed, had developed into a gem of Elizabethan Gothic\nand of domestic comfort. The little market\u2010town adjoining, once a centre\nof wealthy wool\u2010merchants and a great medi\u00e6val mart, contained several\nXIVth century buildings in a state of entire preservation, besides the\nlater pile of the almshouses (XVIIth century), which, both as a building\nand an institution, was the pride of the surrounding country. Twelve old\nand destitute people, six men and six women, invariably widows or\nwidowers, are generously supported on the fund left in perpetuity for this\npurpose by Joanna, Lady C\u2014\u2014, wife of the great loyalist Baptist, Viscount\nC\u2014\u2014, who burnt down his manor\u2010house (opposite the almshouses), rather than\nlet it fall, with its treasures of plate and furniture, into the hands of\nCromwell\u2019s Roundheads.\n\nIt was the yearly custom to feast these good people at the manor, the\nrestored Franciscan dependency, and thither they were conveyed one day\nduring the summer in question, in a large covered cart provided with seats\nlike a French _char\u2010\u00e0\u2010banc_. P\u00e8re Hermann had been in the house since the\nprevious evening, and had stipulated with his cordial host and hostess\nthat he should wear his Carmelite habit while within the limits of the\nprivate grounds. The sight of this alone had in it something homely; it\nwas a rest to the eye to see the cowled figure pacing the terrace in the\nearly morning, Breviary in hand, and to lapse into beautiful day\u2010dreams of\nwhat might have been had England kept true to the faith. The Carmelite was\ndelighted at the prospect of seeing this annual feast given to the\nalmshouse people, and no sooner had they all assembled round the ample\nboard spread for them on a shady part of the terrace at the back of the\nhouse, than he made his way towards them, and, saluting them, showed how\nmuch he sympathized in their enjoyment. His English was, of course, very\nimperfect; indeed, he never grew to any proficiency in speaking that\nlanguage, but his interest in the scene was none the less vividly\nexpressed. The old people still wear the costume appointed by the\nfoundress of the institution: for the men, gaiters and a long coat of\nrough black cloth, with a silver badge or medal; for the women, a narrow,\nold\u2010fashioned dress of the same material, and a similar badge. These\nbadges, we believe, have never been renewed since the original endowment,\nand are handed down from one bedesman to his successor, and so on; the\nclothes are renewed every two years. If we mistake not, P\u00e8re Hermann said\ngrace for these poor people, who, though all Protestants, seemed not at\nall shocked at the \u201cpopish\u201d apparition. Indeed, he gained the hearts of\nall who ever saw him, his gentleness and recollection inspiring a respect\nfor his person which was little short of veneration. He seemed as though\nhe were walking with angels and listening to heavenly converse even while\ncharitably lending his time and his bodily presence to earth. When he had\nenjoyed, with the simplicity of a child, the sight of the innocent sports\nand merriment of the old people, he left us for the chapel, where he spent\na great part of his time. We cannot help adverting to a little occurrence\nwhich took place at one of these almshouse feasts (we believe this very\none), and which was certainly very pathetic. A monk might well take\npleasure in such unaffected simplicity and gentleness among those whose\nancestors had been so intimately linked of old with monastic patrons. One\nof the old women, speaking to one of her host\u2019s daughters of her little\ngrandchild, a baby girl who was just dead, said, in the broad dialect of\nthe county of Gloucester (which, however, we dare not imitate in print):\n\n\n    \u201cWhen the child was born, my daughter made me notice how long the\n    little thing\u2019s fingers were, and said, \u2019Bless its little heart!\n    they are long enough for the baby to be a waiting\u2010maid on the\n    queen.\u2019 And we agreed, laughing\u2010like, that a waiting\u2010maid the\n    child would surely be. But when it died, I said to my daughter,\n    said I, \u2018Jane, we were mistaken about the baby\u2019s fingers, you see.\n    I tell you the Lord gave her those beautiful long fingers, not to\n    attend on any great lady or queen on earth, but to play on the\n    golden harps in his kingdom of heaven.\u2019 \u201d\n\n\nNo truer nor more reverent poetry can be found anywhere than that simple\nutterance of an unlettered old woman who had not even that instinctive\neducation which belongs to all those who learn the Catholic catechism.\nSuch women and such poetry used to abound in the England of historic\ntimes, but error and materialism have but too well succeeded during the\nlast three centuries in making the type rare and not easily discoverable,\nsave in some forgotten nook of the rural districts.\n\nP\u00e8re Hermann that evening allowed us to enjoy _our_ treat, after giving\nhim his among the bedesmen, by playing a little on a cottage piano\u2010forte\nin what we called the oak drawing\u2010room. The servants were all collected in\nthe next room (the library), and this seemed to give him particular\nsatisfaction, as he was ever most fastidiously thoughtful of the comforts\nand pleasures of those in inferior station. His playing, though not\ncomparable to his triumphant successes as an artist nearly twenty years\nbefore, was still admirable, and, above all, so _sympathetic_. He played,\namong other things, the \u201cPrayer of Moses\u201d with great solemnity and\nexpression, and also some of his own _Cantiques_, which for blending\npassion with religious earnestness are something unique. He never played\nanywhere save in private, and then only to small audiences in an informal\nmanner, and never touched the organ save by obedience in his own church,\nor for the Forty Hours\u2019 Exposition, saying that he wished to have his art\never sanctified by a religious inspiration. The fascination and temptation\nof artistic triumphs must still have been appreciable stumbling\u2010blocks in\nhis spiritual career. Therefore, to hear him play at all was no slight\nfavor, and, while on this visit, he repeated this favor more than once. On\nthe last day, he said Mass in the domestic chapel, and distributed the\nScapular to the household, enrolling nearly every member in the\nConfraternity. He gave a short address on the origin and meaning of this\ndevotion, the distinctive one of his Order, and which was further made\ninteresting on this occasion by the fact of the host\u2019s having in former\nyears rescued a picture of S. Simon Stock in the act of receiving the\nfirst miraculous Scapular. The figures were life\u2010size, and the painting\nafter the manner of the later Italian school; the canvas was found riddled\nwith holes, having been used as a target by ignorant or fanatical\npossessors. The restored picture was hung in the drawing\u2010room, where it\nbecame a great source of interest to the zealous convert Carmelite, our\ndear guest. During this visit was laid the foundation of a spiritual\nfriendship between him and the writer\u2014a friendship which proved a great\nbenefit and guidance in our after\u2010life.\n\nMeeting him again in London a few months later, we learnt a singular\noccurrence connected with his influence over souls. A young girl, not much\nover seventeen, and of a wilful and rebellious nature, who was under P\u00e8re\nHermann\u2019s spiritual direction, happening to come up to town for a few\ndays, experienced a strange phase of religious excitement. Careless as she\nwas about all serious matters regarding the future state, she was\nnevertheless seized with a strong feeling of inadequacy in her religious\nefforts. She rose suddenly (it was a bright moonlight night), and went to\nthe window, where the chastened beauty of the moon made even the\nmonotonous landscape of London roofs and chimneys shine with a weird charm\nand take on suggestive shapes of startling vividness. Something\u2014the grace\nof God, we ought no doubt reverently to say\u2014seemed to take hold of her\nheart and shake her whole being. It was not the fear of punishment, the\nblank of unsated frivolity, that moved her; only one cry burst from her\nheart\u2014\u201cI have never loved God enough\u2014I have never loved him at all.\u201d If\nany but the saints ever feel perfect contrition, she did at that moment;\nfor in that one sin she saw all others contained. Sobs came from the\ndepths of her heart; she paced her room with naked feet, unmindful of\ndiscomfort, unheeding the autumn chill that is never long absent from\nLondon atmosphere, repeating again and again, like a dirge, those words,\n\u201cI have never loved God enough\u2014I have never loved him at all.\u201d Then came a\nwondering feeling as to what this awakening meant; was it conversion, or\nthe beginning of a vocation, or a sign that some special self\u2010devotedness\nwould be required of her through life? She said to herself, \u201cI will see\nP\u00e8re Hermann, and tell him; I wonder if this will last!\u201d\n\nStrange to say, the blessed excitement passed away, and the next morning,\nthough she tried to revive it, it was impossible. Not a trace of emotion\nwas left, although the mind recalled distinctly what an ecstasy of sorrow\nit had been, and how it had shaken the soul to its very centre. The young\ngirl, however, saw P\u00e8re Hermann, and told him of it, and in the parlor of\nthe nuns of the Assumption, Kensington Square, he gave her the advice of a\nfather and a saint. She is still living, and none can tell if that\nprophetic call may not yet have unexpected fulfilment through the prayers\nof one who is now a saint in heaven. This occurrence led to a very\ninteresting and intimate correspondence, which we have examined ourselves,\nand of which we would gladly give some extracts were the letters not\nunfortunately beyond our reach at the present moment.\n\nP\u00e8re Hermann was peculiarly fond of children, as indeed all saints are.\nGoing one day to the Brompton Oratory, which the finest organ in London\nand a very perfect and numerous surpliced choir contribute to make one of\nthe leading Catholic churches of the English capital, he was prevailed\nupon to play a voluntary after the Offertory. There sat a child in that\nchoir, only a little chorus singer, but whose early dream it had ever been\nto become a musician and play upon an organ such as that majestic,\nimperial instrument which he listened to with vague awe every Sunday. He\nknew the story of the great artist who now sat at the organ in his\nCarmelite habit, and he drank in eagerly the grand strains he could but\ndimly understand, yet admired so intensively. Things which he never knew\ntechnically till many years after, yet seemed not unknown to his\nsympathetic ear, and, if he understood but little of the science that\ncreated those rolling chords and modulations, he could worship the beauty\nthey expressed.\n\nA few days later, the little chorister, with six or seven companions from\nthe Oratory School, was taken to the temporary Carmelite chapel in\nKensington. It was all very poor and unpretending, but the spirit of\nrecollection and peace made an Eden of the temporary refuge of these\n\u201cknights of poverty,\u201d and the children were very much impressed. P\u00e8re\nHermann came to the parlor to see them, and inquired severally after each\none from the Oratorian Father in whose special charge they were. Our\nlittle chorister was dumb with awe and delight, expecting the holy\nCarmelite to notice him particularly; but when the Oratorian was\nquestioned about this boy, he answered laughingly:\n\n\u201cOh! this fellow is going to be a tinker.\u201d\n\nP\u00e8re Hermann looked amused but incredulous, and the child grew hot and\nuncomfortable under the laughing gaze of his companions. He had long made\nup his mind as to what he would like to be, and the tinker suggestion was\npeculiarly hateful to him, because systematically used by his wise\ninstructor to \u201cbreak his pride.\u201d But the gentle monk saw the boy\u2019s\ndiscomfiture, and came skilfully to the rescue.\n\n\u201cAnd will you really be a tinker, my little man?\u201d he said, smiling.\n\n\u201cNo, father,\u201d readily answered the little one. \u201cA musician.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mean a tinker, Peter,\u201d teasingly suggested the Oratorian, and the boy\nblushed with annoyance.\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d said P\u00e8re Hermann; \u201che will be a musician, as he says, and a\ngood one. And now,\u201d he continued, \u201cit is nearly time for Benediction, and\nI am going to play the harmonium; would you like to stay for that?\u201d\n\nThe child was speechless with delight, and then the holy monk added:\n\n\u201cYou shall pull out the stops for me, Peter,\u201d which was done, and, though\nit seemed the acme of happiness to Peter, it probably did not improve the\nmusic.\n\nAfter the service, the father called one of the lay brothers, and\nentrusted the children to his care, saying, with simple glee, and in the\nbroken accent which all who knew him remember as a characteristic of his\notherwise terse and appropriate language:\n\n\u201cNow, brother, go and feed these little ones, and mind you give them\nplenty of good things.\u201d\n\nThe order was well obeyed, for the tradition of ample and eager\nhospitality has never been lost among religious orders, be they poor and\nstruggling and even proscribed, or rich, powerful, and influential. Rich\nplum\u2010cake and good wine, with candies of every sort, were set before the\nlittle musician and his friends, but the child was even then thinking\nexultingly that P\u00e8re Hermann had really said he should be an artist. In\nlater years, when studying his art in Flanders, or earning his bread by it\nin England, this saying, that from such holy lips seemed a prophetic\nblessing and an earnest of success, often and often recurred to his mind,\nand encouraged him in the many dark days through which he had to pass.\n\nTo all those who learned to love P\u00e8re Hermann from personal intercourse\nwith him, every remembrance of his words, however trifling, is now doubly\ntreasured; his death, uniting as it did in itself the heroism of\nphilanthropy, of patriotism, and of divine charity, has already\npractically canonized him in the eyes of his friends and spiritual\nchildren; and as we lay this slender wreath of praise among the more\nimportant tributes that literature, art, and religion have heaped around\nhis memory, we are fain to exclaim, with the wise man of Israel, \u201cBlessed\nare they that saw thee, and were honored with thy friendship.\u201d(272)\n\n\n\n\nA Daughter Of S. Dominic.\n\n\nConcluded.\n\nIt was a singular proof, not only of respect for her character, but of\nconfidence in her judgment and discretion, on the part of the government,\nto have entrusted her with this right of mercy; knowing, as no one who\nknew anything about her could fail to know, her extraordinary tenderness\nof heart and compassion for suffering, especially in the case of the\nsoldiers. It seemed a risk to invest her with a sort of judicial right to\ninterfere in their behalf at the hands of law and justice; but they never\nhad reason to regret it. She showed herself to the last worthy of the\ntrust reposed in her. In the exercise of a privilege whose application was\none of the keenest joys of her life, Am\u00e9lie evinced a mind singularly well\nbalanced, a judgment always clear, and a prudence ever on the alert to\nguide and control the impulses of her heart. But when her judgment\napproved the promptings of charity, no consideration could deter her from\nobeying them. She was by nature very timid, and of late years, owing to\nher having quite broken off intercourse with the world, properly speaking,\nthis timidity had grown to a painful shyness. Whenever there was a\nnecessity, however, she could brave it, and face a gay crowd or a doughty\nmagnate with as much ease and cheerfulness as if the act demanded no\neffort or sacrifice of natural inclination. Such sacrifices were\nfrequently required of her. Her name had a prestige that gained entrance\nthrough doors closed to persons of infinitely higher social position and\nimportance; and when a community, or a hospital, or a family wanted a\nmediator in high quarters, they turned quite naturally to Am\u00e9lie. On one\noccasion her courage and good\u2010nature were put to a rather severe test. It\nwas in the case of a poor man who had been condemned to a long term of\npunishment for some fraudulent act. The circumstances of the case, the\nhitherto excellent character of the man, the fierce pressure of want under\nwhich the fraud was committed, and certain points which threw doubts on\nthe extent to which he had been consciously guilty, along with the misery\nhis condemnation must entail on a wife and young family, roused strong\nsympathy for him, and a general impulse seized the townspeople to appeal\nto the emperor for his pardon. But how to do it so as to make the appeal\nefficacious\u2014who to entrust with the delicate mission? Every heart turned\ninstinctively to Am\u00e9lie. Her name rose to every tongue. The most\ninfluential of the petitioners went to her, and besought her to go to\nParis and obtain an audience of the emperor, and implore of his clemency a\nfree pardon for the convict. Her first impulse was to draw back in dismay\nat the mere contemplation of such a feat; but the petitioners brought out\nan array of arguments that it was not in Am\u00e9lie\u2019s nature to resist. She\ncalled up her courage, recommended the success of her mission to the\nprayers of the Marseillese and the protection of N. Dame de Garde, and\nstarted off to Paris. Thanks to her previous relations with the\nministerial world, she was able to obtain, after some delay, an audience\nof the emperor. He received her with the most flattering marks of personal\nconsideration, and granted her at once the pardon she sued for. Am\u00e9lie\ntelegraphed the good news to Marseilles on leaving his majesty\u2019s presence,\nand was met on her arrival there the following day by her prot\u00e9g\u00e9 and his\nfamily in tears of joy and gratitude.\n\nOn another occasion, she was applied to for a rather large sum of money\nfor a very pressing charity. She happened for the moment to have exhausted\nall her own and her friends\u2019 resources, and knew not where to turn for the\nnecessary sum. Some enterprising person proposed that she should go and\nbeg it at the house of a banker who was giving a grand ball that night,\nand at which all the wealthy notabilities of the town were to be present.\nIt was quite an unprecedented proceeding, and one that it required the\nhumility and the courage of Am\u00e9lie to undertake. She hesitated as usual at\nfirst, and as usual, seeing that the thing had to be done, and that no one\nelse would do it, she consented. A preliminary step was to obtain the\nhost\u2019s permission. This he at first emphatically refused; and, seeing that\nit required nearly as much courage on his part to allow his guests to be\nwaylaid as for Am\u00e9lie to waylay them, it is not much to be wondered at.\nCourage, however, is catching. Am\u00e9lie pleaded, and the banker gave way. He\nopened her list of contributions by a handsome sum, and consented that she\nshould come the same evening and beg the rest at his house. It was a\nstrange episode in the brilliant scene\u2014the pale, dark\u2010eyed woman, in her\nhomely black gown and neat little black net cap, standing at the door of\nthe ball\u2010room; and stretching out her little bag to the votaries of\npleasure as they passed her: \u201c_Pour les pauvres, mesdames! Pour les\npauvres, messieurs!_\u201d The words must have struck in oddly enough through\nthe clanging of the orchestra, and the rustling of silken robes, and the\nhum of laughter as the merrymakers swept round in the mazes of the dance.\nBut the low, sweet voice of the beggar rose above the music and the din\nloud enough to reach many hearts that night; no one turned a deaf ear to\nthe suppliant; the gentlemen gave money, or pledged themselves to give it;\nthe women dropped rings and bracelets into the velvet bag that soon\noverflowed with its own riches; and when all the guests had arrived, and\nthe festivity was at its height, Am\u00e9lie, after admiring, as she was always\nready to do, everything bright and beautiful that was not sinful\u2014the\nbrilliancy of the scene, the bright jewels and the pretty toilets, and the\nartistic decoration of the rooms\u2014bade good\u2010night to it all and to her\nhost, and went home with her heart full of love and gratitude towards her\nkindly fellow\u2010creatures.\n\nBut we should never end if we were to narrate all the acts of charity and\nzeal that she was never tired of performing. The following, however, are\ntoo characteristic to be omitted:\n\nLate one evening, in her rounds through one of those dark centres of\nmisery and crime that are to be found in all big cities, Am\u00e9lie heard that\na mountebank was dying in a neighboring cellar, all alone and in great\npain. She made her way to the place at once. The dying man was lying on a\nheap of a straw, but he was not alone; a bear and a monkey shared his\nwretched abode; they had enabled the poor mountebank to live, and now they\nstood by while he was dying, watching his death\u2010throes in dumb sympathy.\nNothing scared by the presence of his strange company, Am\u00e9lie went up to\nthe man and spoke to him gently of his soul. If he had ever heard of such\na thing as an essential part of himself, he seemed to have altogether\nforgotten it, but he did not repulse her; he let her sit down beside him\non the live, fetid straw and try to soothe him in his pains, and instruct\nhim in the intervals, and prepare him to make his peace with God. By the\ntime her part of the task was done, the night was far spent, but there was\nno time to lose. Am\u00e9lie went straight to the priest\u2019s house and woke him\nup. On the road, she told him what he would find on arriving.\n\nThe two went in together. Am\u00e9lie knelt down in the furthest corner of the\nplace and prayed, and the bear and the monkey looked on while the sweet\nand wondrous mystery between Jesus and the good thief was renewed before\ntheir blank, unintelligent eyes. The mountebank made a general confession\nof his whole life, and received the last sacraments. Then the priest went\nhome, and Am\u00e9lie remained alone with the dying man, who expired a few\nhours later with his head resting on her shoulder.\n\nOn another occasion, she heard that a woman whose life had been a public\nscandal in the town was at the point of death. She rose at once to go to\nher, and, in spite of the remonstrances of those present, she did go. The\ncharacter of the woman and her associates, and the place where she lived,\nwere indeed enough to deter a less daring spirit than Am\u00e9lie, but whenever\nan objection was raised on prudential grounds to her visiting here or\nthere, she would playfully point to her hump, and say:\n\n\u201cWith a protector like that, a woman may go anywhere.\u201d\n\nThe woman at first repulsed her fiercely and bade her begone, and refused\nto hear the name of God mentioned; but Am\u00e9lie held her ground, pleading\nwith all the eloquence at her command\u2014and those who have heard it in\nmoments when her soul was stirred by any great emotion declare that it was\nlittle less than sublime. She caressed the wretched creature, calling her\nby the most endearing names, till at last the obdurate heart was softened,\nshe let Am\u00e9lie stay and speak to her, and even asked her to come back the\nnext day. \u201cBut,\u201d she added, \u201cyou\u2019ll find a _monsieur_ at the door, and\nhe\u2019s capable of beating you if you try to come in against his will.\u201d\n\nBut Am\u00e9lie was not likely to be deterred by this. She came the following\nmorning, and found the _monsieur_. He met her with insulting defiance, and\ndared her to enter, and, on her attempting to do so, he raised his hand\nand clenched it, with a savage oath threatening to strike her.\n\n\u201cHit here!\u201d said Am\u00e9lie, coolly turning her hump to him.\n\nConfounded by the words and the action, the man let his arm drop. Before\nhe had recovered from his surprise, she had passed into the sick room, and\nhe stood silently looking on and listening in wonder to what was going on\nbefore him. Am\u00e9lie left the house unmolested, and returned a few hours\nlater with a priest. The unhappy woman had been a Christian in her youth.\nShe made a general confession in the midst of abundant tears, and died the\nnext day in admirable sentiments of contrition and hope. The example was\nnot lost on her companion; he made a sudden and generous renunciation of\nhis sinful life, and Am\u00e9lie had to rejoice over the return of two souls\ninstead of one.\n\nAs we have said before, her charity was essentially catholic, universal in\nevery sense. She was ready to pity everybody\u2019s troubles, and, with Am\u00e9lie,\nto pity meant to help. The poor widow toiling broken\u2010hearted for her\nchildren in the courts and alleys of the big town; the father struggling\nwith adversity in another sphere, trying to educate his sons and marry his\ndaughters and pay the inexorable debt of decency that society exacts from\na gentleman; the poor, lone girl battling with poverty, or perhaps\nwrithing in agonized shame at having fallen in the battle; the rich mother\nweeping over the wanderings of a son; the poor orphan without bread or\nfriends; the rich orphan pursued by designing relations, or in danger of\nfalling into the hands of a worthless husband; high and low, rich and poor\nalike, all came to Am\u00e9lie for sympathy and counsel, and no one was ever\nrepulsed. Even those difficulties which are the result of culpable\nweakness, and which meet generally with small mercy, not to say\nindulgence, from pious people, found Am\u00e9lie full of indulgent pity and a\nready will to help. An officer on one occasion was drawn inadvertently\ninto contracting a debt of honor which he had no means of paying. In his\ndespair he thought of Am\u00e9lie, and, half maddened with shame and remorse,\nhe came to her to ask for pity and advice. The sum in question was two\nthousand francs. Am\u00e9lie happened to have it at the moment, and, touched by\nthe distress of the man of the world, she gave it to him at once. There\nwas no spirit of criticism, no censoriousness in her piety, no fastidious\ncondemnation of things innocent in themselves, however apt to be dangerous\nin their abuse. She loved to see young people happy and amused, and would\nlisten with real interest and pleasure to an account of some f\u00eate where\nthey had enjoyed themselves after the manner of their age. This simplicity\nand liberty of spirit enabled her often to take advantage of opportunities\nfor doing good that never would occur to a person whose piety turned in a\nnarrower groove; she was wont to exclaim regretfully against good people\nfor being so overnice in the choice of opportunities, and thus cramping\ntheir own power and means of usefulness. With regard to the choice of\ntools in the same way, she would often deprecate the fastidiousness of\ncertain pious people, urging that, when there was a work to do, an aim to\naccomplish, an obstacle to overcome, we should take up whatever tools\nProvidence put in our way, not quarrelling with their shape or quality,\nbut doing the best we can with them, profiting by a knave\u2019s villany or a\nfool\u2019s folly to further a just purpose, or a noble scheme, or a kind\naction, making, as far as honesty and truth can do it, evil accomplish the\nwork of good.\n\nFaithfully bearing in mind that we may do no evil that good may come of\nit, Am\u00e9lie had withal an ingenious gift of turning to good account the\nevil that was done by others; but she was slow to see the evil, and, when\nit was forced upon her, she had always more pity than censure for it. Her\nlamp was always lighted, and she was ever ready to help the foolish ones\nwho go about this world of ours crying out to the wise ones: \u201cGive me of\nyour oil!\u201d For it is not only when the Bridegroom comes that we need to\nhave our lamp lighted, we want it all along the road, for others as well\nas for ourselves; we must even adapt it to the necessities of the road by\nchanging the color of its light. This we can do by changing the oil. We\nmust use the oil of faith when we want a strong, bright blaze to keep our\nfeet straight amidst the ruts and snares and pools of muddy water that\nabound at every step; we must burn the oil of hope to frighten away\ndespondency and cheer us when our hearts are heavy and our courage ebbing;\nbut we must be chiefly prodigal of the rich and salutary oil of charity,\nfor the flame it sends out is often more helpful to others than to\nourselves. Sometimes, when our lamp is so low that it hardly shows the\nground clear under our own feet, it is shedding\u2014thanks to this marvellous\noil of charity\u2014a heavenly radiance on the path of those journeying behind\nus; its flame is luminous as a star and soft as moonlight; people on whom\nwe turn its roseate glow rejoice in it as in sunshine: it softens them, it\nheals them, it takes the sting out of their worst wounds. The lamp fed\nwith this incomparable oil is, moreover, often brightest when we ourselves\nare sick at heart, and when it costs us an effort to pour in the oil and\nset the wick in order. We do not realize it, but we can believe it by\nrecalling the effect of kindness on our own souls in some well\u2010remembered\nhour, when it came from one in great sorrow, and who we knew was setting\naside her own grief to enter into ours. Let us be brave, then, to hold up\nour lamp arm\u2010high to the pilgrims who are toiling foot\u2010sore and faint up\nthe steep and rugged path of life along with us; its flame soars on to\nheaven, and shines more brightly before God than the fairest and loveliest\nof his stars.\n\nWe mentioned already that Am\u00e9lie, on her father\u2019s death, made a vow of\npersonal poverty. She observed this vow with the utmost rigor as far as\nwas consistent with decorum and the absence of anything approaching to a\ndisplay of holiness\u2014a thing of which she was almost morbidly afraid. Her\nusual dress was a black woollen gown and a shawl of the same material; her\nappearance in the street was that of a respectable housekeeper, but no one\nwho saw the outward decency of her attire suspected the sordid poverty\nthat often lay beneath it. She limited herself to a pittance for her\nclothes, and she would submit to the most painful inconvenience rather\nthan exceed it. Once she gave away her strong boots and a warm winter\npetticoat to a poor person at the beginning of the winter, and, though the\ncold set in suddenly with great severity, she bore it rather than replace\neither of them till her allowance fell due. How her health bore the amount\nof labor and austerities that she underwent it is difficult to explain\nwithout using the word miraculous.\n\nWhen, under the pious auspices of Monseigneur de Mazenod, the devotion of\nthe Perpetual Adoration was established at Marseilles, Am\u00e9lie at once had\nherself enrolled in the confraternity; unable to spare time from her\nmultiform works of mercy during the day, she entrenched upon her nights,\nand used to spend hours in adoration before the Tabernacle. Fatigue and\nbodily suffering were no obstacle to the ardor of her soul; her spirit\nseemed to thrive in proportion as her body wasted. After a day of arduous\nlabor, constantly on her feet, going and coming amongst the poor and the\nsick, breathing the foul air of hospital wards, and dingy cellars, and\ngarrets, fasting as rigorously as any Carmelite, and grudging her body all\nbut the bare necessaries of life, she was able to pass an entire night on\nher knees before the Blessed Sacrament, and be apparently none the worse\nfor it. Such wonderful things are those who love God strengthened to do\nfor him. Yet this woman was made of the same flesh and blood as ourselves;\nshe had the same natural shrinkings and antipathies; her body was not made\nof different clay from ours, or supernaturally fashioned to defy the\nattacks of the devil and the repugnances of nature, to endure hunger, and\npain, and fatigue without feeling them; she had the same temptations to\nfight against, the same corrupt inclinations to overcome, and the same\nweapons of defence against her enemies that we have\u2014faith and prayer and\nthe sacraments. What, then, is the difference between us? Only this, she\nwas generous and brave, and we are mean and cowardly. We bargain and hang\nback, whereas she made no reserves, but strove to serve God with all her\nheart and all her strength, and he did the rest. He always does it for\nthose who trust him and hearken unconditionally to that hard saying: \u201cTake\nup thy cross and follow me!\u201d For them he changes all bitter things into\nsweet, all weakness into strength; for the old Adam that they cast aside\nhe clothes them with the new, thus rendering them invincible against their\nenemies, and repaying a hundred\u2010fold, even in this life, the miserable\nrags that we call sacrifices; he fills the hungry with good things, and in\nexchange for creatures and the perishable delights which they have\nrenounced for his sake he gives them himself and a foretaste of the bliss\nof Paradise.\n\nDuring her solitary vigils before the altar, the thought of the\ningratitude of men and their cruel neglect of our Saviour in his\nEucharistic prison sank deeply into Am\u00e9lie\u2019s heart, and filled it with\ngrief and an ardent desire to make some reparation to his outraged love.\nWe have all read the wonderful chapter on Thanksgiving in that wonderful\nbook, _All for Jesus_. Most of us have felt our hearts stirred to\nsorrowful indignation at the sad picture it reveals of our own unkindness\nto God, and the tender sensitiveness of the Sacred Heart to our\ningratitude, and his meek acceptance of any crumb of thanksgiving that we\ndeign once in a way to throw to him; we have felt our tepid pulses quicken\nto a momentary impulse of generosity and passionate desire to call after\nthe nine ungrateful lepers, and constrain them to return and thank him; we\nwatch them going their way unmindful, and we cast ourselves in spirit at\nthe feet of Jesus, gazing after them in sad surprise, and we pour out our\nsouls in apologies\u2014so bold does the passing touch of love make the meanest\nof us in consolations to him for the unkindness of his creatures. Alas!\nwith most of us it ends there. Next time he tries us we follow the nine\nselfish lepers, and leave him wondering and sorrowing again over our\ningratitude. But with Am\u00e9lie it was different. No inspiration of divine\ngrace ever found her deaf to its voice; her love knew no such things as\nbarren sighs and idle mystic sentimentalities. Her whole heart was stirred\nby that touching and powerful appeal of Father Faber\u2019s, and she began to\nconsider at once what she could do to respond to it. The idea occurred to\nher of instituting a community, to be called _S\u0153urs R\u00e9paratrices_, whose\nmission should be to give thanks and to console our divine Lord for the\ningratitude of the world by perpetual adoration before the Tabernacle, and\nat the same time of getting up a regular service of thanksgiving among the\nfaithful at large, to have short prayers appointed and recommended by the\nchurch to their constant use, for the sole and express purpose of thanking\nGod for his countless mercies to us all, but more especially to those\namong us who never thank him on their own account. Both suggestions were\nwarmly approved of by many pious souls to whom she mentioned them.\n\nIn order, however, to carry them out effectively, it was deemed advisable\nthat Am\u00e9lie should go to Rome and obtain the authorization and blessing of\nthe Holy Father. She had never been to Rome, but it was the desire of her\nlife to go there; it drew her as the magnet draws the needle; Rome, to her\nfilial Catholic heart, was the outer gate of heaven; it held the Father of\nChristendom, the Vicar of Christ; it held the tombs of the martyrs, its\nsoil was saturated with their blood, all things within its walls were\nstamped with the seal of Christianity, and told of the wonders that it had\nwrought. Am\u00e9lie, glad of the necessity which compelled her to fulfil her\nlong\u2010cherished desire, set out for the Eternal City. She received the most\naffectionate welcome from the Holy Father, who had been long acquainted\nwith her by name, and knew the apostolic manner of life she led. With\nregard to the community which she desired to found, and of which she was\nto become a member, but not superioress, His Holiness approved of it, but\nbeyond this, of what passed between him and Am\u00e9lie on the subject, no\ndetails have transpired. She said that the Holy Father encouraged her to\ncarry out the design and gave her his blessing on it, and promised her his\nfatherly countenance and protection; but whether she submitted any rule to\nhim at this period we have not been able to ascertain. As to the scheme of\ngeneral thanksgiving that she proposed to inaugurate, he gave her abundant\nblessings on it, and indulgenced several prayers that she submitted to his\ninspection. Unfortunately, we have not been able to procure a copy of the\nlittle book which contained them all; this is the more to be regretted,\nthat some of them were drawn up by Am\u00e9lie herself and full of the spirit\nof her own tender piety; they were also preceded by a preface in which she\nappealed very lovingly to the children of Mary and the members of the\nConfraternity of the Sacred Heart, and begged their zealous co\u2010operation\nin the service of thanksgiving. We may mention, however, that she was in\nthe habit, during the few remaining years of her life, of constantly\nrecommending to her friends the use of the _Gloria Patri_ and the\nejaculation _Deo Gratias!_ as having been particularly commended to her\ndevotion by the Holy Father himself.\n\nAn incident occurred to Am\u00e9lie during her stay in Rome which she often\nnarrated as a proof of the extreme need we have of a service of\nthanksgiving. She went one morning to an audience at the house of a\ncardinal, and while she was waiting for her turn she got into conversation\nwith the Superior of the Redemptorist Fathers in France. Always on the\nwatch to gain an ally to the cause, she told him the motive of her journey\nto Rome, and begged that he would use his influence in his own wide sphere\nto forward its success amongst souls.\n\n\u201cAh! madame!\u201d exclaimed the Redemptorist, \u201cit was a good thought to try\nand stir up men\u2019s hearts to a spirit of thanksgiving, for there is nothing\nmore wanted in the world. The story of the nine lepers is going on just\nthe same these eighteen hundred years. I have been forty years a priest,\nand during that time I have been asked to say Masses for every sort of\nintention, _but only once_ have I been asked _to say a Mass of\nthanksgiving_!\u201d\n\nYes, truly the story of the nine lepers is being enacted now as in the old\ndays when Jesus exclaimed sorrowfully, \u201cIs there no one but this stranger\nfound to return and give thanks?\u201d\n\nBut for all her clear\u2010sighted sensitiveness to the sins and shortcomings\nof her day, Am\u00e9lie was full of hope in it; nothing annoyed her more than\nto see good people lapse into that lugubrious way so common to them of\nalways crying anathema on their age and despairing of it; she used to say\nthat she mistrusted the love and the logic of such; that those who love\nGod and their fellow\u2010creatures for his sake never despair of them, but\nwork for them, trusting in God\u2019s help and in the ultimate triumph of good\nover evil; that despair was a sign of stupidity and cowardice. And was she\nnot right? Surely every age has in its ugliness some counterbalancing\nbeauty, some redeeming grace of comeliness, in the tattered raiment that\nhangs about its ulcers and its nakedness. God never leaves himself at any\ntime without witnesses on the earth, and it is our fault, not his, if we\ndo not see them. There are always bright spots in humanity, and those who\ncannot discern them should blame their own dull vision, not their fellow\u2010\nmen. As poets who have the mystic eye see beauties of hue and color in the\nmaterial world where common men see nothing but ruin and decay, so do the\nsaints and the saint\u2010like, with the keen vision of faith and hope, alone\npenetrate the external darkness and decay of humanity, and discover in the\nmidst of gloom and evil much that is promising and fair; they see\nelemental wines boiling up in the cauldron of travail and suffering, and\nthey know that their bitterness is salutary and their fire invigorating\nunto life.\n\nAm\u00e9lie returned to Marseilles well satisfied with her visit to the Holy\nCity, and resumed her labors with renewed zest. But she had left her heart\nbehind her, and from the day she left Rome she had but one desire, and\nthat was to return and end her days there. Her health had of late grown so\nfeeble that it was more and more a subject of wonder to those who\nwitnessed it how she was able to continue her life of superhuman activity\nwithout flagging for a day. Am\u00e9lie felt, however, that it could not last\nmuch longer now. She had frequently expressed in the midst of her busy,\nactive life a longing for a life of contemplation, and in proportion as\nthe end drew near, the yearning for an interval of silence and solitude\nincreased. She was often heard to say to her fellow\u2010laborers:\n\n\u201cIt is time I left off looking after other people\u2019s souls, and attended a\nlittle to my own; I feel the want of more prayer, of more time before the\nBlessed Sacrament; really, I must begin to get ready.\u201d\n\nIn the year 1869, she determined to carry this desire into execution, and\nbegin to get ready, as she said, by withdrawing into a more solitary life.\nHer love for the church had taken a new impetus from her intercourse with\nthe Holy Father; from the first the Denier de S. Pierre counted her among\nits most zealous promoters, but more so than ever now. An abundant\ncollection which she made just at this time offered a plausible pretext to\nher for going to Rome, in order to lay it at the feet of Pius IX. So after\nputting her affairs in order, and bidding good\u2010by to only her immediate\nand intimate friends, so as to avoid anything like resistance or a\ndemonstration on the part of the multitude of people to whom she knew her\ndeparture would be painful, Am\u00e9lie took leave of the hospitable old home\nin the Rue Grignan, and set her face once more toward the Eternal City.\n\nBut she had a last work to do for her native town on the road. The\nsplendid military hospital of Marseilles, in which she had taken so deep\nand active an interest, was served by lay nurses, and both the soldiers\nand the civil authorities were anxious to have these replaced by Sisters\nof Charity. Easy as the thing seemed, up to the present all endeavors to\neffect the substitution had failed. It rested with the government to make\nthe appointment and to grant a certain sum for the maintenance of the\ncommunity when attached to the hospital, but, owing either to the case not\nbeing properly represented, or to the ill\u2010will of certain officials who\nput obstacles in the way, every application on the subject had been met by\na refusal. The authorities, seeing all else fail them, turned to Am\u00e9lie.\nThey remembered her success on a former occasion, and requested her to\ntake the affair in hand on arriving in Paris, and get from the minister\nthe desired concession. The mission was repugnant to her, because she\nforesaw it would involve her having to come forward and put herself in the\nway of notabilities and magnates; but, as there seemed just a chance of\nbeing able to perform a last service to the soldiers, she accepted, and\npromised to do her best.\n\nShe had a military friend in Paris, who, though a practical Catholic,\noccupied a distinguished position in the service, and was on good terms\nwith its chiefs. This gentleman procured an audience for her of Marshal\n\u2014\u2014, who was then in the ministry, and the person to whom she was directed\nto apply in the first instance.\n\nThe marshal, who had been made aware of the subject of her visit, received\nher, according to his custom, in shirt\u2010sleeves and a towering rage, asked\nher a dozen questions, one on top of another, without giving her time to\nedge in a word of protest, wondered very much what she or anybody else\nmeant by interfering with soldiers and their hospitals and the supreme\nwisdom of the government, of dictating to them what they ought to do; but\nthat was the way with women; women were always meddling with what didn\u2019t\nconcern them; they were the most difficult subjects to govern; for\nhimself, he would rather have the management of ten armies than a village\nfull of women, etc. In fact, his excellency bullied his visitor after the\nusual manner of his peculiar courtesy, and Am\u00e9lie was obliged to take her\nleave after a very brief audience, during which she had been rated like a\nnaughty schoolboy and not allowed to say three sentences in self\u2010defence.\nClearly there was not much to be done in that quarter. Her friend then\nproposed getting her without further preamble an audience of the emperor.\nAm\u00e9lie preserved a grateful recollection of the reception she had met with\nfrom his majesty some years before, and the idea of entering his presence\nagain inspired her with less terror than the prospect of a second edition\nof the marshal; she thought, moreover, that there might be a speedier and\nbetter chance of success by applying directly to the emperor than by\nbeating about the bush with his ministers, admitting even that they were\nnot all of the same type as the one she had tried. Am\u00e9lie accepted the\noffer, therefore, and, after a shorter delay than any one but a cabinet\nminister might have been obliged to undergo, she received a letter from\nthe Lord Chamberlain notifying the day and hour when she was to present\nherself at the Tuileries.\n\nShe was shown into the antechamber, where generals, dignitaries of the\nstate, bishops, and other important personages were waiting their turn to\nenter the imperial presence. His majesty was giving audience to an\nambassador when Am\u00e9lie arrived, and there was rather a long delay before\nthe door opened. When it did, it was not his chamberlain, but the emperor\nhimself who appeared on the threshold; he stood for a moment, and looked\ndeliberately round the room, where he recognized many noble and\ninfluential personages, and then, perceiving an elderly lady in a rusty\nblack gown sitting at the furthest end of it, he walked straight up to\nher, and held out both his hands. \u201cMademoiselle Lautard,\u201d said his\nmajesty, \u201cI thank you for the honor you do me by this visit; I am sure I\nhave only to mention your name for every one present to admit your right\nto pass before them.\u201d\n\nThere was a general murmur of assent, though it must have puzzled most if\nnot all of the spectators of this strange scene who this poverty\u2010stricken,\nhumpbacked elderly lady was to be thus greeted by Napoleon III., and\nhanded over their heads to the presence\u2010chamber. As soon as they were\nalone, the emperor drew a chair close to his own, and, inviting his\nvisitor to sit down, he said:\n\n\u201cNow, tell me if, over and above the pleasure of seeing you, I am to have\nthat of doing something that can give you pleasure?\u201d\n\nAm\u00e9lie, in relating the interview to her friend, said that, when she saw\nhis majesty bearing down upon her before the assembled multitude in the\nantechamber, she felt ready to sink into the ground, and wished herself at\nHongkong; but the moment he spoke her terrors vanished, and she had not\nbeen two minutes with him before she felt perfectly at her ease, and\ntalked on as fearlessly as if he had been an old friend. She told him her\nwishes about the hospital, and he promised unconditionally that they\nshould be carried out. For certain formalities, however, it was necessary\nto refer her to his minister.\n\n\u201cYou will call on Marshal \u2014\u2014,\u201d said his majesty; \u201che is the person to do\nit.\u201d\n\n\u201cSire!\u201d exclaimed Am\u00e9lie, throwing up her hands in dismay, \u201canything but\nthat; your majesty must really manage it without sending me again to\nMarshal \u2014\u2014.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! you have been to him already,\u201d said the emperor, with a quiet smile;\n\u201cwell, try him again, and this time I warrant you a better reception; he\nis _bon enfant au fond_, but you must not let him think that you\u2019re afraid\nof him.\u201d\n\nThus warned and encouraged, Am\u00e9lie promised to take her courage in both\nhands, as the emperor said, and beard the lion once more in his den.\nBefore letting her go, his majesty questioned her minutely about the\ncondition of the hospitals and other charitable institutions at\nMarseilles, concerning all of which he appeared to be singularly well\ninformed.\n\nThe next day, she presented herself at the _minist\u00e8re_, and was ushered\ninto the marshal\u2019s presence. He had his coat on this time; whether the\nfact was due to accident, or to a desire to propitiate the lady who had\ncomplained of him to his master, history does not say; but, as soon as\nAm\u00e9lie entered, his excellency accosted her with: \u201cWell, so you were\naffronted with me, it seems! What did you say about me to the emperor?\u201d\n\n\u201cExcellency,\u201d replied Am\u00e9lie, \u201cI told his majesty that I had expected to\nfind a minister of France, but I found instead a man in a passion.\u201d\n\nThe marshal grunted a laugh, and told her to sit down and explain her\nbusiness. She did so, this time with perfect satisfaction to both parties,\nand they parted the best friends in the world.\n\nThis closed her career of usefulness in France; she waited to make the\nneedful arrangements for the departure of the nuns, their reception at\nMarseilles, etc., and then she started for Rome.\n\nOn setting out for the Eternal City, Am\u00e9lie seemed to have had the\npresentiment that she had entered on the last stage of her pilgrimage. The\nsense of her approaching end, which betrayed itself, perhaps\nunconsciously, in conversing both by word and letter with her most\nintimate friends, was accompanied by an increase of fervor and a serenity\nwhich struck every one who approached her as something almost divine. The\nproject which she had formed of founding and entering a community of\n_S\u0153urs R\u00e9paratrices_ was still unrealized, but she hoped now to carry it\ninto effect, to make the remainder of her life a perpetual _Deo Gratias_!\nand to die in the outward livery of the religious state whose spirit her\nwhole life had so faithfully embodied. But God had other designs upon her.\nMeantime, in the twilight interval of comparative leisure that she had\nlooked forward to so long and enjoyed so thankfully, Am\u00e9lie did not give\nup all active work; she prayed more, and lived in greater retirement; but\nshe still gave a fair proportion of each day to her accustomed service of\nthe poor and the sick.\n\nThese were troubled days that she had fallen upon in Rome. The\nsacrilegious hand of parricides had robbed the church of her possessions,\nand reduced Pius IX. to the nominal sovereignty of the capital of\nChristendom, as a prelude to making it, what it is now, his prison.\nCatholic hearts were sad; but, amongst all his children, the Vicar of\nChrist had no more faithfully sorrowing heart than Am\u00e9lie\u2019s, none who\nentered more keenly into his griefs or responded with more filial alacrity\nto their claim on her sympathy and participation and righteous anger. She\nbeheld the persecutions of God\u2019s church, the hatred and malice of its\nenemies, the cowardice of those who called themselves its friends, but\nstood by passive and cold while the crime perpetrated outside Jerusalem\neighteen hundred years ago was renewed before their eyes on the body of\nthat church which Christ had died to found; she saw pride and materialism\neverywhere at work striving to undo his work, to prevent the coming of his\nkingdom, and to establish the kingdom of sin upon earth; and the sight of\nall this filled her heart with grief, but not with despair. It was indeed\nan hour of unexampled grief for Christendom, but it was also an hour for\nactivity, and zeal, and renewed courage; it was a time for each individual\nmember to prove himself, for all to put their hand to the plough that was\nfurrowing the bosom of the church, and to water the travailed soil with\nfertilizing tears, and, if need be, blood, thus preparing it for the\nfuture harvest that was inevitable. For even as God\u2019s enemies of old had\nstood at the foot of Calvary, and shook their heads at the bleeding victim\nof their own hate and envy, and bade him come down from the cross, knowing\nnot the dawn of the Resurrection was nigh, when the victim would arise\ntriumphant over death, and compel his murderers to acknowledge that this\nman must indeed have been the Son of God\u2014so now the enemies of his church\nhad their hour of triumph, and clapped their hands for joy to see the\nchurch that he had built upon the Rock, and promised that the gates of\nhell should not prevail against, tottering and crumbling under the blows\nof progress and an enlightened civilization and the force of arms. But\ntheir triumph was but the hour of the powers of darkness that was not to\nendure, but would perish at the appointed time before the manifestation of\nthe Sun of Justice.\n\nStill, even faithful hearts quailed before the storm, and were scandalized\nat the way in which God seemed to forsake his own, not recognizing in this\nmysterious abandonment another trait of resemblance between his Vicar and\nthe divine Model, who cried out in his dereliction, \u201cWhy hast thou\nforsaken me?\u201d\n\nAm\u00e9lie was forced to hear and see much that was unutterably painful to\nhear as a true child of the church; many who called themselves such, and\nwho were glad enough to draw upon her magnificent sacramental treasury,\nand to praise and serve her in the days of peace, were not stout\u2010hearted\nenough to share her tribulations or even to understand them, and stood\naloof when they ought to have acted, or remained dumb when they ought to\nhave spoken, or spoke what they had better have left unsaid. But alongside\nof this indifference or treachery she witnessed a great deal that was\nbeautiful and consoling. Pilgrims were flocking from the four quarters of\nthe globe to lay at the feet of Pius IX. the tribute of their fidelity and\nabundant offerings, often collected in perilous journeys at great risk and\nsacrifice. Then there were the Zouaves, _nos chers Zouaves_, as Am\u00e9lie\nalways called them, presenting a noble example to us all by their heroic\ndevotion to the cause of God, their spirit of immolation, their chivalrous\nvalor in action, and the marvellous purity of their lives. These modern\ncrusaders replaced the suffering soldiers of Marseilles in Am\u00e9lie\u2019s\nsolicitude during her stay in Rome. She tended them and worked for them\nindefatigably, and dwelt continually in letters home on the consolation\nthe spectacle of their childlike piety afforded her.\n\nEarly in December she wrote to a friend at Marseilles: \u201cOur dear Zouaves\nhave made their entry into Rome. They passed under my windows. They are\nthe flower of the French nation. They are full of that energy which\nnothing but the spirit of the faith gives. It is beautiful to see them\nreceive Holy Communion before arming themselves. This morning eighteen\nhundred of them, bent on shedding their blood in the cause of God, marched\nproudly into the Eternal City with the band playing and colors flying;\nthey reminded one of the Theban legion. I witnessed a touching sight. The\nHoly Father met them on their way, and they fell on their knees like one\nman to get his blessing. He blessed them with visible emotion. How could a\nfather not be moved at seeing the devotion of his children? The Flemish\nand the Bretons are particularly conspicuous; ancient traditions have been\npreserved amongst them, and have come down from the fathers to the sons.\nThis evening they accompanied His Holiness to the Vatican, where they\ncheered him with the enthusiasm of Christian hearts. It was impossible to\nwithhold one\u2019s tears as one beheld the venerable Pontiff rest his loving\nand gentle gaze on all this youth, so devoted to him, and burning to prove\ntheir fidelity. In these days, the position of the Zouaves amongst\nChristian soldiers is a noble one. Oh! if the idle youth of France knew\nwhat a happiness it is to serve God, how many families would be happy and\nblest even in this world as well as the next! I see here numbers of young\nmen who had strayed away from the right path for a time, but who had the\ngrace to return to it, and are now as happy as children, pure as angels,\nattached to the church and the Vicar of Christ. Their sole ambition is\nmartyrdom; their joy is to look forward to it. Oh! I see here admirable\nthings. Adieu, dear friend. Let us pray always.\u201d\n\nSinister reports and wild alarms, sometimes the result of malice,\nsometimes of fear, were constantly starting up in Rome, terrifying the\nweak, and stimulating the brave to greater vigilance and courage, but\nkeeping every one on the _qui vive_ from day to day. In the midst of the\ngeneral excitement of expectation or terror, the serene confidence of Pius\nIX. remained unshaken, like the rock on which it rested. Am\u00e9lie, who was\nadmitted frequently to the honor and happiness of speaking to the Holy\nFather, was lost in wonder at it\u2014at the unearthly peace that was visible\nin his countenance and pervaded every word of his conversation. Shortly\nbefore the date of the foregoing letter, she wrote to the same friend:\n\n\u201cThe most contradictory stories are current here, but the peace, the calm,\nthe _abandon_ of the Holy Father are indescribable, and go further to\ninspire confidence than the most sinister conjectures to create terrors.\nThe daughters of Jerusalem followed our Redeemer to Calvary: a sort of\nfilial sentiment holds me in Rome. I cannot go away.... Let us pray! The\npower of prayer obtains all things.\u201d\n\nLet us pray! This had been the lifelong burthen of her song, and the cry\ngrew louder and more intense as she drew near the close. It was not the\nshrill cry of those who say, Lord! Lord! but the irrepressible voice of a\nsoul whom the spirit of prayer possessed in the fulness of its availing\npower, and side by side with whose growth grew the spirit of sacrifice,\nthe thirst for self\u2010immolation. She clung firmly to hope as the anchor of\ncourage and resignation in the present trials of the church, but the sense\nof the outrages that God\u2019s glory was enduring in the person of His Vicar\nincreased in her soul to positive anguish. The consideration of her own\nnothingness and utter inability to lighten the cross that was pressing on\nthe saintly Pontiff, pursued her day and night with the mysterious pain\nthat is born of the love of God.\n\nWhat a wonderful thing the soul of a saint or even a saintlike human being\nmust be! How one longs to go within the veil and get a glimpse of the life\nthat is lived there! It is so strange to us to see a creature take God\u2019s\ncause to heart, and pine and suffer about it as we do about our personal\ncares and sorrows. It sets us wondering what sort of inner life theirs can\nbe, and through what process of grace and correspondence and mysterious\ntraining they have grown to that state of mind when the things of God and\nhis eternity are poignant realities, and the things of earth hollow\nphantoms that have lost the power to charm, or terrify, or touch. We see\nthem hungering after justice as we hunger after bread, pining actually for\nthe accomplishment of God\u2019s will as eagerly as we pine for the success of\nour puny enterprises and the triumph of our small ambitions; and we are\nastonished, as it behoves our stupidity and hardness of heart to be, at\nthe incomprehensible character of their faith and love. When life presses\nheavily upon us, and the cross is bruising our shoulders, and all things\nare dark and dreary, we catch ourselves occasionally sighing for death.\nThis is about our nearest approach to that homesick yearning expressed in\nthe words of the apostle: \u201cI long to die, to be dissolved, and to be with\nChrist!\u201d What an altogether different feeling it must be with these\nsaintlike souls when they long for death! They are not impatient of life,\nor, like tired travellers, angry with the dust and sun of the road, and\ndisgusted with the uncomfortable wayside inn where they put up; they are\nimpatient of heaven and of the vision that makes the bliss and the glory\nof heaven. Too jealous of their Creator\u2019s rights to rob him even in desire\nof one year, or day, or hour of their poor service while he sees good to\nemploy them, they are willing to go on toiling through eternity if he\nwishes it; but they are homesick, they long to see him, they yearn after\nhis possession with a sacred unrest that we who have but little kinship\nwith their spirit cannot understand. They are saddened by their exile and\nby the sight of sin and of the small harvest their Lord\u2019s glory reaps\namidst the great harvest of iniquity that overruns the world. They watch\nthe sea of humanity rolling its waves along time, moaning with conscious\nagonies of sin, storm\u2010lashed and terrible, breaking in billows of impotent\nrage against the Rock of redemption, and dashing headlong past it into the\ngulf, where it is sucked down into everlasting darkness; and seeing these\nthings as God sees them, and as they affect his interests, they are filled\nwith sorrow, and call out for the end, that this mighty torrent may be\nstayed. They call out to the stars to rise on the far\u2010off heights, that\nloom dim and gloomy through the swirl and vapor of the storm. They would\nfain hush the winds and the waves, and hasten the advent of the Judge\nbefore whose splendor the dark horizon will vanish, and whose glory will\noutshine the sunrise and fill the universe with joy. It is not their own\nselfish deliverance or the world\u2019s annihilation that they long for, but\nits consummation in man\u2019s happiness and the Creator\u2019s glory.\n\nAm\u00e9lie longed with all the strength of her generous heart to do something\nfor her Lord, to help ever so little towards hastening the coming of his\nkingdom before he called her away. One morning, after communion, as she\nwas praying very fervently for the Holy Father, whose health just then was\na source of great anxiety amongst the faithful, this longing came upon her\nwith an intensity that she had never felt before; she was seized with a\nsudden impulse to make the sacrifice of her life in exchange for his, and\nto offer herself as a victim that he might be spared yet awhile to guide\nand sustain the church through the trials and temptations that were\nafflicting her. The impulse was so vehement that it was with difficulty\nshe restrained herself from obeying it on the spot; the desire, however,\nto obtain the blessing of obedience in her sacrifice enabled her to do so.\nShe quietly continued her thanksgiving, and, on leaving the church, went\nstraight to the Vatican. There, kneeling at the feet of the suffering\nVicar of Christ, she told him of the desire that had come to her, and\nbegged him to bless it, and to permit her to offer herself up next day at\nHoly Communion as a victim in his place if it should please God to accept\nher.\n\nPius IX. was silent for some moments, while Am\u00e9lie, with uplifted face and\nclasped hands, awaited his reply. Then, as if obeying a voice that had\nspoken to him in the silence, he laid his hand upon her head, and said,\nwith great solemnity: \u201cGo, my daughter, and do as the Spirit of God has\nprompted you.\u201d He blessed her with emotion, and Am\u00e9lie left his presence\nfilled with gladness and renewed fervor. She spent the greater part of the\nday in prayer. In the afternoon she wrote two letters: one of them, of too\nprivate a character to be given at length, contained the foregoing account\nof the morning\u2019s occurrences; the other we transcribe. It is a revelation\nbeyond all comment of the state of her soul as it stood on what she\nbelieved to be the threshold of eternity.\n\n\n    SATURDAY, Dec. 15\u2014ROME.\n\n    \u201cWe still continue in the greatest calm. _Nos chers Zouaves_ have\n    the courage of lions; they draw their strength from the blood of\n    the martyrs. Generally speaking, they are pious as angels. You see\n    them constantly during their free hours slipping off their\n    knapsack and their arms to go and kneel at the feet of the priest\n    in the confessional, or to pray at the shrine of the queen of\n    martyrs; they are truly the children of the church, and\u2014\u201d\n\n\nHere the letter broke off.\n\nThe next morning was Sunday. Am\u00e9lie repaired, as usual, to early Mass at\nS. Peter\u2019s. She received Holy Communion, and then, with the Eucharistic\nPresence warm upon her heart, she offered up her life to him who had been\nits first and last and only love. The words were hardly cold upon her\nlips, when she was seized with sudden and violent pain, and fell with a\ncry to the ground. She was surrounded immediately, and carried home.\nPriests and religious of both sexes who were in S. Peter\u2019s at the moment,\nand knew her, filled with alarm and distress, accompanied her to the\nStrada Ripresa dei Barberi. Medical aid was sent for, but it was soon\nevident that her illness was beyond the reach of human skill. All that day\nand the next she continued in agonizing pain, unable to speak or to thank\nthose about her except by a smile or a pressure of the hand. Early on the\nfollowing morning, Wednesday, she grew calmer, the pain subsided, and\nAm\u00e9lie asked for the last sacraments. She received them with sentiments of\necstatic devotion, and for some time remained absorbed in prayer. Her\nthanksgiving terminated, she took leave tenderly of those friends who\nsurrounded her, and then begged they would begin the prayers for the\ndying; they did so, and she joined in the responses with a fervor that\nwent to every heart. When they came to those grand and solemn words with\nwhich the church speeds her children into the presence of their merciful\nJudge, \u201cDepart, Christian soul, in the name of the Father who created\nthee, in the name of the Son who redeemed thee, in the name of the Holy\nGhost who sanctified thee,\u201d Am\u00e9lie bowed her head and died.\n\nThe news was conveyed at once to the Vatican. When Pius IX. heard it, he\nevinced no sudden surprise, but raised his eyes to heaven, and murmured\nwith a smile:\n\n\u201c_Si tosto accetato!_\u201d(273)\n\nThe announcement of Am\u00e9lie\u2019s death was received with universal expressions\nof dismay and sorrow. It was not only the poor, who had been her chief and\nmost intimate associates in Rome, that mourned her, all classes of society\njoined in a chorus of heartfelt regret, and proved how well they had\nappreciated the gentle French sister who had dwelt humbly amongst them\ndoing good. The house where she lay in her beautiful and heroic death\u2010\nsleep was besieged by people from every part of the city; all were anxious\nto gaze once more upon her face, to touch her hands with crosses and\nrosaries, to kneel in prayer beside the victim who had offered herself for\nthe sins of the people, and been accepted by him who delighteth not in\nburnt\u2010offerings, but in the sacrifice of a contrite heart. To her truly it\nhad been answered: \u201cO woman, great is thy faith: be it done unto thee\naccording to thy word!\u201d\n\nThe miraculous circumstances of her death were soon proclaimed. In the\nminds of those who had known her well they excited no surprise. From all\nthey called out sentiments of admiration and praise. Tears flowed\nuninterruptedly round the austere court where the virgin tabernacle rested\nfrom its labors, but they were tears sweeter than the smiles and laughter\nof earth; prayers for the dead were suspended by common impulse, and the\nspectators, exchanging the _De Profundis_ for the _Te Deum_ and the\n_Magnificat_, broke out into canticles of triumph and hymns of rejoicing.\n\nThe Zouaves, her beloved Zouaves, hurried in consternation to the house as\nsoon is the news reached them that the gentle, devoted friend of the\nsoldier was no more; and it was a beautiful and stirring sight to see them\nsobbing like children beside her, touching her hands with their sword\u2010\nhilts and their rosaries, and swelling in broken but enthusiastic voices\nthe hymns of thanksgiving.\n\nThe Holy Father, wishing to pay his tribute to the general testimony of\nlove and admiration, commanded that the child of S. Dominic should be\ncarried to her grave with a pomp and splendor befitting the holiness of\nher life and the heroic character of her death. The remains were conveyed\naccordingly first to the Basilica of the Apostles in solemn state,\nescorted by a vast concourse of people, priests and religious, and exposed\nthere throughout the morning to public veneration; a requiem Mass and the\noffice of the dead were chanted; in the afternoon, the body, followed by\nall that Rome held of greatest and best, was transported to the Church of\nSanta Maria in Ara C\u0153li. The Zouaves claimed the privilege of bearing the\nprecious remains upon their shoulders, and it was granted them. By special\npermission of His Holiness, Am\u00e9lie was interred in Santa Maria; but her\ndeath was no sooner known at Marseilles than the townspeople spontaneously\ndemanded that the body should be returned to them. But Pius IX. replied\nthat Rome had now a prior claim to its guardianship; Am\u00e9lie had made the\nsacrifice of her life at Rome and for Rome; it was fitting that the ashes\nshould remain where the holocaust had been offered and consumed.\nMarseilles yielded to the decision of the Sovereign Pontiff, and the\ndaughter of S. Dominic was left to sleep on under the august dome of the\nAra C\u0153li, there to await the angel of the resurrection, whose trumpet\nshall awake the dead and bid them come forth and clothe themselves with\nimmortality.\n\n                  \u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\u2010\n\nThe following is the authentic record of this miraculous death, as copied\nfrom the original, legalized by Cardinal Patrizi, Vicar of His Holiness:\n\n\u201cJe soussign\u00e9, cur\u00e9 de la tr\u00e8ssainte basilique constantinienne des douze\nsaints ap\u00f4tres de Rome, certifie que dans le registre XII. des d\u00e9funts,\nlettre N, page 283, se trouve l\u2019acte dont l\u2019extrait mot \u00e0 mot suit:\n\n\u201cLe vingt\u2010deux d\u00e9cembre mil\u2010huit cent soixante six.\u2014Mademoiselle Claire\u2010\nFran\u00e7oise\u2010Am\u00e9lie Lautard de Marseille, fille de M. Jean Baptiste Lautard,\nvierge tr\u00e8s pieuse, pendant quelle offrait Dimanche dernier \u00e0 Dieu sa\npropre vie pour le salut du souverain Pontife, Pie IX. de Rome et de la\nsainte \u00e9glise, a \u00e9t\u00e9 saisie sur le champ par la maladie, et ayant re\u00e7u\ntr\u00e8s pieusement les sacraments de l\u2019\u00e9glise, jouissant de la plenitude de\nses facult\u00e9s, en pri\u00e8re, entour\u00e9e de plusieurs pr\u00eatres et vierges, a rendu\nson \u00e2me a J\u00e9sus Christ son \u00e9poux, avec la plus grande s\u00e9r\u00e9nit\u00e9, le\nMercredi dix\u2010neuf \u00e0 neuf heures et demie du matin dans la maison Rue\nRipresa dei Barberi 175, l\u2019\u00e2ge de cinquante neuf ans; son corps, le\nlendemain vingt, apr\u00e8s le completuum a \u00e9t\u00e9 conduit accompagn\u00e9 par un grand\nnombre de religieuse en cette basilique et y a \u00e9t\u00e9 expos\u00e9 pendant la\nmatin\u00e9e suivant l\u2019usage des nobles, l\u2019office et la Messe ont \u00e9t\u00e9 dit, dans\nl\u2019apr\u00e8s\u2010midi le corps a \u00e9t\u00e9 transport\u00e9 \u00e0 l\u2019\u00e9glise de Sainte Marie in Ara\u2010\nC\u0153li, \u00f2u il a \u00e9t\u00e9 enseveli dans le tombeau des S\u0153urs de St. Joseph de\nl\u2019Apparition.\n\n\u201cDonn\u00e9 \u00e0 Rome,\u201d etc.(274)\n\n\n\n\nThe International Congress Of Prehistoric Anthropology And Arch\u00e6ology.\n\n\nFrom La Revue Generale De Bruxelles\n\nConcluded.\n\nThe sessions of August 25 began with fresh discussions concerning the\ntroglodytes of Menton and the so\u2010called tertiary skull from California\nalready spoken of. M. Desor entered into extensive details concerning the\nhatchets of nephrite and jade found in the Alps, and apparently of\nOriental origin. \u201cI do not believe,\u201d said he, as he ended, \u201cthat these\nhatchets were utensils, but merely objects of display, like the\ndolmens(!)\u2014precious memorials and relics of the first ages of humanity.\u201d\nM. de Quatrefages thought these hatchets a proof of ancient commercial\nrelations with the East. A great deal was said in this discussion of the\nuse of stone knives by the Egyptians in embalming the dead, and among the\nJews for circumcising. Only one thing was forgotten\u2014neither the Egyptians\nnor the Jews ever attached any religious importance to the use of stone,\nand they likewise made use of bronze and iron knives in these operations.\nThe instrument of circumcision at the present day is a steel blade.(275)\nM. Leemans, director of the museum at Leyden, thought these hatchets came\nfrom Java. He reminded us that there has always been constant intercourse\nbetween Switzerland and that island, and that the majority of the soldiers\nof the East India Company were traditionally recruited in Switzerland. The\nAbb\u00e9 Delaunay refuted M. Desor\u2019s opinion by merely referring to the\ncollection at Pont\u2010Levoy, where there are fourteen hatchets of jade found\nin that vicinity. It was thought desirable to ascertain the as yet unknown\nsource of jade. They now returned to the _hiatus_ mentioned by M. de\nMortillet at the previous session, in order to oppose it by bringing\nforward an intermediary race, for whom M. Broca was the sponsor, though\nwithout flattering it much. He engaged in a long, subtile argument on the\nway tertiary flints were introduced into the valleys and caverns. They\nwere not agreed on this question, which is one we can only regard with\nspeculative interest.\n\nThe excursions to the _ateliers_ of Spiennes and Mesvin were not as\npleasant as the one to the Lesse. For that, the country around Mons should\nbe as charming as that of the Meuse\u2014and the people likewise. There is a\nvery complete work by M. Dupont concerning these excavations, in which\nhave been found millions of rough flints, to which he does not hesitate to\nassign a quaternary origin of the mammoth period. When one has a taste of\nthe mammoth, he cannot get too much of it. I know of sceptics and\ncontroversialists who through speculations of another kind are plunged\ninto foolish incredulity. Here is an instance: from time immemorial our\nforefathers made use of flints for striking fire, and many of us can still\nremember the custom, which may not have wholly disappeared. For centuries,\nhouseholds had to be supplied with flints for the tinder\u2010box, and in\nabundance, for this stone is soon worn out by iron; it becomes furred and\nsmooth, and is soon unfit for use. If we compare the considerable traffic\nin flints that must have been carried on with the enormous consumption\nthat supports the fabrication of chemical matches, we can easily see that\nthe sites of the workshops where flints for striking fire were cut must\nhave been heaped with millions of rough ones\u2014nodules, chips, and _d\u00e9bris_\nof all kinds; that excavations must have been made by pits, which\nnecessarily extended to considerable depth, and crossed very old geologic\nstrata, for silex is found imbedded in chalk at a depth of thirty or forty\nmetres in some places; that to argue from the stratification of\nsurrounding formations, in order to decide on the synchronism of the\nexcavations, would expose us to conclude _post hoc, ergo propter hoc_. And\nI have not mentioned all the common uses made of flints in a household.\nFor many years they were used for firearms, and silex is still used in\nceramic manufactures, the origin of which is lost in the darkness of ages.\nA great many of the flints that appear cut are only fragments that may\nhave been owing to spontaneous fracture. Now, whence came all the flints\nused for striking fire during the historic periods that go back from our\ntime to the middle ages and to antiquity? Has it been proved that these\nremains, so\u2010called prehistoric, do not come within the domain of history;\nnay, even of modern history? At all events, the age of the quaternary\ndeposits is by no means established, and it is on the mere presence of\nhuman remains, or of the productions of human labor among these deposits,\nthat certain anthropologists found the millions of ages they attribute to\nour species. These remains do not indicate the site of ancient\nsettlements; they have been washed away from those settlements by currents\nof water, and the question is, What epoch produced these changes?\u2014a\nquestion not solved, and perhaps never will be.\n\nBesides, the primary defect of the whole prehistoric system is the\nindissolubly confounding of two orders of very evident facts, but which\nmay by no means have any correlation as to time. Wrought flints show\nevident traces of human labor, and there is no unprejudiced person who\ncherishes the least doubt about it. The evidence of design shown by the\nexamination of two or three specimens is in itself a proof of some value,\nbut this proof makes an irresistible impression on the mind when, in\naddition, we see an accumulation of specimens. It is, then, no longer\npossible to attribute the uniform shape of the flints to a mere accident.\nBut were they fashioned at the time of the formation of the _terrains_ in\nwhich they are embedded? That is another problem, the solution of which is\nliable to controversy. Mr. Taylor, who is very respectable authority in\nsuch matters, declares, after much conscientious research, that the\ngravel\u2010beds of St. Acheul were deposited in the earlier part of the\nChristian era. People of the historic period, such as the first\ninhabitants of Umbria and the Egyptians, made flints precisely like those\nof St. Acheul. The prodigious antiquity of man must be greatly shaken by\nthese observations. At Sinai, flint has been used to effect immense\nexcavations in the rock; it is again utilized under the form of hammers\nand chisels in the ancient copper mines of the Aztecs, in Canada, Spain,\nWady\u2010Maghara, and Bethlehem, as well as on Lake Superior, in Tuscany, and\nin Brittany. The Bedouins of Africa and the Indians of Texas still make\nuse of them; and M. Reboux, who gave the Congress a practical\ndemonstration of the mounting and use of the utensils of the stone age,\nreceived his inspiration from those savages. They make the handles out of\nthe sinews of the bison, covered with a wide strip of the animal\u2019s skin\nrecently taken off. This band is wound around grooves made in the middle\nof the hammer. The skin, as it dries, contracts, and the stone, the\nextremities of which alone are uncovered, is enclosed in a sheath so tight\nthat it cannot be drawn out.(276) It must be acknowledged, then, that the\nauthenticity of these beds at Spiennes, as prehistoric _ateliers_, appears\nexceedingly doubtful, and there is a tinge of similar incredulity in the\nbehavior of the people around the _Camp des Cayaux_: \u201cCountrymen, and even\nlittle peasant girls,\u201d says a reporter of one of our principal journals,\n\u201cwere selling the finest stones to the travellers, making superhuman\nefforts to repress smiles that threatened to explode into loud laughter. A\nsingularly ironic expression was legible in the large eyes of these\n_fillettes_ and broke through their pretended seriousness. It was very\nevident that the benighted villagers in the vicinity of Mons were not\nsufficiently initiated into the new gospel of science, and by no means had\nimplicit faith in it. The irreverence of the population was still more\nevident at the entrance of the hamlet, where a group of young women\nmanifested quite an uncivil merriment at the sight of some of the princes\nof science who were toiling along under the heavy burden of quaternary\nflint.\u201d As an example of moral contrasts, I will merely allude to Hennuyer\nand the peasant of Furfooz, one sceptical and contemptuous of everything,\nand the other with genuine respect for the traditions of his beloved\nvalleys.\n\nThe morning of the twenty\u2010seventh was mostly taken up with a report from\nGeneral Faid\u2019herbe on the dolmens of Algeria. A burst of applause greeted\nthe illustrious and genial hero of Lille. Popular sentiment seemed an\nembodiment of the\n\n\n    \u201c_Placuit victrix causa diis, sed victa Catoni_\u201d\n\n\nin the very teeth of the Borussians.(277)\n\nGeneral Faid\u2019herbe assigned a historic epoch to the origin of the dolmens.\nThese monuments, which are tombs, were the work of one race found on every\nshore from Pomerania to Tunis, and which, according to him, proceeded from\nthe north to the south. The dolmens of Africa are like those of Europe.\nBut what race was this? A blonde race from the shores of the Baltic, as\nthe speaker proved by three facts: 1. Blondes are still to be found in\nBarbary. 2. Ancient historians speak of the blonde people who lived there\nbefore the Christian era. 3. Fifteen centuries before Christ the blonde\ninhabitants of that country attacked Lower Egypt. M. Faid\u2019herbe stated\nthat when he lived in Senegal there were two powerful negro tribes in the\ncountries on the upper Niger having a political organization of relative\nadvancement. The complexion of the royal family was somewhat clear, and\nthey prided themselves on their descent from white ancestors. Etymological\nindices lead us to believe that this dynasty descended from the blonde\nrace of the dolmens.\n\nM. Worsaae opposed the general\u2019s opinion, and maintained that the builders\nof the dolmens, on the contrary, proceeded from the south to the north,\nwhere they attained the height of their civilization. M. Cartailhac,\nhowever, stated an important fact that weakens this objection: the dolmens\nof the South of France contain metallic objects whose place of fabrication\ncould not have been far off; those of the interior and the North only\ncontained articles of polished stone.\n\nA small man now sprang into the tribune, fierce as Orestes tormented by\nthe Eumenides, with black eyes, long streaming hair, and a person of\nincessant mobility. It is one of the princes of oriental philology\u2014M.\nOppert, who began a demonstration of the chronology of remote historical\ntimes, which he continued in the afternoon session. He assured us, as he\nbegan, that he did not intend to offend any one\u2019s religious convictions,\nor to discuss the chronology of the Bible, which, in his eyes, is\neminently respectable. In his opinion, the difference of the dates pointed\nout in different chronological tables can be explained without any\ndifficulty. M. Oppert showed us how the chronologies of Egypt and Chaldea,\nwhich were calculated by cycles of unequal length, begin with the same\ndate\u2014the 19th of January, Gregorian (the 27th of April, Julian), of the\nyear 11542 B.C.!\n\nHe therefore concluded that the people of those regions must have observed\nthe important astronomical phenomena of that time, the risings of Sirius\nperhaps, which would indicate a degree of civilization somewhat advanced\nfor a period _still ante\u2010historic_. I like to recall the very words he\nused; they are full of meaning.\n\nM. Ribeiro had made researches in Portugal that appeared to him conclusive\nas to the existence of pliocene man, and he produced tertiary flints which\nhe believed to be cut. The Abb\u00e9 Bourgeois, who could not remain\nindifferent to any proof of tertiary man, allowed an unexpected\ndeclaration to escape his lips. \u201cI should like,\u201d said he, \u201cto consider\nthese fragments as authentic proofs of the truth of my theory, but the\ntruth obliges me to declare that I cannot discover any evidence of human\nlabor in them.\u201d M. Ribeiro sank into his seat under this _coup de hache\u2010\npolie_, and tertiary man was properly buried, after a later correction\nfrom M. Bourgeois, who admitted that one of M. Ribeiro\u2019s flints bore marks\nof human labor, but he had doubts as to its bed.\n\nAnthropology and ethnography had the honors during the greater part of\nthis session.\n\nM. Lagneau said the researches made in Belgium showed there were three\nperfectly distinct species of men in this country, and he opposed M.\nDupont\u2019s opinion that the skulls of Furfooz belong to the Mongoloid race.\nM. Hamy demonstrated anatomically that a particular race, the Australioid,\nis spread throughout Europe. The jaw from Naulette appears to belong to\nthis race; the skull from Engis belongs to another. M. Hamy thought he\ndiscovered some of the characteristics of the Australioid race in certain\ninferior types in Belgium and France. These primitive races are not\nextinct. They still peep out in isolated cases of atavism, and he\nexhibited a curious instance\u2014the hideous portrait of a boat\u2010woman of the\nneighborhood of Mons, with all the characteristics of the Australioid race\nof the mammoth period. In this selection of a Montois type there was a\nspice of revenge evident to every one. M. Virchow found a manifest\ndifference between the skulls at the British Museum and those of criminals\nin the collection at the university. The Flemish skulls present the same\nprognathism as those of Furfooz, and certain types have characteristics\nthat might cause them to be classed with the Mongoloid race.\n\nAs to the size of the skull, it is not owing to the development of the\npsychical faculties, and we should be cautious about drawing premature\nconclusions concerning the primitive races of this country. M. Virchow\ncited the example of the two skulls found in a Greek tomb of the\nMacedonian epoch, the form and size of which induced him to class them\nunhesitatingly with the Mongoloids of the caverns of the Lesse. Now, one\nof these skulls was that of a Greek woman of great distinction, both as to\nher social condition and intellectual culture. The learned professor from\nBerlin expressed a doubt as to the Germanic origin of the Flemings. M.\nLagneau also thought we should not decide too hastily about the races that\nfirst inhabited Belgium. He could not see why the Flemings and Germans\nshould have the same origin. In Germany, Belgium, and France the races are\nexcessively mixed up. Germany was repeatedly invaded by people from Gaul.\nPrognathism alone is not typical any more than the temperament, color of\nthe hair, etc.\n\nM. Vanderkindere thought the Flemish of Germanic origin, and the Walloon\nof Celtic. Blondes do not belong to the Aryan races. Prognathism is more\ncommon in them than in the dark people of the country, in which the\nspeaker finds Ligurian traces, as in the basin of the Loire (Liger\u2010\nLiguria). Now, the blonde race, has always thought itself superior, and\nthis belief was so strong in Flanders in the heart of the middle ages that\nthe mother of Berthulphe de Ghistelles, displeased at the alliance her son\nhad contracted with the beautiful Godelive, a native of Boulonnais, whom\nher contemporaries reproached solely on account of her black hair and\neyebrows, expressed her contempt in these significant terms: \u201c_Cur,\ninquit, cornicem de terra aliena eduxisti?_\u201d She thought it disgraceful to\ndefile the pure blood of her antique Germanic race (_alti tui sanguinis_)\nby such an alliance.\n\nIn a subsequent session, this question of races came on the carpet again.\nM. Dupont, combining the observations made in the three excursions (that\nto Namur had taken place the day before), established a filiation between\nthe different peoples who inhabited Belgium in different periods of the\nstone age. The people of Mesvin, the Somme, the Tamise, and the Seine were\ncontemporaries. The race of Mesvin inhabited Hainault at the same time as\nthe troglodytes, whom they did not know. It might have been the people of\nMesvin and the Somme, who, gradually attaining to polished stone, invaded\nthe country occupied by the less advanced people of the caverns. M.\nVirchow could not recommend too much prudence to those who are\ninvestigating the science of anthropology. In prehistoric times, as in our\nday, there were variations of the same race, but that is not accounted for\nby atavism. It must be concluded that men were simultaneously created or\nborn in several places, and different types sprang from the commingling of\nthe actual races. We take pleasure in collecting these indirect\nacknowledgments from the lips that dared say, \u201cThere is no place in the\nuniverse for a God, nor in man for a soul.\u201d M. de Quatrefages thought,\nlike M. Virchow, that all the various races cannot be owing to atavism.\nCrossing has a good deal to do with it. It is allowable to refer the\nvariety of types to the more or less commingling of the ancient races, as\nthey are everywhere mingled now. We can hardly deny, however, that the\npresent population partly descended from the troglodytes. The people of\nFurfooz must still have some representatives in Belgium, especially among\nthe women. Science proves that woman retains the type of the race to which\nshe belongs longer than man. At a later day we shall doubtless succeed in\ndeciphering the origin of the human races. In these researches we must\nalso consider the action of _les milieux_. Mlle. Royer expressed a\ndisbelief in the unity of the human species. Unfortunately, the inevitable\ncrossing is always obstructing her observations. She absolutely refuses to\nadmit that the white man is Aryan, or at least Asiatic. She hopes,\nhowever, some day to obtain a solution of these great problems. How far,\nmadame, your knowledge extends, and how astonishingly you have retained\nthe persistent type of _madame la guenon_ from whom you flatter yourself\nto have descended! After other discussions concerning the bronze utensils\nfound in various parts of Europe, and the influence of Etruscan art, which\nextended even to the North, M. Baudre undertook the demonstration of a\npoint singular enough. Primitive man, he said, doubtless possessed the\nmusical faculty, and it is impossible with his knowledge of the flint he\ndaily used that it should not have occurred to him to apply the\nsonorousness of that stone to some practical use. No one can positively\ndeclare this was so, but who can deny it? M. Baudre has constructed an\ninstrument composed of accordant flints\u2014a prehistoric piano\u2014on which he\nexecuted a _braban\u00e7onne_ that would have excited the envy of the\n_Moncrabeaux_. It is neither more nor less insupportable than the modern\ninstrument of torture of which some unideal creature, with bent body and a\nprey to convulsive jerks, strikes the senseless ivory with his skinny\nphalanges till it shrieks under the touch.\n\nOf the excursion to Namur we will only allude to what bore on the\nscientific labors of the Congress; that is, the visit to the Camp of\nHastedon. The delightful, cordial reception given us in that pleasant\ntown, the banquet and concert which followed, will not soon be effaced\nfrom the memory of the excursionists. The plateau of Hastedon, close to\nNamur, rests on a solid mass of dolomite, and is surrounded by a bastion\ncomposed of fagots calcined\u2014it is not known how, huge boulders, and a\nthick layer of earth and stones. The Romans occupied it for a certain\ntime, but the parapets that surround it are much more ancient. It is an\nimmense plain, eleven hectares in extent, strewed with flints, both\nwrought and polished, that came from Spiennes, while those of the caverns\nof the Lesse came from Champagne. The troglodytes of the Lesse and the\npeople of Spiennes were contemporaries in the age of cut stone, but there\nwas no intercourse between them. During the age of polished stone, on the\ncontrary, the importation of flints from Champagne ceased in the region of\nthe caverns, and the flint of Spiennes was diffused among the plateaux of\nupper Belgium. The inhabitants of Spiennes extended their former bounds,\npenetrated to that region, and fortified it. According to M. Dupont, the\nCamp of Hastedon must have been one of their fortresses.\n\nThe final _s\u00e9ance_ of the Congress opened with a very interesting and\nanimated discussion as to the first use of bronze and iron. Where did the\nbronze come from? M. Oppert thought it of European origin. The Ph\u0153nicians\nwent to England for tin rather than to the East. M. Worsaae was convinced\nit came from Asia, and that a bronze age will be discovered in Egypt. M.\nLeemans was of the opinion that the iron age preceded the bronze in India\nand Ceylon. M. Conestabile was inclined to think the Ph\u0153nicians obtained\ntheir tin from the Caucasus rather than England. M. Franks said they might\nhave found it in Spain and Portugal, and M. Waldemar\u2010Schmidt thought the\nEgyptians obtained theirs from Africa.\n\nM. de Quatrefages afterwards summed up the character of the Congress of\nBrussels: it appears from scientific evidence in every direction that\ncertain existing types have an incontestable resemblance to the people of\nthe quaternary period. In the second place, it now seems established that\nman of the stone age travelled much more than has been supposed.\n\nThe close of the session was marked by two occurrences that produced a\nstrong impression on the assembly. The two workmen who so ably assisted M.\nDupont in the exploration of the caverns had, at the solicitation of the\ncommittee, the _d\u00e9coration ouvri\u00e8re_ conferred on them by Messrs. de\nQuatrefages and Capellini. Then a letter from M. G. Geefs was read,\nstating that he had made a bust of M. d\u2019Omalius unbeknown to the latter,\nwhich he offered as a mark of homage to the Congress. This bust, concealed\nat the end of the apartment, was uncovered and presented to the venerable\npresident, old in years but youthful in feeling, whose fine noble career\nM. de Quatrefages retraced in an address sparkling with wit. Then, after\nsome isolated communications, the Congress passed a resolution to hold its\nseventh meeting at Stockholm, in 1874, under the effective presidency of\nPrince Oscar of Sweden, and the Congress was declared adjourned.\n\nWe cannot better end this report, which I should have liked to make more\ncomplete, than by quoting M. Dupont\u2019s _r\u00e9sum\u00e9_ (a little indefinite, in my\nopinion) of the labor of the Sixth International Congress of Prehistoric\nAnthropology and Arch\u00e6ology:\n\n\u201cAfter the weighty discussions that have taken place at the Congress of\nBrussels,\u201d says M. le Secr\u00e9taire G\u00e9n\u00e9ral, \u201cit is proper to lay before the\npublic the chief problems discussed by the learned assembly. These\nproblems have not all been definitely solved. That was not to be expected,\nfor the result of such scientific meetings is seldom the decision of\nquestions, but rather stating them with clearness and precision. The\ndiscussions at such meetings lead to the opening of new paths, and\npreparing the way, by throwing new light on it, for calm and persevering\nlabor in the study. There alone is it possible to weigh the value of\narguments, elucidate obscure points, and arrive at conclusions. In this\nspirit six principal points have been drawn up:\n\n\u201c1. Did man really exist in the middle of the tertiary period? Several of\nthe specialists present at the Congress declared in the affirmative. But\nit appeared, especially from the flints discovered by the Abb\u00e9 Bourgeois,\nthat further researches should be undertaken before science can decide on\na point so important in the history of mankind. The bed of the flints in\nquestion was ultimately regarded as incontestable.\n\n\u201c2. The formation of the valleys and the filling of the caverns were\nregarded as the result of fluvial action. The study of these phenomena may\nbe considered as the fundamental point of research respecting man of the\nquaternary epoch.\n\n\u201c3. The bones of goats, sheep, and oxen, discovered in the deposits of the\nmammoth age in the Belgian caverns, were acknowledged to be similar to our\ngoats, sheep, and certain species of our domestic cattle. An opinion was\nadvanced that perhaps they originated these domestic species, whose origin\nhas often been sought in vain.\n\n\u201c4. Communications between different tribes of the stone age in Western\nEurope were for the first time distinctly stated. The people of the\nquaternary epoch were divided into two classes, one of which, by the\nregular development of its industrial pursuits, arrived at such a degree\nof progress that it was thought they must have invaded the region of the\nBelgian caverns in the age of polished stone, and subjugated our\ntroglodytes.\n\n\u201c5. The discovery at Eygenbilsen gave occasion for recognizing the\nEtruscan influence in our region previous to the Roman conquest. There was\na disposition to admit that the intercourse between Italy and the\nScandinavian countries must have been much later.\n\n\u201c6. The opinion that the anthropological types of the quaternary epoch\nhave survived, and constitute an essential element of existing European\nnations, was admitted in principle by all the anthropologists who\nexpressed any opinion on the subject. The problem of the origin of\nEuropean races is thus placed in an entirely new light.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nAtlantic Drift\u2014Gathered In The Steerage.\n\n\nBy An Emigrant.\n\nConcluded.\n\nThe generally fortunate voyage of our vessel was varied by two or three\ndays of very rough weather, and the miseries of our first night at sea\nwere intensified by a violent gale. The fast steamer, built with lines\ncalculated for excessive speed, cut through rather than breasted the\nwaves. Tons of clear water washed over the whaleback, knocking over one or\ntwo hapless wights, and drenching many others. Her wind\u2010ward side was\nincessantly swept by blinding showers of heavy spray. To pass from the\nshelter of the main deck to the entrance of our steerage was a veritable\nrunning the gauntlet. You watched till the ship rose, and then ran at full\nspeed for the shelter of the whaleback, happy if you reached it without\nbeing rolled by a sudden lurch into the scuppers, or losing your balance\nand clinging to the nearest rope or stanchion, being soused by the spray\nfrom the next wave that struck her.\n\nThe storm raged more fiercely as the evening advanced, and from timid lips\ncame stories of the lost _City of Boston_ and the hapless _London_, while\nmore experienced hands regretted their precipitancy in selecting a vessel\nof a line in which every other quality was said to have been sacrificed to\nthat of excessive speed, and indulged in uncomfortable surmises as to the\nconsequences of the shaft snapping or the engines breaking down. When the\ndamp and chill of the advancing night drove us to our bunks, we clambered\ndown\u2010stairs, and, staggering away into our respective streets, crawled in.\nTo realize my first impression of the steerage of our vessel at night,\nwhen its cavernous space was lit, or rather its grim darkness made\nvisible, by a single lantern, would require the pen of Dickens or the\ngraphic pencil of Gustave Dor\u00e9. Crouching between those bunks and the roof\ngrotesque forms, dimly seen in the obscure light, threw weird shadows on\nthe cabin sides. Here one busily engaged, under innumerable difficulties,\nin making up a neat bed of sheets and blankets, into which he afterwards\nburrows by an ingenious backward movement, like a shore crab hiding\nhimself in the sand left uncovered by the receding tide; while his next\nneighbor retires to rest by the simple process of kicking off his boots,\npulling his battered night\u2010cap over his eyes, and stretching himself on\nthe bare boards, with a muttered string of curses on the ship, the\nweather, and the world in general, for his evening orisons. At a corner of\none of the tables appear a group of players poring over their cards in a\n_chiaro\u2010oscuro_ that recalls a scene of Teniers or Van Ostade, while at\nanother a group are gathered round a young vocalist who quavers out in a\ndull monotone a curious medley of sentimental ditties and music\u2010hall\nvulgarities. Gradually all drop away into their bunks, and everything is\nstill, save the deep breathing of some hundred souls, and the groans of\nthe sufferers from the malady of the sea. Occasionally the heavy plunge of\nthe ship, as she dashes into some mountainous wave, extinguishes the lamp\nwith the shock, and buries the little windows under water, leaving the\ncabin for a few seconds in profound darkness. In the gale during the first\nnight of our voyage, one tremendous billow struck the ship, burying us in\nblack night, and rolling trunks, tins, and clothes cluttering to leeward\nwith the lurch of the vessel, and awakening all in a moment from their\nslumbers. A general consternation prevailed, and while some called in\nangry tones for the lamp to be relighted, others could be heard muttering\nthe unfamiliar words of a half\u2010forgotten prayer. As the great ship shook\nin her conflict with the raging sea, and we heard overhead the rush of\nmany feet and the swash on deck of a heavy mass of water, I felt nervous\nenough till she rose again and, creeping to the little window, I could see\nthe cold moon throwing a silvery track across the waste of raging, wind\u2010\nlashed surges.\n\nI thought of the great ships that had gone down, crowded with hundreds of\nunprepared and unthinking souls, into the cruel bosom of the great ocean;\nperhaps their unknown fate was to sink in the darkness of the night,\ncrushed in a moment by an iceberg, or, maimed and helpless, battered to\npieces and submerged by the angry waves. What a horrible death\u2010agony must\nbe that of the doomed, who, after the sudden crash of a collision, or\nbattened down in their dark prison in a raging storm, heard the cataract\nof water roar down the hatchway, greedy to engulf them! For a few moments\nwhat fearful struggles would take place in the crowded cabin to mount the\nbunks and gain the last mouthful of the retiring air, until the flood\nburied all in the bosom of the deep, in a silence to be broken only by the\ntrumpet of the Judgment Day! Should I, I pondered, in such a dark hour,\nhave the strength of mind or grace of God to lie still on my bed and let\nthe rising water cut short the prayer on my lips, or, hoping against hope,\nwith angrily raging heart die fighting to breathe a few seconds longer the\nvital air? Of a truth, to die suffocated in the darkness, without a last\nlook at the great vault of heaven, a last breath of the pure air, seemed\nto me to be to doubly die.\n\nIf I suffered some discomfort and perhaps a little anxiety from the\noccasional anger of the mighty main, it was far more than compensated for\nby its aspect in its calmer and more peaceful moods. I cannot understand\nhow in a few days voyagers can learn to complain of the monotony of the\nsea; to me, its different moods in calm and storm, the snowy crests of the\ndancing waves, the foaming and often phosphorescent wake of the great\nsteamer, and the ever\u2010changing aspects of the cloud\u2010laden heavens, were\nobjects of untiring interest. If I had the magic pen of the author of the\n_Queen of the Air_, I would write a book on the cloud\u2010scenery of the\nAtlantic. Never, even in the purest Italian sky or the cloudless heavens\nabove the vast expanse of a Western prairie, have I seen Diana so purely\nfair, Lucifer so bright, or Aurora clad in such varied garments of purple\nand rose; such a wonderful vault lined with innumerable flakes of spotless\nwool left by the dying wind; such masses of cumulus, sometimes as solidly\nwhite as Alpine summits, sometimes before the rain\u2010storm luridly gray\u2010\nblack with the gathered water, like the massive bulk of Snowdon seen\nthrough a driving rain; and, once or twice, the pall of the thunder\u2010storm\nrising over the leeward heaven and advancing towards us, its ragged edge\nmomentarily lit up with the blazing tongues of the lightning, until it\nrolled over, deafening with its dread artillery and hiding all around in\nmist and blinding rain. The grandeur of sunset and of sunrise, when not\nobscured by the mistiness of a moist atmosphere, was indescribable. Every\nnight, with renewed pleasure, we watched the god of day sink beneath the\nwestern horizon. Turner, in his wildest dreams of those gorgeous heaven\u2010\npictures that he had not seen on earth but felt that he would love to see,\nimagined no greater luxury of gold, carmine, purple, crimson, rose, and\nrose\u2010tinged snow, than was afforded by some of the spectacles of the\nsetting sun. One evening still holds my memory entranced: the heavy\ncurtain of dull gray mist that all day had lain low over the sea rolled\neastward before the evening breeze; the emerging sun, low on the horizon,\ndyed the receding masses of cloud with a thousand shades of livid purple;\nthe peaks and shoulders of the eastern range of mountains of dark vapor\ncaught the light, while between them sank valleys and depths more sombre\nby the contrast. Westward, below the rosy, almost blood\u2010red sun, ran two\nlong narrow filaments of purple cloud, dark across the glow of the\nheavens, like bars across a furnace. A few moments, and the shining orb\nsinks beneath them, fringing their edges with refulgent gold, then falls\ninto a sea of liquid fire. A little longer the crimson hues linger on the\neastern curtain of clouds, then grow fainter and fainter, and die away\ninto the gray hues of a moonless night.\n\nAmong the five hundred emigrants our good ship carried there were, it is\nneedless to say, many men of different speech, and almost every diversity\nof occupation and character. Besides the four nations of Great Britain, we\nhad Germans, Danes, Swedes, and Norwegians in considerable numbers, a few\nFrench, Poles, and Russians, a Levantine Jewess and her children, and a\nsolitary American. With the Teutons my ignorance of their language\nprevented me holding further converse than to learn their nationality and\ntheir destination\u2014generally Illinois, Minnesota, or Wisconsin. Unlike the\nIrish, with whom New York seemed to fulfil all their notions of America,\nthe Germans and Scandinavians appeared all westward bound, in large\nparties, organized for agricultural life; and while they were in a\nconsiderable minority on the vessel, they formed much the larger\nproportion of the passengers in the emigrant cars. The amount of their\nbaggage was something prodigious. Nearly all apparently peasants in their\nnative land, they seemed on leaving it to transport everything they\npossessed except the roof over their heads to their adopted country. What\nwould not break they enclosed in immense bags of ticking and rough canvas,\nand the residue of their property in arklike chests, the immense weight\nand sharp iron\u2010bound corners of which moved the sailors to multiform\nblasphemy. For my part, I had read so much of the contented prosperity of\nthe peasantry in Norway and Sweden that I speculated not a little as to\nwhat cause could lead them to make the long and expensive migration from\nChristiania or Gottenburg to the so far off shores of the Mississippi.\n\nWith the Germans, who came principally from the neighborhood of Mannheim,\nthe case was different. Several of them could speak a little French, nor\nwere they reticent as to the principal cause that led them to desert their\nfatherland: it was the man tax, levied by the empire of blood and iron on\ntheir youth and manhood, that drove them from their farms in the sweet\nRhine valley to seek abodes in the new and freer world. Several of them\nhad followed the Bavarian standard under Von Tannen through the hardships\nand carnage of the Franco\u2010German war; but to the shrewd sense of the\npeasant the halo of military glory and the pomp of wide empire meant but\nconscription and taxation, fields untilled, and wife and children\nstarving, while the blood of father and son was poured out to indite a new\npage in the gory annals of warlike fame.\n\nBy the way, one of them assured us that never in the fiercest time of that\ndeadly strife, even when, in long forced marches, driving Bourbaki\u2019s\nbroken bands through the snows of Jura, had they fared so badly as he did\nthen, to which I may add the experience of an Englishman\u2014whose sinister\ncountenance and shabby attire gave increased weight to his testimony\u2014who\naverred that we fared little better than in a workhouse and worse than in\na jail.\n\nAmongst us there were many mechanics, principally Irish, who were\nreturning from visits to their friends; nor can I omit to chronicle their\nuniform and emphatic testimony as to the benefit they had received from\ntheir emigration. In New York, Philadelphia, Boston, or Chicago, they were\nsure of work, could live and dress comfortably, and lay by a large\nproportion of their earnings, while in England, and still more in Ireland,\nthey were happy when their earnings kept them in lodging, food, and\nclothing, and saving was neither thought of nor possible. From what I\ncould learn, the position of the unskilled laborer appeared by no means so\nbright. The different system of hiring in America made the nominally\nhigher wages more precarious than in the old country; and I suspect that\neverywhere the untaught man, who, ignorant of any distinct branch of\nindustry, brings only his thews and sinews to market, is, and will ever\nbe, but \u201ca hewer of wood and drawer of water\u201d\u2014an ill\u2010paid and little\nvalued drudge.\n\nFor one class of the Irish emigrants, of whom we had a certain number on\nboard, their countrymen entertained a profound and not unfounded contempt.\nYouths from Cork or Dublin shops or offices, whom dissipation or\nmisconduct had thrown out of place, or the desire of novelty or adventure\nhad attracted to the New World\u2014unfit for manual labor, and without any\nspecial qualification for commerce\u2014their heads were turned with tales of\nthe giddy whirl of New York life, in their notions of which gallantry,\nwhiskey, politics, calico balls, and rowdy patriotism made a curious\nmedley. Their general ambition was to be bar\u2010tenders, and with some\nexceptions their usual behavior showed them to be little fitted for any\nbetter avocation.\n\nOne of the characters that most attracted my attention, though I elicited\nbut little response to my advances from his taciturn nature, was a miner\nfrom Montana\u2014a man of short stature but powerful build, with, a\ndetermined, weather\u2010beaten face, and a decidedly sinister squint, who had\nrambled over the greater part of California, Nevada, Utah, Washington, and\nMontana, and apparently returned no richer from his wanderings. Having\nbeen a seaman before he took to a mountain life, his gait had acquired an\nindescribably curious mixture of the out\u2010kneed walk of a man constantly on\nhorseback with the roll of a sailor, while he had, too, a curious habit of\ninvoluntarily working the fingers of his right hand as if they held a six\u2010\nshooter. He usually restricted himself to the bachelor society under the\nwhaleback, and, chary of his words, amused himself with an amateur\nsurveillance of the operations of the men, or occasionally exchanged\nreminiscences in brief sentences with two or three other returned\nCalifornians: how he and his mates had killed a grizzly at the foot of\nMount Helena; how he had made \u00a31,200 in eight months from a claim in\nSiskiyou County, and lost it all in working another in El Dorado County,\nat which he persevered fruitlessly for three years, while the claims on\neach side brought heavy piles to their workers; how he had seen twenty\u2010six\n\u201croad agents\u201d hanged together in Montana; and other tales of far West\nmining, murder, and debauchery. Once only his hard face relaxed into a\nlaugh at a story he told of two men who quarrelled in a California saloon,\nand, dodging round the table, while the rest of the company made for the\ndoor or skulked behind the beer barrels, emptied their revolvers at each\nother with no worse effect than one slight scratch. That twelve barrels\nshould go off and no one be killed seemed to be too ridiculous, and his\nrisible faculties overcame him accordingly. Strangely enough, while he\nspoke with the most hearty enthusiasm as to the pleasures of a\nmountaineering life, which he declared, with a good horse, a trusty rifle,\nand staunch mates, was the finest in the world, and to judge from\nappearances had certainly not made his pile, he never intended to return\nwestward, but was bound for some city of the South. Possibly some episodes\nin his checkered existence had caused him to bear in mind the shortened\ncareer of the twenty\u2010six road agents with a distinctness that determined\nhis preference for this side of the Rocky Mountains.\n\nThe most lively time of the day was the evening after the five o\u2019clock\ntea; the sailors during the dog\u2010watches\u2014from four to eight\u2014do not turn in,\nbut remain on deck, and they amused or persecuted the female passengers\nwith a coarse gallantry that generally made the more modest women remain\nbelow; the cooks, engineers, and firemen stood at their doors in the deck\u2010\nhouse and greeted with horse\u2010banter the passers\u2010by; while on the open\nspace before the wheel\u2010house a few couples danced to the music of an\naccordion, or tried to tire each other out to the whistled tune of an\nIrish jig. A pair of professional singers, husband and wife, to whose\nretinue I usually attached myself, used to sit at the door of the saloon\nand favor us with selections from their repertory, often with a success\nthat brought metallic appreciation from the gentlemen in the neighboring\nsmoking\u2010room; till after sunset\u2014generally interpreted with extreme\nliberality\u2014one of the stewards of the after\u2010steerage literally hunted the\nwomen down\u2010stairs; and then often on fine nights the sailors would cluster\nround the open hatchway and sing for or banter with their favorites below.\n\nThe behavior of the sailors towards the women was the subject of constant\ncomplaint by the more respectable of the passengers throughout the voyage;\nin the evening, no woman without her husband was safe from their\npersecution, and not always with him at her side; as they stood by each\nother, and always had the sheath\u2010knife at their side, the men were not\nvery ready to commence a quarrel with them; if their advances were\nresented, they were apt to change from coarse good\u2010humor to the most\nrevolting and obscene abuse. Hence, as I have mentioned, many of the women\nwould not return to the deck after the evening meal. In short, if other\nsteamers are like the one in which we made the passage, no young woman\ncould cross in the steerage without her modesty being daily shocked, and,\nif she was unprotected, running great risk of actual insult. I have\nmentioned that the deck bar was at the head of our staircase and\nconsequently near the sailors\u2019 cabin; one night it was broken open and\ncleared of its contents; whether the culprits were either sought for or\ndetected, I never heard; but certainly the seamen next day were in a state\nof extreme conviviality: and, under the emboldening influence of liquor,\none lively young mariner put his arm round the waist of a very handsome\nyoung Englishwoman, whose ladylike dress and appearance had so far\nprevented her from being molested in this way. A fight between her husband\nand the delinquent was with difficulty prevented by the bystanders, and\nthe former went to complain to the chief officer; he mustered the watch\nand read them a lecture on their not interfering with the female\npassengers, and told the culprit he would hand him over to the authorities\nat Castle Garden on his arrival at New York, who would certainly send him\nfor six months to prison. The latter did not seem much discomposed at the\nintimation, and the day I landed in the Empire City he appeared at our\nboardinghouse on Washington Street in a state of great hilarity and beer,\nand informed us with much blasphemy that he had cut his connection with\nthe ship.\n\nThe emigrant passengers on board our ship suffered much annoyance and\ndiscomfort; but I do not hesitate to say that most of our troubles arose\nfrom the crew and attendants rather than the arrangements of the ship\nitself. Much of the accommodation provided\u2014for instance, in the case of\nthe wash\u2010houses and fresh\u2010water pumps\u2014was made useless by the negligence\nor surliness of the men by whom they were controlled; the victuals seemed\ngenerally to be of good quality, and, except in the case of the fresh\nbread and sugar, were provided with lavish if not wasteful abundance, but\nthey were usually carelessly cooked, if not actually uneatable, and served\nin the roughest and most heedless manner. The crew were a most disorderly\nset\u2014quarrels were of constant occurrence. I saw two fights\u2014one between the\ninterpreter attached to the after\u2010steerage and one of the stewards; and\nanother, which took place between the head\u2010cook and the butcher in the\nsaloon galley; and I heard of several others. The cooks and bakers in the\nsteerage galley were changed once or twice during the voyage, but no\nchange for the better resulted. I attribute this want of anything like\ndiscipline or attentiveness to their duties to the constant change of the\nmen on board these steamers; they only sign articles for the run out and\nhome, rarely remaining more than one or two voyages in the ship, and many\ngo the westward voyage merely to get to New York and desert the ship the\nmoment they arrive there. I was told the chief officer called the _milors_\ntogether and promised them, as the ship was short\u2010handed (she had seven\nless than her complement of 28 seamen), they should receive \u00a35 10_s._ per\nmonth instead of the \u00a34 10_s._ for which they had shipped; but in spite of\nthis, nearly half of them would desert when the ship came to her moorings.\nThe cooks, bakers, and stewards are engaged in the same way, and the\nconsequence is, before they can all be got to understand their positions\nand work well together, they are paid off and a new set come on board. If\nthe companies could form a permanent staff for their vessels, and go to\nthe same care and expense over their organization as they give to the\nmaterial equipment of their splendid vessels, an immense change for the\nbetter would be effected in the comfort and convenience of the emigrant.\nAs to the distribution of provisions, the passengers might be arranged in\nmesses of ten or twenty, some of whose number would fetch their food from\nthe galley for allotment among themselves, and thus give them an\nopportunity of eating their meals at table in a more Christianlike and\nless piggish manner than the majority are at present compelled to do. Nor\ndo I see any great difficulty or additional expense in a different\narrangement of the bunks, by which, at the sacrifice of the wide space in\nthe middle of the steerage, they could be grouped on each side of a\ncentral table, so that each twenty or thereabouts would form a partially\nseparated room, with its own table and its own mess.\n\nAt last, early on the second Sunday morning, the thunderlike roll of the\ncable paid out over our heads awoke us as the ship came to anchor off\nStaten Island, and later in the day she moored alongside the company\u2019s\nwharf in New Jersey. In sight of the promised land, the fatigue and\nannoyance of the voyage were soon forgotten. A liberal meal of fresh and\nunusually well\u2010cooked beef and plum\u2010duff, eaten undisturbed by the\nvessel\u2019s motion, made the memory of the disgusting messes we had endured\nor revolted at less poignant. The entire passengers went on shore in the\nforenoon, but none of the emigrants were allowed to leave, or any one to\ncome on board the ship. Boatfuls of friends of the passengers came\nalongside, and the word passed along the deck that Mrs. Brady\u2019s husband or\nMary Cahill\u2019s brother was seeking her. Numberless inquiries were shouted\nas to Mike, or Mary, or the children, until the gray twilight hid the\nspires and streets of the great city across the river. The chief officer\ncame round early with a lantern, and summarily dismissed all the women\nbelow, and all went quietly to rest. Often, I believe, the last night on\nboard the emigrant ship is a scene of wild revelry, if not actual\ndebauchery; but the want of liquor\u2014none was sold after the vessel came to\nher moorings\u2014and the absence of the fairer sex, effectually quenched any\nconvivial tendencies.\n\nAt an early hour next morning the luggage was run out of the hold, and\ntumbled pell\u2010mell on deck; and the youth of either sex, hitherto contented\nwith the shabbiest and most negligent of attire, watched eagerly for their\nboxes, dragged them to a convenient corner, and made an elaborate\ntoilette, either for the benefit of their American friends or to give the\n_coup de gr\u00e2ce_ to the sweethearts they had encountered on the voyage. It\nwas like the transformation scene in a pantomime, and I could hardly\nrecognize my lady acquaintances in their gay bonnets and neat dresses.\nMuch of their finery, however, suffered serious damage before they emerged\non the Bowery. In the afternoon, the custom\u2010house officer came on board\nand took his place near the gangway, alongside of which lay a tender for\nthe passengers and a barge for the luggage. The boxes were scattered all\nover the deck, and to get them examined one had to drag them to the\nofficer, open them and close them, obtain a Castle Garden check from an\nofficial at the head of the gangway, and then they went over the side on\nto the barge, and the passenger on to the tender. Every one was anxious to\nbe off, and all scrambled at once towards the gangway, dragging boxes and\nbundles with them. Never did we see such a scene of tumult and confusion.\nSuch a babel of tongues; such despair at boxes that either would not open,\nor more frequently, being opened, would not shut; such lamentations over\ntheir often hopelessly shattered contents\u2014the married women imploring some\none to mind their children while they dragged their boxes to the gangway;\nthe single ones begging quondam admirers to help them to move their heavy\ntrunks\u2014appeals to which the latter, sufficiently engrossed with their own\nstruggle to be off, generally turned a deaf and unkind ear. The custom\u2010\nhouse officer seemed to discharge his duty with as much good\u2010humor as the\nnecessity of examining some thousand boxes in a limited time would allow.\nWe got off with the first tenderful, and after waiting an hour or two in\nCastle Garden, where we at once cleared the refreshment stall of what we\nthen thought delicious coffee and pies, we were told to fetch our luggage\non the following day, and then passed out into Broadway to seek our\nvarious fortunes.\n\nIn the boarding\u2010house where I spent the night in New York, I met\npassengers from most of the other lines. All complained of their\naccommodations, and affected to believe that they had unfortunately\nselected the most uncomfortable service. For my own part, I believe that\non the whole there is but little to choose between the accommodations and\nprovisions supplied by the different companies, and that the description I\nhave given of the arrangements of one line would generally apply to the\nrest.\n\n\n\n\nMartyrs And Confessors In Christ.\n\n\nNor let any of you be sad, on the ground that he is less than those who,\nbefore you having suffered torments, have come by the glorious journey to\nthe Lord, the world being conquered and trodden down. The Lord is the\nsearcher of the reins and heart, he sees the secret things, and looks into\nthings hidden. The testimony of him alone, who is to guide, is sufficient\nfor earning the crown from him. Therefore each thing, O dearest brethren,\nis equally sublime and illustrious. The former, namely, to hasten to the\nLord by the consummation of victory, is the more secure; the latter is\nmore joyful, to flourish in the praises of the church, having received a\nfurlough after the gaining of glory. O blessed church of ours, which the\nhonor of divine condescension thus illumines, which in our own time the\nglorious blood of martyrs thus makes illustrious! Before, it was white in\nthe works of the brethren; now, it is made purple in the blood of martyrs.\nNeither lilies nor roses are wanting to its flowers. Let all now contend\nfor the most ample dignity of both honors. Let them receive crowns, either\nwhite from their works, or purple from their martyrdom. In the heavenly\ncamp peace and war have their respective flowers, by which the soldier of\nChrist is crowned for glory. I pray, bravest and most blessed brethren,\nthat you be always well in the Lord, and mindful of us. Farewell.\u2014_S.\nCyprian._\n\n\n\n\nThe Roman Empire And The Mission Of The Barbarians.\n\n\nThird Article.\n\nSo the great Roman world sinned on to the last. Christianity, with a cry\nof fear and alarm, pointed to the stormful North, and exhorted to\nrepentance; but her voice was drowned in the mad shouts of revelry and the\nwild din of reckless passion. The mistress of nations would not consent to\nshow signs of fear or alarm. She cast her far\u2010seeing eye over her wide,\nrich provinces towards the frowning horizon, and she had some knowledge of\nwhat sort of elements were hidden behind the black cloud\u2010wall there. Never\nyet had the whole terrible ferocity of latent wrath burst forth; but\nstill, from time to time, as she had watched for some centuries back, the\nstorm\u2010cloud had opened for a moment, and the low thunder\u2010peal had been\nheard, and the lightning\u2010fires had scathed her frontiers, and sometimes\neven had touched the very heart of some of her outlying provinces. But the\nfiery sword had been sheathed. The rent seemed to close again, and the\nthunder\u2010murmurs died away. Still no brightness tinged the angry North. But\ndarker, wilder, more fiercely threatening the storm\u2010cloud grew. There was\nan angry God behind it, with his warrior hosts, hidden, and biding the\nsolemn, predetermined moment. If the queen of empire felt, at times, a\nthrill of alarm, she tried to shake it off again. For proudly she gazed\naround on her widespreading dominions, and counted her almost countless\nmonuments of conquest and glory, and appealed to the long past for her\nclaim to live on immortally; and then took consolation and confidence to\nherself that the pillars of the firmament would crumble to dust, and the\nheavens fall, before she could be moved from her everlasting foundations.\nBut still there were hearts that trembled for fear, conscious that\nsomething terrible was coming upon the world. The cry of the rapt seer of\nPatmos seemed still to be rising from the bosom of the \u00c6gean Sea, and\nringing in the ears of those who had faith in a God of justice. All those\nterrible woes foretold in the sixteenth and seventeenth chapters of the\nApocalypse seemed about to be accomplished. With strange wailing sound, as\nof a warning archangel\u2019s trumpet, the prophetic voice appeared to repeat:\n\u201cThou art just, O Lord, who art, and who wast, the holy one, because thou\nhast judged these things: for they have shed the blood of saints and\nprophets, and thou hast given them blood to drink.... And great Babylon\ncame in remembrance before God, to give her the cup of the wine of the\nindignation of his wrath.\u201d Louder still that voice seemed to rise in tones\nof merciful warning: \u201cGo out from her, my people; that you be not\npartakers of her sins, and that you receive not of her plagues. For her\nsins have reached unto heaven, and the Lord hath remembered her\niniquities.... She saith in her heart: I sit a queen, and am no widow; and\nsorrow I shall not see. Therefore shall her plagues come in one day,\ndeath, and mourning, and famine, and she shall be burned with fire;\nbecause God is strong, who shall judge her.\u201d So appeared to sound out\nclear the sad, wailing voice of the prophet in these sorrowful days. And\nthe people of God took warning. Full of fear and dread, they fled from the\n\u201cgreat Babylon\u201d and the other principal cities of the empire, and hid\nthemselves from the wrath that was to come. Those who remained behind\nlaughed with mocking incredulity at their fears, and, as if in defiance of\na mighty God, drained the sparkling goblet with an intenser relish, and\nthe din of revelry waxed louder, and the Circensian games were applauded\nwith a wilder joy. Countless numbers of Christians, who still had faith in\nGod\u2019s Word and fear of his justice, hurried with rapid steps from these\nscenes of reckless dissipation and pleasure. They went to kneel with\nuplifted hands amid the sands of the Libyan Desert, or the wooded\nmountains of Lebanon; to implore mercy on a wicked world, amid the islets\nof the Tyrrhenian Sea, or in the rocky caves of the Thebaid.\n\nAt intervals another warning voice is heard, sounding, with the vehemence\nof the Baptist\u2019s cry, from the holy precincts of Bethlehem. S. Jerome is\nmeditating and commenting, in his convent cell, on the prophecy of\nEzekiel. As he ponders on the judgments of God on Jerusalem of old, he\ncannot but think of Rome in his own day. As the images of ruin and\ndestruction grow before his mind, and his great heart burns with\ncompassion for sinful, sinning man, he pauses in his reading, and lifts\nhis voice in warning of the vials of wrath that are about to be poured out\nupon the empire. Through the voluptuous palaces of Rome which he once knew\nso well, the loud warning voice of the holy anchoret of Bethlehem pierces\nwith an awakening sound, and helps to persuade many a patrician beauty \u201cto\nexchange the dream of pleasure, so soon to be interrupted by the clangor\nof the Gothic trumpet, for the sacred vigils and austerities of the Holy\nLand.\u201d \u201cRead,\u201d he cries out, \u201cthe Apocalypse of S. John: mark what is\nwritten of the woman clothed in scarlet, with the mystic inscription on\nher forehead, and seated upon seven hills, and of the destruction of\nBabylon. \u2018Go out of her, my people,\u2019 saith the Lord; \u2018that you be not made\npartakers of her crimes, and partners in the plagues that shall afflict\nher.\u2019 Leave the proud city to exult in everlasting uproar and dissipation,\nsatiating her bloodthirstiness in the arena, and her insane passion in the\ncircus. Leave it to her to trample under foot every sense of shame in her\nlascivious theatres.\u201d After these words of startling vehemence, he attunes\nhis voice to gentler accents. And pours out his enthusiastic soul in\nlanguage of sweetest music, winning and captivating both ear and heart. He\nthrows a ravishing fascination and sweetness around his life at Bethlehem\nthat must have been irresistible to souls in which yet lingered any purity\nof sentiment or love for the holy and beautiful. \u201cHow different,\u201d he\nexclaims, \u201cthe scenes that invite you hither! The most rustic simplicity\nis characteristic of the natal village of our Redeemer, and sacred hymns\nand psalmody are the only interruptions of the heavenly stillness and\nserenity which reign on every side. Walk forth into the fields: you\nstartle with mingled astonishment and delight to find that \u2018Alleluia\u2019 is\nthe burden of the ploughman\u2019s song; that it is with some inspired canticle\nthe reaper recreates himself, in reposing at noontide from his\noverpowering toil; and that it is the royal Psalmist\u2019s inspiration that\nattunes the voice of the vine\u2010dresser, as, scroll in hand, he plies his\ntask all day.\u201d Thus does he paint in charming colors the immediate\nneighborhood in which he lived so happily. His words take us back to the\ndays of Eden, and make us realize what unfallen and sinless mankind would\nhave been. Then he passes on to those scenes and names which are\ninterwoven into the history of our Lord\u2019s life, and round these again he\ncasts the fascination of his poetical outpourings. We are carried on as by\na magic spell, and we feel ourselves drawn captives after the mighty heart\nthat glows with such a fiery heat of love in that grotto of Bethlehem. We\ncannot wonder that many souls felt the wondrous spell of that clear, sweet\nvoice, as it broke with its music\u2010tones of penetrating power into the\npalaces of Rome. The loud\u2010wailing trumpet\u2010tones of the Apocalyptic seer,\nas they rose with terrific warning from the bosom of the \u00c6gean, and the\nmelodious music of the anchoret of Bethlehem, as it was carried westward\non the breeze, both conveyed a message from a merciful God to the children\nwhom he yet loved. But we will listen again to that winning voice from\nBethlehem, as it pleads on, trying to draw Christians from the perils that\nwere so near: \u201cOh! when shall that blessed day arrive,\u201d it continues,\n\u201cwhen it shall be our own delight to conduct you to the cave of the\nNativity; together to mingle our tears with those of Mary and of the\nVirgin Mother in the sepulchre of our Lord; to press the wood on which he\nredeemed us to our throbbing lips; and, in ardent desire, to ascend with\nhim from Mount Olivet?\u201d We will hasten thence to Bethany to see Lazarus\ncome forth in his winding\u2010sheet, and to the banks of that blessed stream\nsanctified by the baptism of the Word made flesh. Thence to the huts of\nthe shepherds who heard the canticle of \u201cGlory to God on high\u201d and\n\u201cTidings of great joy,\u201d as they were keeping their night\u2010watch over their\nflocks. We will pray at the tomb of David, and meditate under the steep\nprecipice where inspiration used to come on the prophet Amos, until we\nhear again the living clangor of his shepherd\u2010horn. In Mambre, we shall\ncommune in spirit with the great patriarchs and their consorts who were\nburied there; visit the fountain where the eunuch was baptized by Philip;\nand in Samaria honor the relics of S. John the Baptist, of Abdias and\nEliseus, and devoutly explore the caverns where the choirs of the prophets\nwere miraculously fed, in the days of famine and persecution. We will\nextend our pilgrimage to Nazareth, and, as the name implies, behold the\n_flower_ of Galilee. Hard by is Cana, where he changed water into wine.\nThence to Mount Tabor, where our prayer shall be that our rest may not be\nwith Moses and Elias, but in the eternal tabernacle, where we shall enjoy\nthe beatific vision of the Father and the Holy Ghost. Thence returning, we\nshall see the Lake Genesareth, and the wilderness where the merciful Jesus\nfeasted the multitudes; and Naim shall not be passed by unheeded, where he\ngave back to the disconsolate mother \u201cher only son.\u201d Hermon shall be\npointed out, and the torrent of Endor where Sisera was overcome; and\nCapharnaum, the theatre of so many miracles. Thence going up to Jerusalem,\nas it were in the retinue of our Lord, as the disciples were wont to do,\nwe will pass through Silo and Bethel; and having made the circuit of so\nmany scenes, consecrated by the presence, the preaching, and the miracles\nof the Son of God, to that grotto where he was born to us a Saviour, we\nshall at last return; perpetually to hymn his praises, to deplore our\ntrespasses with frequent tears; to give our days and nights to holy\norisons, as if smitten with the same love which exclaimed, \u201cHim whom my\nsoul hath yearned for, have I found. I will hold him, and will not let him\ngo.\u201d(278) Such wondrous music did the spiritual enchanter pour forth from\nhis lonely grotto. In such words as these, throbbing with love and holy\nzeal, did the great heart of the worn ascetic of Bethlehem gush forth. And\nthey depicted in such vivid colors the sweet peace and purity and\nhappiness of a new earthly paradise far away in the Eastern land, that\nmany souls were lured away by the charmer\u2019s voice out of the great Western\nBabylon in time to escape the tempest that was just about to descend upon\nit. Many illustrious names appear among the fugitives. Paula forgot her\nlofty pedigree and her more than princely fortune, and fled eastward, and\nS. Melania and many others of patrician rank hurried away to Bethlehem to\nescape the impending doom. And there, whilst the mighty God thundered, and\nhurled his flaming arrows of vengeance, and the great sinful empire\ntottered and crashed under the awful blows of his wrath, did those favored\nChristians tremble and pray amid holy scenes and sweet associations, round\nthe grand spiritual figure of S. Jerome.\n\nBut it was not only among the believers in God\u2019s Word, and those who\nobserved the signs of the times from their watch\u2010towers in the heart of\nthe empire, that the belief in the imminent catastrophe had taken a strong\nhold. The idea that vengeance was close at hand was agitating with fierce\nintensity the barbaric nations themselves. Whence that idea came, they\nthemselves could not have told. It had long been working in their minds\nlike a living fire; it had gone on inflaming their souls till they felt\ntheir whole being on fire with an ungovernable passion for destruction and\nvengeance. They had been kept for long centuries by an overruling power in\ntheir northern forests, waiting for an unknown moment in the future. But\nthat moment, they felt, was now at hand. They were ready for it, for they\nknew they were the scourges of wrath in the hands of a mighty God.\n\nBut before that fierce, black storm\u2010cloud up yonder in the North pours out\nits fiery wrath upon the doomed empire, we will try to get a glimpse\nbehind it to see what elements are hidden there.\n\nLet the reader open his historical atlas, and follow with his eye the\nboundaries of the Roman Empire in the West. He will see that the east,\nwest, and south of Europe are lying at the feet of Rome, the heart and\ncentre of the world. As he casts his glance over his chart, he will be\nstruck by the countless names that cover the face of Italy and Gaul and\nSpain, and all those countries that are comprehended within the rule and\ncivilization of the great capital of the empire. But as he raises his eye\nnorthwards, he marks the outlines of Roman power. He might say that the\nRhine and the Danube are the boundaries in that direction of imperial\ndominion. And what does he see beyond? Nothing that denotes that\ncivilization has ever set a firm foot there. The great Hercynian forest\nbegins at the Rhine, and stretches far away, with its dense, impenetrable\nblackness, as far as the Vistula. It looks like a long, broad line of\nfortification thrown up by nature to guard the North from Roman ambition.\nBeyond this, again, is a wild unknown land. The student becomes bewildered\nas he tries to gain an accurate knowledge of it. It is a dreary wilderness\nof forest, and swamp, and vast tracts of land that have known no tillage.\nHe finds no name of city or town, but only the hard names of countless\nbarbaric tribes. These seem to fill, without order or defined limit of\ndominion, the vast area from the borders of the Rhine and Danube to the\nBaltic Sea, and the mainland and innumerable islets of Scandinavia. If he\ncast his eye towards the North\u2010east, the prospect is of a land still less\nknown, and, at the same time, less thickly peopled. But the barbaric names\nare there, though few in number, and the wild waste seems to stretch away\ninterminably into the darkness. The map calls it Scythia, and that is\nalmost all the student can gather from looking at it; but it seems to him\nthat it is the high\u2010road by which the countless barbarian tribes have come\ninto Europe. We may well believe Gibbon when he tells us that this vast,\nunknown northern land, cut off from the Roman Empire by the Rhine and the\nDanube, and shrouded in gloom and darkness by its widespreading forests,\nextended itself over a third part of Europe.(279) Tacitus describes it as\na country under a gloomy sky, rude, dismal in aspect and cultivation; more\nhumid than Gaul, more stormy than Noricum and Pannonia.(280) It was a\ncountry where the waters were often covered with thick ice, and the\nmountains with snow, where the air was cold and sharp, and the storms blew\nfierce and strong. It was, in a word, a country where no delicate, soft\nraces could have lived, but where only men of stalwart frame and hardy\nnatures could have their home; men who could bound up the snowy mountain\nheights with a feeling of luxury, could hunt with delight among the frozen\nswamps, and run in the teeth of the sharp blast through thick forests\nwhere the warm sun\u2010rays never penetrated. And what was this strange,\nunknown land, so dark and impenetrable, so vast in its extent, so defended\nby rivers and ocean and far\u2010reaching fortification of Hercynian forest, so\nwild and uncultivated, so dismal and cold, and overhanging with its\nsavage, frowning aspect the empire of Rome? It was the camp of the God of\nbattles. With a divine purpose of his own, he had kept it free from Roman\nconquest. He had marked it off for himself by those wide rivers and stormy\nseas, and planted that thick long line of forest trees on its frontier,\nand shrouded its vast area in secrecy and mystery by widespreading woods.\nAnd under the shadow of these thick forests he had, for long generations,\nbeen gathering his warrior\u2010bands. The great empire had been growing for\ncenturies in power and riches, and had piled up her monuments to tell the\nages of her glories, and had come to think herself everlasting; but whilst\nshe thus developed her power so mightily, her destroyers were being\ngathered together in secret in that Northern land. It was not by chance\nthat the Roman Empire had built herself up in such glory and imposing\nmagnitude on the ruins of the great empires that had preceded her, and not\nfor a barren purpose. God had marked with his finger the boundary\u2010line of\nher dominions long before she extended her power so far, and he had\nappointed her the work which she was to do for him. But he had marked out,\nalso, the term in the future whereunto she should endure, and had chosen\nbeforehand the instruments which he would use for her destruction. As she\nwas to be the most mighty of all empires which the world had ever seen, so\nwould her destroyers have to be mighty and terrible in their powers of\ndestruction. And those destroyers God will have ready at the right moment.\nNo human eye could see what was going on under that dense darkness in the\nNorth; its mysterious depth was impenetrable to mortal kin. It was the\nsecret laboratory of God, where he was fashioning his instruments of\nwrath. He had long been there amidst the terror and gloom beckoning the\nwild races of the earth to come to him, and they had obeyed his call,\nthough they knew not why. Far back in the ages of time, before history had\ntaken up her pen, there was a great breaking up of the Aryan family in the\nEastern land, and they divided themselves into two great sections. They\nmoved in opposite directions, one towards the East, the other towards the\nWest. Though that breaking up seems, at first sight, to have nothing\nprovidential about it, yet it was no accidental separation. Bringing our\nCatholic principles to bear upon it, we soon see that it was the work of\nGod. The wild tribes wandered on, they knew not whither. But they had a\nguide as real and definite as the Israelites in after\u2010times. It was,\nperhaps, no pillar of fire nor mysterious moving cloud, but yet as\nunerring in its leading. The Eastern Aryans took possession of Persia,\nand, invading India, gradually made themselves masters of the country as\nfar as the Ganges. In this rich and fertile region they soon advanced,\nwith rapid steps, to a high state of civilization. When we first meet them\nin history, they are a powerful nation, with well\u2010disciplined armies, and\narts and sciences highly cultivated. Of those who took the westerly\ncourse, some settled down in the southern parts of Europe, and at the\nopening of history are found in a state of civilization. One section of\nthem, wild, bold, and free, remain in a nomadic state. They wander on\ntowards the Northwest, never settling down, ever restless. They feel\nthemselves drawn ever onward, as by some mysterious power which they\ncannot resist. That strange, unseen power is he who dwells amid the\ndarkness of the Scandinavian and Suabian forests. And as they pour into\nthat weird gloom, band after band, they are lost to view. God wants them\nthere for a time. They are one day to rush forth again, at his bidding,\nwild and fierce as ever, to do their appointed work.\n\nOf these multitudinous tribes, hidden under the dark covering of those\nNorthern forests, we cannot undertake to give any detailed account. The\nstudent who has ever pored over his historical chart representing the home\nof the barbarians, knows well how impossible it is to obtain accurate\nideas about them. He is simply bewildered with the number of tribes, and\nthe hard names by which they are designated. He is content to let Dr.\nLatham and Mr. Kingsley dispute at their pleasure as to whether the Goths\nwere Teutons or a separate tribe. Some authors, with Gibbon, would make\nthe Teutons the great tribe which included and absorbed almost all the\nrest, whilst Dr. Latham insists that they were far less in numbers than is\ncommonly supposed. It is not now our purpose to enter on a question of\nthis nature. Our view of them is simply as a _fourmillement des nations_,\nconfused, indistinguishable, undefinable. We cannot pretend to speak with\naccuracy as to what territory was occupied by each tribe. What they do we\ncan only guess at. They do not regard themselves as in their settled home.\nThey wander about restless, and unsatisfied in their wild forest lands.\nThey have only an indistinct idea whence they came, but they have a\nmysterious instinct whither they are to go when the appointed day comes.\nAt one time they are on the Baltic shore, at another on the Danube bank.\nThey never think of marching back Eastward, whence they came; their faces\nare turned towards the South, and they dream of a rich, golden city in\nwhich they are one day to revel and feast to their heart\u2019s content.\n\nIt is something bewildering to pause over and think upon, in our\nhistorical studies, is this Northern land of darkness, with its hidden\nmillions of wild savages silently wandering about in their gloomy forest,\nunder the eye of God, and waiting for the signal to rush forth upon the\nsin\u2010laden empire of Rome! There never was anything more mysterious in\nhistory. They hang for long years, like a suspended curse, over a sinful\nworld. They would have come down thundering like a crushing avalanche long\nbefore they did, if God had not held them back. It is wonderful to think\nhow really they were in the hand of the great Over\u2010ruler. Suddenly it had\nentered into their minds, as we have seen, to break up their home in the\nfar East, in prehistoric times, and they had obeyed the instinct. They\nmoved away from their native land, and set out upon their wanderings. They\nknew no land beyond their own, nor had they reason to expect that they\nwould discover anything better than what they enjoyed in the country of\ntheir birth. But still they wandered on. Whither they were journeying they\nhad no knowledge, but they were obeying an overmastering power. They found\nthemselves, at last, gathered together in a mysterious land of darkness,\nand there they paused. They felt they were at the rendezvous to which they\nhad been called. They were at the feet of him who had beckoned to them to\nleave their homes in the Eastern land. Their instinct now was to remain\nhidden there for a time behind the great fortification of the Hercynian\nforest. From beginning to end all through their history these barbarians\nare in the hand of God, under his generalship, and used to execute his\ndesigns. Such teaching as this will, no doubt, appear puerile to the\nsneering atheism of men like Herbert Spencer. He and those of his school\nhave discovered that God has nothing to do with the course of human events\nor the government of the universe.(281) Social Science has led them far\nbeyond the old\u2010world ideas of God and divine government; but, thanks to\nthe sound and safe teaching of Catholic principles, there are yet men in\nthese days who refuse to run after the _ignis fatuus_ of Spencerian\nphilosophy.\n\nBut when we consider how the great civilized world of the Roman Empire and\nthis world of the barbarian tribes bordered so close on one another for so\nlong a time, and when we think what conquests Christianity had made\nwherever civilization had set its foot, we wonder how that dark Northern\nland could remain still heathen. Were not the citadels of the Christian\nreligion planted all along the borders of the Roman Empire? Did no gleams,\nthen, of Christian light shoot forth into the darkness beyond? We know\nthat such certainly was the case in the Northwestern portion, where the\nGoths dwelt, for we read of Ulphilas and his apostolic labors among that\ntribe. But for the most part, the darkness was unpenetrated, and we are\nstruck by the sight of two worlds running so close up to one another and\nyet remaining so isolated in a religious point of view. The fact was, the\ntime for the conversion of the Northmen had not yet come. Their apostles\nwere to be a race of heroes born on the mountain\u2010heights, and nourished in\nthe pure, bracing air of monastic solitude. The barbarians were waiting\nfor the monks. It is true that these wild tribes had already a worship of\ntheir own, and deeply religious in their way they certainly were. It was a\nreligion quite in keeping with their wild, free character. Men who were so\nrestless and active in their disposition, who delighted in storm and\nmountain and roaring torrents, would have no temple of wood or stone for\ntheir place of worship. Their temple was out in the open air, under the\ndriving clouds, within hearing of the tumbling waterfalls, in sight of\nnature\u2019s face; for nature to them was God. They saw him in the great\nmountain towering up on high, in the rocking forest\u2010trees, in the wide\u2010\nstretching plain, in the flowing river, in the gushing fountain. He was in\nevery object around them; in every speck of light in the overarching\nheavens; in the glistening streamlet; in the variegated flowers bedecking\nnature\u2019s face; in the rock that stood out to break the power of the\nrushing sea\u2010waves; in the very stones scattered around them on the plain.\nThere was a divinity of some kind in everything they saw.(282) It would,\nperhaps, be more true to say that their religion was polytheism rather\nthan pantheism. We find, moreover, that the tendency of their religious\nbelief was to keep alive in their souls the warlike spirit. The greatest\nand highest of their gods were beings of mighty power and terrible\nviolence. \u201cWoden, or Odin, as he was called in Scandinavia, was the\nomnipresent, the almighty creator, the father of gods and men; who ruled\nthe universe, riding on the clouds, and sending rain and sunshine; in whom\nwere centred all godlike attributes, of which he imparted a share to the\nother gods; and from whom proceeded all beauty, wisdom, strength, and\nfruitfulness, the knowledge of agriculture and the arts, the inspirations\nof music and song, and all good gifts. He was the giant hunter, who in the\ndarkest nights rushed through the air on his white charger, clad in a\nbrown mantle, his white locks streaming from beneath his slouching hat,\nfollowed by a train of wild huntsmen, the horses snorting fire, the\nbloodhounds baying, announcing war and carnage, danger and distress, as he\npassed along with lightning speed. But he was in a more special way the\ngod of war, revelling in blood and slaughter, giving courage and victory\nto his votaries, and admitting to his Valhalla, or hall of bliss, none but\nthose who died by the sword.\n\n\u201cNext to him was his son Thor, who rode on the thunder\u2010cloud and\nwhirlwind, whose hammer was the thunderbolt, whose arrows were the\nlightning flashes, and whose wagon dashed through the heavens with\ncrashing noise and ungovernable fury.\u201d(283)\n\nThen there was Saxn\u00f4t, another son of Woden, who occupied the third place\namong the gods. His name is afterwards associated with those of Woden and\nThor in the abjuration of paganism made by those who were converted to\nChristianity. He is designated under many different names. He is Eor, or\nAre, or Ere, or Cheru, Tyr, Zio, Tuisco, or Tuis. He was the god of war,\nfierce and terrible, rushing to battle, at Woden\u2019s side, and bearing down\nwhole hosts with his mighty sword of iron or stone.\n\nWar, blood, and violence, then, were ever, in the minds of the barbarians,\nassociated with the greatest of those beings whom they worshipped and\nadmired. The character and the deeds of these gods were the highest and\nthe noblest they could conceive. To be mighty in battle like them; to\nwield their war\u2010weapon as Thor wielded his huge hammer; to mow down\nenemies as Tuisco did with his terrible sword, would be the grand object\nof their soul\u2019s desire. We may judge how little there was in their\nreligious worship to tone down their fierce natures. Everything symbolized\nwar; their deities were almost all warlike. Even Freyja, the Northern\nVenus, was pictured to their imagination as delighting in war. She was\nbelieved to be ever present in the battle\u2010field, wielding her flaming\nsword, with frantic joy, over the heads of their enemies, and ready to\nbear off the souls of the slain to Odin\u2019s Valhalla. In that imaginary\nElysium the joys of their fallen heroes were also of a warlike and savage\ncharacter. They revelled there in \u201cconstantly massacring visionary foes,\nand drinking without satiety, out of the skulls of the slain, brimming\nale\u2010cups presented by lovely Valkyrja.\u201d What shall we expect, then, when\nthese wild warriors are turned loose upon the Roman Empire?\n\nBut is it possible to obtain a further glimpse behind that vast, dark line\nof pine\u2010trees? Can we, by any means, get a glance at the wild indwellers\nof the mysterious land beyond? What are those men like whom God has so\nlong kept hidden there? From time to time they have come forth from their\nforest homes and stood on the boundaries of the civilized world, and\nrolled their glaring eyes around over the rich empire that was to be their\nbooty. But that has been, as it were, only for a moment. They have plunged\nagain into their native darkness. Yet such writers as Apollinaris and\nAmmianus Marcellinus have told us something of them. By their aid we can\npicture to ourselves what those terrible hosts of avengers will be like,\nwho will presently come down with such a headlong sweep upon the doomed\nempire of Rome.\n\nAll that we can imagine savage and terrible and extraordinary in figure\nand habit is found in real fact among those barbaric hordes. There are\namong them tribes who are small of stature, and thin and brawny, but quick\nand fierce as the wild\u2010cat. There are, too, men of giant height and\nstrength, who can wield their huge clubs like playthings, and shiver the\nhard rock like glass. They have blue, flashing eyes, and bathe their\nflaxen hair in lime\u2010water, and anoint it with the unsavory unguent of\nrancid butter. Some of them roam about nude and uncovered as the wild\nanimals of the forest, proud of their iron necklaces and golden bracelets;\nothers are partially clothed with the skins of savage beasts, cut and\nshaped after the most odd and fantastic fashions. Some give additional\nterror to their appearance by wearing helmets made to imitate the muzzles\nof ferocious beasts. Plutarch tells us that all the Cimbrian horsemen wore\nhelmets made in the form of the open jaws and muzzles of all kinds of\nstrange and savage animals, and surmounted these by plumes shaped like\nwings, and of a prodigious height. This gave them the appearance of\nmonstrous giants. They were armed with cuirasses of most brilliant metal,\nand covered with bucklers of uniform whiteness. Some shaved their chins,\nand, what must have added much to their hideousness, the back of their\nheads, whilst their hair was drawn to the front and hung down over their\neyes like the forelock of a horse. So says Apollinaris,\n\n\n    \u201cAd front em coma tracta jacet, nudata cervix\n    Setarum per summa nitet.\u201d(284)\n\n\nOthers, again, allowed their hair to grow, and wore long mustachios and\nbeard. Their weapons of war were various and strange as their own\nappearance. Some fought on foot, wielding with savage fury the huge club,\nor crushing mallet, or heavy\u2010headed hammer; or they did fierce work with\ntheir rude sword, or long javelin with its two points, or double\u2010edged\nhatchet; or they were skilful in the use of the sling or the arrow pointed\nwith sharp pieces of bone. Others rushed to battle on high war\u2010steeds\nbarded with steel, or on small horses, ugly and wretched to look at, but\nswift as eagles in their course. If they fought on the level plain, these\nbarbarians were sometimes scattered over a large space, or they formed\nthemselves into cuneiform bodies, or they pressed together into compact,\nimpenetrable masses. If the contest was waged in the forests, they clomb\nthe trees, which they worshipped, with the agility of monkeys, and there\ncombated their enemies with wild ferocity, thus borne on the shoulders and\nin the arms of their gods. If they were conquerors in the battle, they\nabandoned themselves to acts of the most savage cruelty. To illustrate\nthis we need only think of the tragic deeds that were done amid the swamps\nand the wooded hills of the Teutoberger Wald in the latter days of\nAugustus. It is sad, indeed, to read in Tacitus and the pages of Dio of\nthe fate of that noble Roman army over which Varus held command. Yet we\ncannot regret to see the well\u2010concerted rising of the German tribes, under\nthe splendid military genius of Arnim, to throw off the Roman yoke. We\nhold in deepest horror the wrongs, the oppressions of the Romans from the\nfirst ravages of C\u00e6sar to the judicial murders of Varus. We think with\nfeelings of indignation of the treachery and the bloody cruelty of C\u00e6sar\nwhen the Usipetes and the Teuchteri were all but annihilated on the banks\nof the Rhine, and the Roman general rejoiced at his own unprovoked\natrocity. We recall with sorrow all that the barbarians had had to suffer\nfrom their Roman conquerors through succeeding years, and our souls are on\nfire at the recollection of it. When, then, we see that the day of\ndeliverance is at hand, we carrot but rejoice with Arnim and his brother\nAdelings at the prospect of future freedom. Our sympathies are with the\nGermans, not with their Roman oppressors. Whilst the Romans, then, are\nhungry and starved in the long, boggy valley between the sources of the\nEms and the Lippe, and the rain falls in torrents through the cold night,\nand the soldiers\u2019 spirits sink as they find themselves hemmed in by the\nenemy on all sides, we are, meantime, in imagination and feeling with the\nbarbarian chiefs holding high festival as they recall the memory of\nancient freedom and the deeds of former days, and we join in the war songs\nas they echo among the wild, dreary hills, and swell above the howlings of\nthe storm. And when the morning breaks ominously and darkly over the\nTeutoberger Wald, and the tempest rises higher, and the heavy\u2010armed Romans\ncannot advance, and find it difficult, even, to keep their footing in the\nwet and slippery swamp; when we see their bows now useless from the wet,\nand their spears and shields no longer glittering in military pride, and\ntheir entire armor and clothing drenched and made too heavy for the poor\nbenumbed and hunger\u2010stricken soldiers to bear, we can scarcely feel one\npang of sorrow. On the contrary, our heart leaps with gladness when Arnim\nfrom his watch\u2010eminence gives the signal, and the trumpets ring out and\nthe war\u2010weapons clang, and the terrible Barritum described by Tacitus(285)\nis heard rising above the howlings of the storm. We know how that tragic\nday ended, and how the evening saw the Roman host covering, with their\ndead bodies, the length and breadth of the battle\u2010field. Never had there\nbeen, in the annals of military warfare, such a terrible massacre of Roman\nlegions. The news of it seized upon Augustus like a madness, and the old\nman, during the short remainder of his life, wandered sad and disconsolate\nthrough the apartments of his palace, sometimes dashing his white head\nagainst the walls, and murmuring, _Quintili Vare, legiones redde!_(286)\nBut the barbarians were not content with such terrific slaughter as nearly\nannihilated the Roman army; their wild ferocity and cruelty showed\nthemselves in their treatment of the captives. Tacitus in his _Annals_\ntells us(287) that in the neighboring woods the barbarians had altars\nerected to their gods, and there the surviving Roman tribunes and the\ncenturions of the first class were offered in sacrifice. Around Varus\u2019s\ncamp Roman heads were fixed, in cruel mockery, on the trunks and branches\nof trees, and in the midst arose a huge mound of Roman bones, left to be\nstripped of their flesh by the wild birds of prey, and then to whiten\nunder that northern sky into a long enduring monument of a great barbarian\nvictory.\n\nIf, on the contrary they were conquered, their fury was boundless, and was\neven turned against each other. When Marius overcame the first Cimbrian\nleague, those who composed it were found on the field of battle bound fast\nto each other, so that they could not fall back before the enemy, and thus\nwere compelled to conquer or die. Their wives were armed with swords or\nhatchets, and, shrieking and gnashing their teeth with rage and grief,\nthey struck both Cimbrians and Romans. They rushed into the thickest of\nthe fight, snatching with their naked hands at the sharp\u2010cutting Roman\nsabres; they sprang upon the legionaries like tigers, tearing from them\ntheir bucklers, and thus purposely drawing upon themselves their own\ndestruction. It was a dreadful sight also to witness some of them when the\nfortune of the day had turned against them, rushing to and fro with\ndishevelled hair, their black dresses all torn and bloody, or to see them\nmounted like mad fiends on the chariots, killing their husbands and\nbrothers, fathers and sons, strangling their new\u2010born infants and casting\nthem under the horses\u2019 hoofs, and then plunging the dagger into their own\nbosoms.(288)\n\nSome of the barbarians delighted in eating human flesh. Ammianus\nMarcellinus gives us a picture in his history which freezes our blood and\nhaunts us with its horrid memory. He tells us that, after the defeat of\nValens under the walls of Constantinople, a barbarian was seen rushing\namong the imperial troops, naked down to his waist, sword in hand, and\nuttering a hoarse, lugubrious cry. He sprang with savage fury upon an\nenemy whom he had slain, and, applying his lips to his throat, sucked out\nhis life\u2010blood with a wild beast\u2019s relish. The Scythians of Europe were\namongst those who showed this same instinct of the weasel and the hyena.\nWe have the authority of S. Jerome for believing that the Atticoti also\nwere accustomed to feed on human flesh. When they were wandering about in\nthe woods of Gaul, and happened to meet herds of swine or other cattle,\nthey cut off the breasts of the shepherdesses, and large pieces from the\nbodies of the shepherds, and ate them as dainty bits.(289) The Alans tore\noff the heads of their enemies, and caparisoned their horses with the\nskins of their bodies. The Budini and Geloni were accustomed to do much\nthe same, being particular in reserving their enemies\u2019 heads for\nthemselves. The appearance of the Geloni was a sickening sight to look\nupon. They were accustomed to have their cheeks cut and gashed; and their\nproudest distinction was a face all covered with wounds that were scaly,\nand livid and crowned with blood\u2010red crests.\n\nBut if there is something terrible in the appearance and customs of the\nbarbarians whom we have mentioned, it is surpassed by what we are told of\nthe Huns. We shall not be able to form a true idea of the dreadful\navengers who are to come down out of that Northern gloom, unless we look\nfor a moment at this most terrible of the barbaric tribes. The Goths\nthemselves, the stalwart giants of the Scandinavian forests, who knew no\nfear of men, could not but be terrified when they first fixed eyes on the\nhideous forms of the Huns. Jornandes, the Gothic historian, tells us that\n\u201cthe livid color of their skin had in it something shocking to the sight;\ntheirs was not a face, but a deformed mass of flesh, provided, instead of\neyes, with two black sinister spots. Their cruelty wreaked itself even\nupon their own new\u2010born offspring, whose cheeks they lacerated with iron\nbefore they had tasted their mother\u2019s milk; and from this cause no down\ngraced their chin in youth, no beard gave dignity to their old age.\u201d We\nare told by Ammianus that \u201cthey looked not like men, but like wild beasts\nstanding on two legs, as if in mockery of the human species.\u201d They were,\nin truth, the wildest and most savage of all the barbarian hordes. They\nloved to be free and unrestrained as the wandering blasts of their native\nsolitudes. They ate and slept on the ground under the open sky. They took\ntheir food raw and uncooked, like the tigers of the forest. No temples of\nworship had they; their God was a naked sword fixed in the ground. They\nwere devoured by an insatiable thirst for gold, which they were ever ready\nto procure through blood, and smoke, and wholesale ruin. But the\ncharacteristic of their race was a ferocious delight in cruel massacre,\nand they gloried in pillaging, burning, and levelling down to the ground\nevery monument of civilization that came in their path, till the regions\nover which they swept bore a resemblance to their native deserts. The rest\nof the barbarians were amazed at their inhumanity, and looked upon them as\nfiends under the likeness of men.\n\nBut we need say no more. We have caught some few glimpses of what is\nbehind the dark storm\u2010cloud, and we can form some idea of the horrors that\nare hidden there. Well may men tremble as they look northwards in the Vth\ncentury. Well may Christians think they hear now again, ringing out more\nclearly than ever, the warning voice of S. John, and flee to far\u2010off\nhiding\u2010places. The sinful empire herself feels, at times, as if under the\nhorrors of a nightmare; in her frightful dreams she thinks she is trampled\nupon, and crushed under the feet of fierce, wild men of terrible aspect,\nand torn and hacked by their strange weapons of war. As the tempest lowers\nover her darker and darker, and threatens to become all\u2010enveloping in its\nwrath, a deep shudder runs through her mighty frame. And well may she\nstagger and quake for fear. The reckoning\u2010day is close at hand, so long\nwaited for by the holy martyrs of foregone centuries. And a day of\ndreadful destruction it will be.\n\nBut lo! the hour has already struck. God has given the signal to his\nwarrior\u2010hosts. The Goth has given a ringing blast on his horn, and the\nGerman has shouted the first notes of his terrible war\u2010song, and the pine\u2010\ntrees of the Hercynian forest are trembling at the sound. The avengers of\nthe martyrs and the Christian name are coming, and the whole North is\nshaking under their tread. At last the storm\u2010cloud bursts, and fiery\ndestruction sweeps down upon the doomed empire of Rome.\n\n\n\n\nNew Publications.\n\n\n    IRELAND\u2019S CASE STATED: IN REPLY TO MR. FROUDE. By the Very Rev. T.\n    N. Burke, O.P. New York: P. M. Haverty. 1873.\n\n\nIreland\u2019s case has been stated, argued, vindicated, and, so far as the\nverdict of the American people is concerned, adjudicated. Mr. Froude has\ngiven his last scowl and his last growl, and gone back to his own\ncountry\u2014which he has damaged by his foolish escapade\u2014the most badly beaten\nman of the present decade. It is rather late in the day to revert to the\ntopic of F. Burke\u2019s combat with this obstinate champion of bad characters\nand bad causes, and we will, therefore, let it pass with these few words.\nWe are hoping to see soon issued Mr. Haverty\u2019s promised second volume of\nF. Burke\u2019s _Discourses and Lectures_, and we once more express our regret\nthat any should be found so unmindful of propriety and courtesy, to say\nthe least, as to interfere with F. Burke\u2019s control of the publication of\nhis own works. The eloquent Dominican preacher may be assured that the\nrespect and sympathy not only of all Catholic Irishmen, but of all other\nCatholics of the United States, will be his while he remains here as our\nhonored guest, and will follow him when he returns to his native land, or\nto his own beloved and imperial Rome.\n\n\n    KEEL AND SADDLE: A RETROSPECT OF FORTY YEARS OF MILITARY AND NAVAL\n    SERVICE. By Joseph W. Revere. Boston: J. R. Osgood & Co. 1872.\n\n\nWe are so often disgusted, in reading books of entertainment, with a\nrevelation of positive rascality and impiety, or at least of a want of\nhigh moral and religious principle in the author, that it is a relief to\nmeet sometimes with a happy disappointment. This is a lively, entertaining\nbook of varied adventures on field and flood. Yet we always find the\nauthor, when his personality comes into view, not only a bold and brave\nsoldier, but a gentleman, an honorable man, and a frank, staunch Catholic\nChristian, who never obtrudes yet never hides his faith and his principles\nof virtue. His views of Spanish affairs strike us as rather defective, and\noccasionally there is a narrative concerning persons of depraved morals\nwhich would have been better omitted for the sake of his youthful readers.\nThe \u201cGolondina\u201d episode in chapter xxiv. relates an adventure whose\nlawfulness, we suspect, though perhaps admitted by quarter\u2010deck theology,\nwould not stand the test of a strict examination. Sometimes we are at a\nloss to discover whether the author intends us to understand his narrative\nas historical, or is merely relating a _conte_ for our amusement. In his\nown personal adventures and the descriptions he gives of what he has seen,\nwe discover at once that his narrative is real as well as picturesque. And\nit is certainly most interesting. The off\u2010hand, unstudied, and unaffected\nstyle reveal the character of the true, genuine, frank sailor and soldier;\nwhile at the same time, the refinement of taste and the cultivation of\nmind which are manifest throughout give these sketches from the diary of a\nlong and adventurous life the literary finish which belongs to the work of\na scholar. Notwithstanding certain exceptions we have made, we reiterate\nour commendation of the high tone of moral principle, the unaffected\nreligious reverence, and the generally healthful and invigorating spirit\nwhich pervades the book which the gallant General Revere has given to the\npublic as the retrospect of his forty years of naval and military service.\n\n\n    HYMNS AND POEMS: ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED. By Edward Caswall, of\n    the Oratory. Second Edition. London: Burns, Oates & Co.;\n    Pickering. 1873. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication\n    Society.)\n\n\nFather Caswall\u2019s hymns are as well known as Father Faber\u2019s. Indeed, if we\nmistake not, many of them are popularly attributed to the departed writer.\nIn the present volume we have a complete collection of the Breviary hymns,\nin the first place. This is especially valuable as the only one in the\nlanguage (as far, at least, as we are aware). And the author deserves the\nmore praise for this labor of love, because of the great difficulty of\nrendering the terse, stiff Latin. Then, secondly, we have \u201cHymns and\nSequences of the Roman Missal\u201d; followed by \u201cHymns from Various Offices\nand other Sources.\u201d Thus the translated portion of the volume is quite\nsufficient to make it worth possessing. The execution, too, is very happy,\non the whole. No one who has attempted to translate these hymns himself\nwill insist overmuch on the absence of phrases commonplace or prosaic.\n\nThe second portion of the volume, \u201cOriginal Hymns and Meditative Pieces,\u201d\nalso contains much that entitles it to a place in every household. The\ndevout Catholic, and more especially the convert, will find many things\nsaid for him which have come into his mind, but without his being able to\nexpress them. Moreover, several pieces turn on topics which are generally\nsupposed themes for the dryest meditation. They are here proved suggestive\nof true poetry.\n\nThe only fault we have to find with Father Caswall\u2019s verse is the same\nthat we find with Wordsworth\u2019s: the too frequent sacrifice of poetic\ndiction and the use of too many long Latin words. But this defect is\nunimportant compared with the value of the thoughts and teachings\nconveyed, and we fervently thank Father Caswall for his contribution to\nour scanty Catholic poetry.\n\n\n    THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST\u2010TABLE. Boston: James R. Osgood & Co.\n    1872.\n\n    \u201cOnce I wrote because my mind was full;\n    But now I write because I feel it growing dull,\u201d\n\n\nor,\n\n\n    \u201cI have lived long enough,\u201d\n\n\nor,\n\n\n    \u201cPoor old man, thou prun\u2019st a rotten tree\n    That cannot so much as a blossom yield\n    In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry,\u201d\n\n\nor some such saw, this Poet at the Breakfast\u2010table should have affixed to\nthese four hundred pages of incomparable drivelling.\n\n\u201cI talk half the time,\u201d says the poet, in his opening paragraph, \u201cto find\nout my own thoughts, as a schoolboy turns his pockets inside out to see\nwhat is in them.\u201d\n\nAnd what does the schoolboy find there?\n\nRusty nails, old shoe\u2010strings, copper pennies, dead bugs, crumbs of bread,\nbroken knives, and other trash neither beautiful nor useful. The\nsimilitude is just. The contents of the Poet\u2019s brain are as precious as\nthose of the boy\u2019s pocket; and if we wish to push the comparison further,\nthe wares of both are often of doubtful ownership. The only serious thing\nin the book is its humor.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t suppose my comic pieces are very laughable,\u201d writes this poet,\nphilosopher, sage; \u201cat any rate, the man who makes a business of writing\nme down says the last one I wrote is very melancholy reading; and that if\nit was only a little better, perhaps some bereaved person might pick out a\nline or two that would do to put on a gravestone.\u201d He has a most\ninfallible instinct for the right comparison; as, for instance: \u201cI love to\ntalk, as a goose loves to swim. Sometimes I think it is because I _am_ a\ngoose.\u201d This is the first evidence of intelligent thought in the whole\nbook. \u201cMy book and I,\u201d he informs us, \u201care pretty much the same thing.\nSometimes I steal from my book in my talk, without mentioning it, and then\nI say to myself: \u2018Oh! that won\u2019t do; everybody has read my book, and knows\nit by heart.\u2019 And then the other _I_ says: You know there are two of us,\nright and left, like a pair of shoes! The other _I_ says: \u2018You\u2019re\na\u2014something or other\u2014fool.\u2019 \u201d The other _I_ is evidently a sensible\nfellow. \u201cThey haven\u2019t read,\u201d continues the other _I_, \u201cyour confounded old\nbook; besides, if they have, they have forgotten all about it.\u201d\n\nAgain, the other _I_ says: \u201cWhat a Balaam\u2019s quadruped you are to tell \u2019em\nit\u2019s in your book; they don\u2019t care whether it is or not, if it\u2019s anything\nworth saying; and if it isn\u2019t worth saying, what are you braying for?\u201d\nThis is the question the reader asks himself all along, as the evidence\nthat the poet has nothing to say worth the saying becomes more and more\noverwhelming. This kind of criticism, we know, is little better than\ntrifling; but the performance deserves no other treatment, for we candidly\nthink that a sorrier book could not proceed from a mind untouched.\n\nWhy did this Poet, when he meant to write a book, seat himself at the\nbreakfast\u2010table? Did he not know that a full stomach does not argue a mind\nreplete? Had not Shakespeare said long ago that fat paunches have lean\npates, or was he not physician enough to know that the _mens divinior_ is\nnot to be found in hot rolls and coffee?\n\nWe shall conclude with one other brief quotation from the Poet:\n\n\u201cWhat do you do when you receive a book you don\u2019t want from the author?\nsaid I: \u2018Give him a good\u2010natured adjective or two if I can, and thank him,\nand tell him I am lying under a sense of obligation to him. This is as\ngood an excuse for lying as any, I said.\u2019 \u201d\n\nAs we do not believe there can be an excuse for lying, and as we are\ncertain that in this case there is no obligation under which to lie, we\ncannot give the author \u201ca good\u2010natured adjective or two\u201d; but we shall\nthank him to give us no more such nonsense.\n\n\n    YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD. Second Series: Cross and Crescent; or, Young\n    America in Turkey and Greece. A Story of Travel and Adventure. By\n    William T. Adams (Oliver Optic), author of \u201cOutward Bound,\u201d\n    \u201cShamrock and Thistle,\u201d \u201cRed Cross,\u201d \u201cDown the Rhine,\u201d etc.\n    Boston: Lee & Shepard, Publishers. New York: Lee, Shepard &\n    Dillingham. 1873.\n\n\nThis is the third volume of the second series of _Young America Abroad_,\nand, like all the rest of the series, is most instructive and\nentertaining.\n\n\n    THE TREASURE OF THE SEAS. By Prof. James De Mille, author of \u201cThe\n    B. O. W. C.,\u201d \u201cThe Boys of Grand Pre School,\u201d \u201cLost in the Fog,\u201d\n    \u201cFire in the Woods,\u201d \u201cAmong the Brigands,\u201d etc. Illustrated.\n    Boston: Lee & Shepard, publishers; New York: Lee, Shepard &\n    Dillingham. 1872.\n\n\nThis is one of the best of the \u201cB. O. W. C. Series,\u201d and will certainly be\na favorite with the boys.\n\n\n    THE POLYTECHNIC: A Collection of Music for Schools, Classes, and\n    Clubs. Compiled and written by U. C. Burnap and Dr. W. J. Wetmore.\n    New York: J. W. Schermerhorn & Co.\n\n    THE ATHEN\u00c6UM: A Collection of Part\u2010Songs for Ladies\u2019 Voices.\n    Arranged and written by U. C. Burnap and Dr. W. J. Wetmore. New\n    York: J. W. Schermerhorn & Co.\n\n\nThe best criticism of both these musical publications is found in the\npreface to the first one cited:\n\n\u201cCollections of school music are already sufficiently numerous and bulky,\nbut too often they are found to contain very little that is available for\nthe ordinary or the extraordinary occasions of school life.\u201d\n\n\n    HART\u2019S MANUAL OF AMERICAN LITERATURE\u2014A MISTAKE CORRECTED.\u2014Since\n    writing the brief notice of this really valuable work which\n    appeared in our December number, we have observed a very serious\n    misstatement in it respecting a distinguished convert to the\n    Catholic faith, the late Dr. Ives, formerly Protestant Bishop of\n    North Carolina. Prof. Hart states that he _returned to the\n    Episcopal Church_. He never dreamed of such an act of superlative\n    folly. He died, as he had lived, a most fervent and devout\n    Catholic, we might almost say\u2014a _saint_, and was buried with all\n    the rites and all the honors of solemn obsequies in St. Patrick\u2019s\n    Cathedral, New York. Prof. Hart, who always endeavors to be fair,\n    and whose notices of Catholic writers are marked by their\n    courtesy, would never have made this incorrect statement unless he\n    had been misled by some false information, and we rely on his\n    rectifying it in his next edition.\n\n\n    The following circular has been sent to us, and we publish it\n    because we think there is nothing more hostile to such nefarious\n    projects than free and early ventilation. Why does not Mr. _Abbot_\n    renounce his popish name, in his zeal to abolish every vestige of\n    Christianity? Our readers will not fail to see how apposite an\n    illustration this document furnishes of some of the remarks in our\n    first article. We have also received an article from the\n    _Cincinnati Gazette_ advocating the persecution of Catholics in\n    this country, with a trenchant reply by F. Callaghan.\n\n    (_From_ THE INDEX, _January 4, 1873_.)\n\n    Organize!\n\n    Liberals Of America,\n\n    The hour for action has arrived. The cause of freedom calls upon\n    us to combine our strength, our zeal, our efforts. These are\n\n    The Demands Of Liberalism.\n\n    1. We demand that churches and other ecclesiastical property shall\n    no longer be exempted from just taxation.\n\n    2. We demand that the employment of chaplains in Congress, in\n    state legislatures, in the navy and militia, and in prisons,\n    asylums, and all other institutions supported by public money,\n    shall be discontinued.\n\n    3. We demand that all public appropriations for sectarian,\n    educational, and charitable institutions shall cease.\n\n    4. We demand that all religious services now sustained by the\n    government shall be abolished; and especially that the use of the\n    Bible in the public schools, whether ostensibly as a textbook or\n    avowedly as a book of religious worship, shall be prohibited.\n\n    5. We demand that the appointment, by the President of the United\n    States or by the Governors of the various states, of all religious\n    festivals and feasts, shall wholly cease.\n\n    6. We demand that the judicial oath in the courts and in all other\n    departments of the government shall be abolished, and that simple\n    affirmation under pains and penalties of perjury shall be\n    established in its stead.\n\n    7. We demand that all laws directly or indirectly enforcing the\n    observance of Sunday as the Sabbath shall be repealed.\n\n    8. We demand that all laws looking to the enforcement of\n    \u201cChristian\u201d morality shall be abrogated, and that all laws shall\n    be conformed to the requirements of natural morality, equal\n    rights, and impartial liberty.\n\n    9. We demand that not only in the constitutions of the United\n    States and of the several States, but also in the practical\n    administration of the same, no privileges or advantage shall be\n    conceded to Christianity or any other special religion; that our\n    entire political system shall be founded and administered on a\n    purely secular basis; and that whatever changes shall prove\n    necessary to this end shall be consistently, unflinchingly, and\n    promptly made.\n\n    Liberals! I pledge to you my undivided sympathies and most\n    vigorous co\u2010operation, both in _The Index_ and out of it, in this\n    work of local and national organization. Let us begin at once to\n    lay the foundations of a great national party of freedom, which\n    shall demand the entire secularization of our municipal, state,\n    and national government.\n\n    Let us boldly and with high purpose meet the duty of the hour.\n    Rouse, then, to the great work of freeing America from the\n    usurpations of the church! Make this continent from ocean to ocean\n    sacred to human liberty! Prove that you are worthy descendants of\n    those whose wisdom and patriotism gave us a constitution untainted\n    with superstition! Shake off your slumbers, and break the chains\n    to which you have too long tamely submitted.\n\n    FRANCIS E. ABBOT.\n\n    TOLEDO, OHIO, Jan. 1, 1873.\n\n    Liberals Of New York,\n\n    Shall the coming \u201cNational Association to secure a Religious\n    Amendment to the United States Constitution,\u201d to be held in New\n    York in February, find us unorganized for resistance? Let us at\n    once form a \u201cLiberal League,\u201d in which we may arrange a campaign\n    offensive and defensive for our liberties. Send me at once the\n    addresses of those who sympathize with us, that a meeting may be\n    called at an early day: remember that \u201che who is not for me is\n    against me,\u201d and that our liberties are threatened.\n\n    E. F. DINSMORE,\n    36 Dey Street, New York,\n    Agent of _The Index_.\n\n\n\n\n\n[Transcriber\u2019s Note: Obvious printer\u2019s errors have been corrected.]\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\n    1 Alfred de Musset.\n\n    2 _The Life and Labors of S. Thomas of Aquin._ By the Very Rev. Roger\n      Bede Vaughan, O.S.B., Cathedral\u2010Prior of S. Michael\u2019s, Hereford. 2\n      vols. London: Longmans; Hereford: James Hull. 1871\u20102.\n\n    3 Proverbs vi., vii.\n\n    4 _Adv. Prax._, c. 2.\n\n    5 Bishop Wilson, _Sacra Privata_.\n\n    6 _Homil._, in S. Ignat., vii. p. 593.\n\n    7 \u039f\u1f50\u03c7 \u1f61\u03c2 \u03a0\u03ad\u03c4\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03a0\u03b1\u1fe6\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b4\u03b9\u03b1\u03c4\u03ac\u03c3\u03c3\u03bf\u03bc\u03b1\u03b9 \u1f51\u03bc\u1fd6\u03bd\u00b7 \u1f10\u03ba\u03b5\u1fd6\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9 \u1f08\u03c0\u03cc\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f38\u03b7\u03c3\u03bf\u1fe6\n      \u03a7\u03c1\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6, \u1f10\u03b3\u1f7c \u03b4\u1f72 \u1f10\u03bb\u03ac\u03c7\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2.\n\n    8 \u039a\u03bb\u03ae\u03bc\u03b7\u03c2 \u1f10\u03bd \u1f15\u03ba\u03c4\u1ff3 \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u1f59\u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u03c5\u03c0\u03ce\u03c3\u03b5\u03c9\u03bd \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b1\u03c4\u03ad\u03b8\u03b5\u03b9\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c4\u03b7\u03bd \u1f31\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03c1\u03af\u03b1\u03bd\u00b7\n      \u03c3\u03c5\u03bd\u03b5\u03c0\u03b9\u03bc\u03b1\u03c1\u03c4\u03c5\u03c1\u03b5\u03b9 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u1ff7 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f41 \u1f31\u03b5\u03c1\u03b1\u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03af\u03c4\u03b7\u03c2 \u1f10\u03c0\u03af\u03c3\u03ba\u03bf\u03c0\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f40\u03bd\u03cc\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b9 \u03a0\u03b1\u03c0\u03af\u03b1\u03c2.\n      \u03a4\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03b4\u1f72 \u039c\u03ac\u03c1\u03ba\u03bf\u03c5 \u03bc\u03bd\u03b7\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd\u03b5\u03cd\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd \u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u03a0\u03ad\u03c4\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u1f10\u03bd \u03c4\u1fc7 \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c4\u03ad\u03c1\u1fb3 \u1f10\u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03bb\u1fc7, \u1f26\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76\n      \u03c3\u03c5\u03bd\u03c4\u03ac\u03be\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c6\u03b1\u03c3\u1f76\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u1fbd \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1fc6\u03c2\u03c2 \u1fec\u03ce\u03bc\u03b7\u03c2\u00b7 \u03c3\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1\u03af\u03bd\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd \u03c4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c4\u03bf \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u03c0\u03cc\u03bb\u03b9\u03bd\n      \u03c4\u03c1\u03bf\u03c0\u03b5\u03ba\u03ce\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u0392 \u03b2\u03c5\u03bb\u1ff6\u03bd\u03b1 \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u03c0\u03cc\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1, \u03b4\u03b9\u1f70 \u03c4\u03bf\u03cd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd\u00b7 \u039b\u03bf\u03c0\u03b1\u03b6\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9 \u1f51\u03bc\u1fb6\u03c2,\n      \u03ba.\u03c4.\u03bb.\n\n    9 Eusebius\u2019 _Eccl. Hist._, l. 2, c. 25.\n\n   10 \u03a4\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03a0\u03ad\u03c4\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03a0\u03b1\u03cd\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5 \u03b5\u03bd \u03a1\u03ce\u03bc\u03b7\u03bb \u03b5\u1f50\u03b1\u03b3\u03b3\u03b5\u03bb\u03b9\u03b6\u03bf\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03b8\u03b5\u03bc\u03b5\u03bb\u03b9\u03bf\u03cd\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd\n      \u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u1f11\u03ba\u03ba\u03bb\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03b1\u03bd.\u2014_Eusebius_, l. 5, c. 8; also, S. Iren\u00e6us, _Adv.\n      H\u00e6reses_, l. 3, c. 3.\n\n   11 \u1f18\u03b3\u03c9 \u03b4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03b1 \u03c4\u03c1\u03cc\u03c0\u03b1\u03b9\u03b1 \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u1f08\u03c0\u03bf\u03c3\u03c4\u03cc\u03bb\u03c9\u03bd \u1f14\u03c7\u03c9 \u03b4\u03b5\u1fd6\u03b6\u03b1\u03b9, \u03ba.\u03c4.\u03bb.\u2014_Eusebius_, l. 2,\n      c. 25.\n\n   12 _Eusebius_, l. 3, c. 1.\n\n   13 \u201cEdant ergo origines ecclesiarum suarum; evolvant ordinem\n      episcoporum suorum, ita per successiones ab initio decurrentem, ut\n      primus ille episcopus aliquem ex apostolis, vel apostolicis viris,\n      qui tamen cum apostolis perseveraverit, habuerit auctorem et\n      antecessorem. Hoc enim modo ecclesi\u00e6 apostolic\u00e6 census suos\n      deferunt: sicut Smyrn\u00e6orum Ecclesia Polycarpum ab Joanne collocatum\n      refert; sicut Romanorum, Clementum a Petro ordinatum\n      itidem.\u201d\u2014_Tertulliani_, _De Pr\u00e6scriptione H\u00e6reticorum_, c. 32.\n\n   14 \u201cSi autem Itali\u00e6 adjaces, habes Romam, unde nobis quoque auctoritas\n      pr\u00e6sto est. Ista quam felix ecclesia, cui totam doctrinam apostoli\n      cum sanguine quo profuderunt! ubi Petrus passioni Dominic\u00e6\n      ad\u00e6quatur; ubi Paulus Joannis exitu coronatur.\u201d\u2014_Tertulliani_, _De\n      Pr\u00e6scriptione H\u00e6reticorum_, c. 36.\n\n   15 \u201cVideamus quod lac a Paulo Corinthii hauserint; ad quam regulam\n      Galat\u00e6 sint recorrecti; quid legant Philippenses, Thessalonicenses,\n      Ephesii; quid etiam Romani de proximo sonent, quibus evangelium et\n      Petrus et Paulus sanguine quoque suo signatum\n      reliquerunt.\u201d\u2014_Tertulliani_, _Adv. Marcionem_, l. 4, c. 5.\n\n   16 1 _S. Peter_ v. 13: \u201cThe church that is at Babylon, elected together\n      with you, saluteth you; and so doth Marcus, my son.\u201d\n\n   17 _S. John_ xxi. 18: \u201cVerily, verily I say unto thee, when thou wast\n      young, thou girdedst thyself, and walkedst whither thou wouldst: but\n      when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and\n      another shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou wouldst not.\u201d\n      Also, 2 _S. Peter_ i. 14: \u201cKnowing that shortly I must put off this\n      my tabernacle, even as our Lord Jesus Christ hath showed me.\u201d\n\n   18 \u201cSeven Roman cities strove for Homer dead\n      Through which the living Homer begged his bread.\u201d\n\n   19 \u201cVeteres omnes in errorem abrepti sunt.\u201d\n\n   20 _Instit._, l. 4, c. 6, n. 15.\n\n   21 \u201cDe Babylone dissident veteres et novi interpretes. Veteres Romam\n      interpretantur, ubi Petrum fuisse nemo verus Christianus dubitavit:\n      novi, Babylonem in Chaldea. Ego veteribus assentior.\u201d\n\n   22 Prof. Stuart, Andover _Biblical Repository_, Jan., 1833, vol. iii.\n      p. 153.\n\n   23 _Lectures on Ecclesiastical History._\n\n   24 _Introduction to the Study of the Holy Scriptures_, vol. ii. p. 361.\n\n   25 _A New Literal Translation, from the Original Greek, of all the\n      Apostolic Epistles; with a Commentary and Notes._\n\n   26 Prior Vaughan, _S. Thomas of Aquin_, i. 464.\n\n   27 _S. Thomas of Aquin_, Introduction.\n\n   28 _Christian Schools and Scholars_, ii. 20, 21.\n\n   29 _S. Thomas of Aquin_, i. 369.\n\n   30 _Christian Schools and Scholars_, ii. 325.\n\n   31 _Ibid._\n\n   32 _Christian Schools and Scholars_, i. 9\u201011.\n\n   33 _S. Thomas of Aquin_, i. 134.\n\n   34 Montalembert, _Monks of the West_, i. Edin. ed.\n\n   35 _Monks of the West._\n\n   36 _Ibid._\n\n   37 _Monks of the West._\n\n   38 _Christian Schools and Scholars_, ii. 426.\n\n   39 _Monks of the West_, ii.\n\n   40 _Christian Schools and Scholars_, i.\n\n   41 _Ibid._\n\n   42 _Ibid._\n\n   43 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n   44 _Christian Schools and Scholars_, i.\n\n   45 Montalembert\u2019s _Monks of the West_, iii. 195, 197.\n\n   46 _Monks of the West._\n\n   47 _Monks of the West._\n\n   48 _Monks of the West._\n\n   49 _Monks of the West._\n\n   50 _Ibid._\n\n   51 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n   52 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n   53 _Ibid._\n\n   54 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n   55 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n   56 _Ibid._\n\n   57 _Ibid._\n\n   58 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n   59 _Monks of the West._\n\n   60 _Gladstone._\n\n   61 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n   62 _Monks of the West._\n\n   63 _Monks of the West._\n\n   64 _S. Thomas of Aquin._\n\n   65 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n   66 \u201cAll the more reason.\u201d\n\n   67 Term for the peasants and workingmen.\n\n   68 \u201cGo, my son, there are now no Pyrenees.\u201d\n\n   69 The queen\u2019s bed\u2010chamber.\n\n   70 The king\u2019s bed\u2010chamber.\n\n   71 \u201cI am the state!\u201d\n\n   72 \u201cAn instant more, and I should have had to wait!\u201d\n\n   73 \u201cThe king is dead, long live the king.\u201d\n\n   74 The Duchesse de Polignac.\n\n   75 Louis only knew how to love and to forgive; had he known how to\n      punish, he would have known how to reign.\n\n   76 Bancroft.\n\n   77 Bancroft.\n\n   78 Shea.\n\n   79 Lake George.\n\n   80 Caughnawaga.\n\n   81 _Christian Schools and Scholars_, i. 327.\n\n   82 _Ibid._\n\n   83 _Ibid._\n\n   84 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n   85 _Life of S. Thomas of Aquin._\n\n   86 _S. Thomas of Aquin._\n\n   87 _Ibid._\n\n   88 _S. Thomas of Aquin._\n\n   89 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n   90 _Ibid._\n\n   91 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n   92 _Ibid._\n\n   93 _Christian Schools and Scholars_, ii. 370.\n\n   94 See _S. Thomas of Aquin_, i. 42.\n\n   95 Montalembert, _Monks of the West_, v. 159.\n\n   96 _Ibid._, v. 97.\n\n   97 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n   98 _Ibid._\n\n   99 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n  100 For all these and the following details, see _Christian Schools and\n      Scholars_.\n\n  101 _Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n  102 _Ibid._\n\n  103 _The Condition of the Catholics under James I. Father Gerard\u2019s\n      Narrative of the Gunpowder Plot._ Edited, with his Life, by John\n      Morris, Priest of the Society of Jesus. London: Longmans, Green &\n      Co. 1871. New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.\n\n      _Her Majesty\u2019s Tower._ By William Hepworth Dixon. Second series.\n      Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1869. Reprinted.\n\n  104 \u201cThe great house then rising at Charing Cross was said, in reference\n      to these gifts, to be plated with King Philip\u2019s gold. Much of Don\n      Juan\u2019s money passed in Cecil\u2019s pocket.... Northampton and Suffolk\n      also obtained the most princely sums.\u201d\u2014_Her Majesty\u2019s Tower_, pp.\n      59, 60.\n\n  105 _History of England_, ix. 36.\n\n  106 _Statutes of Elizabeth_, chap. i., v., xiii., xxi., xxiii., xxvii.,\n      xxviii., xxix., xxxv.\n\n  107 _The Life of Father John Gerard_, xcvii.\u2010ix.\n\n  108 Fifth Examination of Fawkes, November 9th and 10th, _State Paper\n      Office_, No. 54.\n\n  109 _Life of Father John Gerard_, p. clxxviii.\n\n  110 Page 221.\n\n  111 _A Narrative, etc._, pp. 76\u201077.\n\n  112 Told to the writer as a fact.\n\n  113 This incident is authentic, and occurred at No. 13 Rue Royale.\n\n  114 _The Life and Labors of S. Thomas of Aquin._ By the Very Rev. Roger\n      Bede Vaughan, O.S.B. 2 vols. London: Longmans; Hereford: James Hull.\n      1871\u20102.\n\n  115 xiv. 15, 16.\n\n  116 \u201cStop, traveller.\u201d\n\n  117 \u201cBehold, traveller.\u201d\n\n  118 \u201cFarewell,\u201d or \u201cHail, for ever.\u201d\n\n  119 _Sit tibi terra levis._\n\n  120 _Locus_, _loculus_.\n\n  121 Matt. xii. 32.\n\n  122 1 Cor. iii. 13, 15.\n\n  123 1 Pet.\n\n  124 Apocalypse xxi. 27.\n\n  125 2 Mach. xii. 43\u201046.\n\n  126 xvi. 14.\n\n  127 xxxv. 19, 20.\n\n  128 2 Chron. xxi. 19.\n\n  129 \u201c_Les morts ne sont pas les oubli\u00e9s: ils ne sont que les absents._\u201d\n\n  130 Sismondi, _His. Ital. Rep._\n\n  131 See CATHOLIC WORLD, vol. xiii., No. 73, April, 1871, p. 1.\n\n  132 _The Following of Christ_, b. iii. chap. v.\n\n  133 _Following of Christ_, b. iii. chap. v.\n\n  134 The Marquisate or March of Ancona was then governed by Charles of\n      Valois, who held Naples.\n\n  135 That is, in the territory of Padua, founded, as the student will\n      remember, by the Trojan Antenor, whose tomb is shown in Padua to\n      this day.\n\n  136 That is to say, the hermitage of the Camaldolites in Milton\u2019s\n      Vall\u2019ombrosa.\n\n  137 _Oriental and Linguistic Studies. The Veda; The Avesta; The Science\n      of Language_. By William Dwight Whitney, Prof. of Sanskrit and\n      Comparative Philology at Yale College. One vol. 8vo, 416 pp. New\n      York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co. 1873.\n\n  138 _Oriental and Linguistic Studies. The Veda; The Avesta; The Science\n      of Language_. By William Dwight Whitney, Prof. of Sanskrit and\n      Comparative Philology at Yale College. One vol. 8vo, 416 pp. New\n      York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co. 1873.\n\n  139 Title of the work given at head of this article.\n\n  140 Still stronger in the original: \u201cVielleicht ist noch kein Europ\u00e4er\n      so tief in diese Sprache eingedrungen als er.\u201d\u2014_Mithridates_, vol.\n      i. p. 134.\n\n  141 Sidnarubam seu Grammatica Samscrdamica, cui accedit dissertatio\n      historico\u2010critica in linguam Samscrdamicam, vulgo Samscret dictam,\n      in qua hujus lingu\u00e6 existentia, origo, exarati critice recensentur,\n      et simul aliqu\u00e6 antiquissim\u00e6 gentilium orationes liturgic\u00e6 paucis\n      attinguntur et explicantur autore Paulino a S. Bartolom\u00e6o. Rom\u00e6,\n      1790.\n\n  142 _Catalogo de las Lenguas de las Naciones conocidas._ Madrid,\n      1800\u20101805. Six large 8vo volumes.\n\n  143 These lectures, printed in book\u2010form at London, were soon after\n      first published in the United States by the Presbyterian College of\n      Andover.\n\n  144 \u201cWouldst thou the young year\u2019s blossoms and the fruits of its\n      decline,\n      And all by which the soul is charmed, enraptured, feasted, fed,\n      Wouldst thou the earth and heaven itself in one sole name combine?\n      I name thee, O Sakuntula, and all at once is said.\u201d\n\n  145 _L\u2019Aryanisme, et de la trop grande part qu\u2019on a faite \u00e0 son\n      influence, etc._\n\n  146 How such information could have been had from the _Fasti Consulares_\n      is difficult to say; the suppression was probably a _lapsus memori\u00e6_\n      for Josephus Flavius. The date of S. Paul\u2019s coming to Rome is too\n      uncertain to be fixed at 61, yet we accept this year on the\n      authority of those who put it forward in the discussion.\n\n  147 See _Op. S. Iren\u00e6i_, Ed. Cong. S. Mauri, Ven. an. 1734.\n\n  148 _De Viris Illustribus_, c. i.\n\n  149 _Ap. Eusebium_, H. E. lib. iii. c. i.\n\n  150 _Via Appia da Porta Capena a Boville._ Descritta dal Commendatore L.\n      Canina. 2 vols. Roma. 1853.\n\n  151 _La Roma Sotterranea Christiana._ Descritta ed illustrat dal Cav. G.\n      B. de Rossi. Roma. 1864.\n\n  152 _Defense de l\u2019Esprit des Lois_, 3e partie.\n\n  153 Aringhi, _Roma Subterr._ lib. iii. c. 2.\n\n  154 _Ner._ 48.\n\n  155 _Pro Cluent._ 13.\n\n  156 _I cimeteri sotteranei di Roma sono stati scavati dai cristiani\n      fossari tranne pochissime eccezioni, le quali importanti per la\n      storia, nell\u2019ampiezza per\u00f2 della sotteranea escavazione scompajono;\n      e possono veramente dirsi quello, che i matematici appellano una\n      quantiti\u00e0 infinitesima e da non essere tenuta a calcolo._\u2014App. p.\n      39.\n\n  157 Psalm xxiii.\n\n  158 S. John x. 14\u201016.\n\n  159 _O pr\u00e6clarum diem, cum ad illud divinum animorum concilium c\u0153tumque\n      proficiscar, cumque ex hac turba et colluvione discedam! Proficiscar\n      enim, non ad eos solum viros, de quibus ante dixi, sed etiam ad\n      Catonem meum._\u2014_De Senectute_, 25.\n\n  160 Coleridge\u2019s _Piccolomini_, scene iv.\n\n  161 xii. 40.\n\n  162 Newman\u2019s _Church of the Fathers_, Introduction.\n\n  163 Jonas iv. 2.\n\n  164 S. Augustine says:\u2014\u201cLove the men, destroy the errors: be bold\n      without pride in the maintenance of truth; strive for the truth\n      without harshness; pray for those whom you rebuke and\n      confound.\u201d\u2014_Contra lit. Petiliani_, l. i.\n\n  165 xx. 23.\n\n  166 Romans vi. 3, 4.\n\n  167 S. Augustine, _Serm._ 296, p. 1195, tom. v.\n\n  168 Tertullian, _Scorpiace_, p. 628.\n\n  169 1 Epist. iii. 2.\n\n  170 Am. ed. p. 82.\n\n  171 _An Eirenicon_, Eng. ed., p. 101.\n\n  172 \u201cIf there be one writer in the Anglican Church who has discovered a\n      deep, tender, loyal devotion to the Blessed Mary, it is the author\n      of _The Christian Year_. The image of the Virgin and Child seems to\n      be the one vision upon which both his heart and intellect have been\n      formed; and those who knew Oxford twenty or thirty years ago say\n      that, while other college rooms were ornamented with pictures of\n      Napoleon on horseback, or Apollo and the Graces, or Heads of Houses\n      lounging in their easy\u2010chairs, there was one man\u2014a young and rising\n      one\u2014in whose rooms, instead of these, might be seen the Madonna di\n      Sisto or Domenichino\u2019s S. John\u2014fit augury of him who was in the\n      event to do so much for the revival of Catholicism.\u201d\u2014Newman\u2019s\n      _Essays_, vol. ii. p. 453.\n\n  173 _Memoir of Keble._ By Sir J. T. Coleridge, Eng. ed., p. 305.\n\n  174 Dr. Nevin, one of the leaders of religious thought in the German\n      Reformed communion, of which the _Mercersburg Review_ is the organ,\n      has said: \u201cThe man cannot be right at heart in regard to the faith\n      of the Incarnation, whose tongue falters in pronouncing Mary Mother\n      of God!\u201d\n\n  175 _A Letter to Dr. Pusey on his recent Eirenicon_, p. 59.\n\n  176 The late Dr. Faber, when an Anglican, said: \u201cThus I hold it pious to\n      believe that in pagan times many a wandering beam, many a pitying\n      angel, many a rent in heaven, many a significant portent, many an\n      overflow of the appointed channels of grace, were vouchsafed,\n      whereon a poor glimmering faith might feed, and grow, not wholly of\n      itself, into a feeble yet steady light, acceptable for his sake who\n      sent such faith its food.\u201d\u2014_Foreign Churches and Peoples_, p. 535.\n\n  177 Horace, _De Arte Poetica_, 391.\n\n  178 Keble\u2019s _Christian Year_\u2014Easter Eve.\n\n  179 Lib. iv. c. 4.\n\n  180 _A Hist. de l\u2019Art._\n\n  181 Page 36.\n\n  182 Page 30.\n\n  183 The scourge used by one of the executioners at the pillar was\n      amongst the number, and is now to be seen in the cathedral of\n      Aachen. It is composed of narrow leathern thongs, terminated by an\n      iron point, the whitish color of the leather bearing manifest stains\n      of the precious blood that bespattered it. Constantine\u2019s signet, the\n      eagle and ciphers, is distinctly visible on the time\u2010worn, faded\n      seal, that looks like a sort of hard chalk. The reliquary is a\n      crystal vase, encased in gold and gems.\n\n  184 It is not within the limits of this sketch to follow the \u201cSaint\n      Suaire\u201d through its subsequent translations, but it may interest\n      such of our readers as are not acquainted with the fact, that it is\n      now at Aix\u2010la\u2010Chapelle, where _every seven years_ it is opened by\n      the chief prelates of Catholic Germany, and in the presence of\n      princes and bishops exposed to the veneration of the faithful for\n      three days, the church bells ringing all the time, and the cathedral\n      crowded day and night.\n\n  185 _The Russian Clergy._ Translated from the French of Father Gagarin,\n      S.J. By Ch. Du Gard Makepeace, M.A. London: Burns & Oates. 1872.\n      (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\n  186 \u201cL\u2019ouvrage s\u2019ouvre par une introduction majestueuse sur le treizi\u00e8me\n      si\u00e8cle.\u201d\n\n  187 _Memoir of Count De Montalembert, Peer of France, Deputy for the\n      Department of Doubs._ A Chapter of recent French History. By Mrs.\n      Oliphant, author of _The Life of Edward Irving_, _S. Francis of\n      Assisi_, etc. In two volumes. William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh\n      and London. 1872.\n\n  188 The Anitchkoff Palace, on the Nevskoi Prospekt.\n\n  189 In 1859, _Le Second Empire_; in 1860, _La France, l\u2019Autriche et\n      l\u2019Angleterre_; in 1865, _France et l\u2019Allemagne_.\n\n  190 _Particularism_ here means the tendency and policy on the part of\n      Bavaria and the Southern States of Germany to resist absorption of\n      their autonomy in certain matters by Prussia.\u2014_Translator._\n\n  191 The town where Henry IV., of Germany, performed a penance imposed by\n      Pope Gregory VII.\u2014_Trans._\n\n  192 In the work, published in 1865, which procured me the honor of being\n      made the subject of a parliamentary debate, I had dwelt upon the\n      two\u2010fold danger to be feared, whether from an alliance which might\n      reopen the Belgian question, or from a war on our frontiers, it\n      might be, on our invaded territory. I advised appeasing our\n      political discords, the better to resist this double peril. This\n      sums up in a few words the purport of my pamphlet.\n\n      My adversaries in the tribune and in the press denied the existence\n      of these dangers which they asserted were merely imaginary; they\n      charged me with having got up a sham Belgian question, and with\n      having, in that way, spread the knowledge of it abroad.\n\n      \u201cWith what have I charged the Honorable M. de Champs?\u201d said M.\n      Dolez. \u201cIt is with having pretended that our nationality was\n      environed by perils, and that a Belgian question was on foot in\n      which our independence might be taken away from us.\u201d\n\n      M. Fr\u00e8re\u2010Orban ridiculed in a pleasant way my forebodings. He said\n      that I was \u201ca lookout man who, in his tower, descries that which no\n      one else can possibly see, ... who imagines that he has discovered\n      that which nobody had seen before. To\u2010day,\u201d he added, \u201cwhen there is\n      _nothing, absolutely nothing_, of a nature to cause uneasiness to\n      the country, we are told, in consequence of a party scheme: Let us\n      hold our tongues and appease our discords. The liberal party must,\n      in order to save Belgium from a _danger which does not exist_, cease\n      resisting the pretensions of the clerical party.\u201d\n\n      Well, what does M. Fr\u00e8re\u2010Orban think now? While he, as minister, was\n      uttering in the tribune the above quieting and optimist statements,\n      M. Benedetti had entered with M. von Bismarck into a parley, the\n      subject of which was the Belgian question. This was the diplomatic\n      peril. The other peril has been clearly revealed to us after Sedan.\n      General de Wimpfen has stated to General Chazal that the question of\n      invading or not the territory of Belgium had been earnestly\n      discussed at Sedan. This would have been bringing the war on our\n      violated soil.\n\n  193 Priests and religious, men and women, numbering together 1,909, have\n      given corporeal and spiritual attendance to 21,000 sick and wounded,\n      and this only out of love for God and their neighbor.\n\n  194 Referring to the very bitter attack on the definition of\n      infallibility and the doings of the council which appeared about\n      that time in pamphlet form from a writer under the _nom de plume_ of\n      Janus.\u2014_Translator._\n\n  195 The bien\u2010aim\u00e9 of the Almanac is no more the bien\u2010aim\u00e9 of France,\n      He does everything ab hoc and ab hac, puts all in the same sack,\n      Justice and finance, this bien\u2010aim\u00e9 of the Almanac, etc., etc.\n\n  196 Zamore was a negro who repaid by the basest treachery the favors\n      lavished on him by Madame du Barry; he was the immediate cause of\n      her execution, having betrayed her hiding\u2010place to the convention.\n      She is the only woman of that period who died like a coward,\n      struggling to the last.\n\n  197 \u201cLet our hearts be light and gay,\n      Glory\u2019s hour is here to\u2010day;\n      The blood\u2010red blade is raised on high,\n      We conquer when we die\u2014\n      Rally to victory.\n      \u2019Neath the flag of a dying God!\n      We tread the path he trod;\n      We run, we fly\n      To glory nigh.\n      Behold our ardor rise,\n      Our hearts are in the skies,\n      Arise, arise!\n      The scaffold mount\u2014and God\u2019s the victory.\u201d\n\n  198 Blue is the color of knowledge.\n\n  199 _Der liebe Gott_, the received formula in Germany, as the \u201cgood\n      God,\u201d _le bon Dieu_, in French, and Almighty God in English.\n\n  200 Exod. xv. 11.\n\n  201 Matt. vi. 33.\n\n  202 Eccl. xx. 9.\n\n  203 Lam. iii. 31.\n\n  204 Is. xxix. 18.\n\n  205 Matt. v. 10.\n\n  206 Rom. xi. 33.\n\n  207 Ps. xlii. 1.\n\n  208 Baruch v. 6.\n\n  209 The Arno, Chiana, and Mugnone.\n\n  210 London _Times_, Feb. 3.\n\n  211 As was shown in THE CATHOLIC WORLD last month, excommunication is\n      not only recognized by the law in the case of Protestant\n      excommunicators, but has been sanctioned and confirmed by law, on an\n      actual case being brought into court. Of course we shall be met by\n      the objection that the formal declaration of Papal Infallibility has\n      altered the connection between the Catholic Church and the state.\n      Unfortunately for this easy method of explaining away difficult\n      matters, excommunication has not been a whit altered in force,\n      relation, or form from the days of the Apostles to Pius IX.\n\n  212 In proof of which read the declaration of Count Andr\u00e1ssy to the\n      Austrian Parliament that, notwithstanding the friendly assurances\n      with which the three emperors parted at the breaking up of their\n      recent conference at Berlin, he could not guarantee peace even up to\n      Christmas. Observe also the significant rearming of all the great\n      European powers and the recent order from Berlin of 3,000,000 rifles\n      of a new pattern.\n\n  213 Witness Bavaria\u2019s remonstrance, which was disregarded, at the sudden\n      imposition of the severe military code of Prussian service without\n      allowing it time to recover. As a more recent comment on that, read\n      the very able and interesting letters which appeared in the _New\n      York Herald_, Nov. 22, on the European situation, a short extract\n      from which, of a Bavarian view on German unity, we give: \u201cGermany\n      accepts it, because it in some respects realizes the German dream of\n      unity. That, of course, every German wants. But no one wants a\n      united despotism, a military code that turns the whole nation into a\n      camp, and takes half a million able\u2010bodied men away from the farms\n      and industrious callings. We want a Germany for the good of the\n      fatherland, not for the glory of a little upstart Prussian prince\n      whose name is not much older than the Bonapartes\u2019 crown.\u201d\n\n  214 \u201cDesine fata de\u00fbm flecti sperare precando.\u201d\u2014_Virg. \u00c6n._ vi. 376.\n\n  215 In Germany.\n\n  216 \u201cDivorce Legislation in Connecticut,\u201d and \u201cThe Indissolubility of\n      Christian Marriage.\u201d\n\n  217 For this and the following references, see Rohrbacher\u2019s _Histoire\n      Universelle de l\u2019Eglise Catholique_. This work is so comprehensive,\n      and so full of the most learned and accurate researches, that we\n      have relied entirely upon its lengthened narratives for the facts\n      mentioned in this article. The work is excessively voluminous (28\n      vols 8vo), and to verify personally each separate reference given by\n      the author would be almost impossible, besides being a very tedious\n      undertaking. We have preferred, therefore, to rely upon the single\n      authority of one who is confessedly the best modern church\n      historian.\n\n  218 _History of the Reformation._\n\n  219 E. Dally.\n\n  220 \u201cIt is an error to suppose that the Catholic faith limits the\n      existence of man to about six thousand years. The church has never\n      decided this delicate question, and this abstention is full of\n      wisdom. Nothing positive, in fact, has been revealed to us on this\n      point. The various chronological systems are the work of man; they\n      rest on bases often hypothetical. Nevertheless, we cannot admit even\n      the possibility of the arbitrary theories of several distinguished\n      geologists who date the appearance of man on the earth twenty and\n      even thirty millions of years back. Good\u2010sense alone should incline\n      one to be moderate on this point.\u201d\u2014Mgr. Meignan, _Le Monde et\n      l\u2019Homme primitif_, chap. vi.\n\n  221 _L\u2019Homme pendant les Ages de la Pierre dans les Environs de Dinant\u2010\n      sur\u2010Meuse._ 2e \u00e9dition. Bruxelles: Muquardt. 1872.\n\n  222 This is true, at most, of the formations previous to the quaternary\n      deposits; in the latter, the synchronism of the fauna becomes wholly\n      uncertain, and only founds the emigration or disappearance of\n      certain species of animals on inductions that have a hypothetical\n      basis. As to their emigration, we have had too many instances in the\n      historic period, as M. Chabas justly observes, to make us regard\n      that necessarily the index of vast chronological intervals. Where\n      are the elephants that abounded in Mauretania Tingitana, according\n      to Solinus\u2019 _Polyhistor_; the hippopotami of Lower Egypt, the boas\n      of Calabria, the lions, aurochs, and bears of Macedonia, the beaver,\n      etc.? In the XVIIth century of our era, the stag, roebuck, wild\n      boar, wolf, and bear still formed a part of the fauna of the\n      Cevennes. The reindeer lived in the Black Forest in the time of\n      C\u00e6sar, who describes this animal from hearsay, but characterizes it\n      sufficiently by the peculiarity of the male and female having the\n      same kind of horns. M. Lartet is also inclined to the opinion that\n      _the age of the reindeer is perhaps not so ancient as was once\n      supposed_. The mammoth is no longer found alive, but has been\n      discovered with its flesh and skin still remaining, embedded in ice,\n      and affording nourishment to dogs and other animals. Struck with\n      this preservation, M. d\u2019Orbigny expresses a doubt as to the\n      antiquity of the mammoth. He thinks it may have existed five or six\n      thousand years ago, and believes it may still live in some\n      unexplored locality. At least, it lived in America till a\n      comparatively recent period. Its remains, and those of the mastodon,\n      have been found in the auriferous deposits of California, among\n      remarkable traces of human labor. At the Congress of Copenhagen, M.\n      Schaffhausen expressed the opinion that the lost species should\n      rather be regarded of a more recent date than that the antiquity of\n      man should be extended to hundreds of thousands of years. As to the\n      wretchedness and inferiority evident from the primitive pursuits of\n      man and the conformity of his organs, the enemies of Christianity\n      triumph over the discovery. We believe with Mgr. Meignan that \u201ca\n      proof of the authenticity of the Bible has been lightly transformed\n      into an objection against it. The revolt and disobedience of man\n      explain the wretched state in which he at first lived; and the\n      hardships he underwent during the period he inhabited caverns and\n      lacustrine dwellings prove to all who believe in the goodness of God\n      that a great crime must have armed His justice.\u201d\n\n  223 \u201cIn the year of the Nativity of our Lord 710, the sixth day of the\n      month of December, under the reign of Eudes, most pious King of the\n      French, during the ravages of the perfidious Saracen nation, the\n      body of the most dear and venerable Marie Madeleine was secretly and\n      by night transferred from its alabaster sepulchre into the present\n      one, which is of marble, and whence the body of Sidonius has been\n      withdrawn, in order that the other may be better concealed and be\n      beyond the reach of the above\u2010named perfidious nation.\u201d\n\n  224 Seven years later, when the head was taken to Rome by Charles,\n      Boniface VIII. sent to S. John of Lateran for a relic which had long\n      been venerated there as the maxillar bone of Magdalen; on adjusting\n      it to the broken part, it fitted in so exactly as to leave no doubt\n      as to where it had originally been taken from.\n\n  225 Shea.\n\n  226 See the narrative and map in Shea\u2019s _History of the Discovery and\n      Exploration of the Mississippi_.\n\n  227 Pronounced Ac\u2010o\u2010ma\u2014the accent on the first syllable.\n\n  228 \u201cThis way, gentlemen.\u201d\n\n  229 Red pepper; _chile verde_, green pepper.\n\n  230 This estimate, which was considered as too high by some of the\n      clergymen present, is given only as conjectural. It is based on the\n      census of 1870, according to which there are in the state, in round\n      numbers, 203,000 persons of foreign parentage at least on one side,\n      of whom 113,000 are foreign\u2010born. It would seem probable that we\n      might allow out of this number 83,000  foreign\u2010born and 67,000\n      native\u2010born Catholics. It is certain, from other evidence, that the\n      number is over 100,000, and, whatever the correct number may be,\n      nine\u2010twentieths is very near the proportion of the native\u2010born to\n      the whole number. The entire population of the state is 537,000.\n      Nearly two\u2010fifths of the whole are, therefore, of foreign parentage.\n\n  231 Eug\u00e9nie de la Ferronnays.\n\n  232 \u201cThe Church the Champion of Marriage,\u201d CATHOLIC WORLD, February,\n      1873.\n\n  233 Deut. xxi 16, 17.\n\n  234 Gen. xxiv. 39, 57, 58.\n\n  235 Numb. xxvii. 8; xxxvi. 3, 8.\n\n  236 S. John i. 13.\n\n  237 Jeremy Taylor\u2019s \u201cOn the Marriage Ring,\u201d besides many modern ones,\n      especially by the Rev. Dr. Morgan Dix, New York.\n\n  238 Matt. vii. 21.\n\n  239 Matt. xxii. 29, 30; Mark xii. 24, 25.\n\n  240 _Consid\u00e9rations sur la France_, chapter x. _et alibi passim_.\n\n  241 M. de Maistre is sometimes quoted as taking a different view; for\n      example, in an article in the _Correspondant_ for Nov. 10, Joseph de\n      Maistre declared revolution an epoch and not an event. But this by\n      no means signifies that the illustrious publicist meant that\n      revolution was about to prevail. He says: \u201cThe French Revolution is\n      an important epoch, and its manifold consequences will be felt far\n      beyond the time of its outbreak and the limits of its original\n      sphere.... If there is not a moral revolution throughout Europe, if\n      the religious spirit is not strengthened in this part of the world,\n      the bonds of society will dissolve.\u201d The clergy of France, in\n      particular, are called to \u201cthe essential work\u201d of reacting against\n      the influence of the _Goddess of Reason_. See _Consid\u00e9rations sur la\n      France_, chap. ii.\n\n  242 _Etudes sur l\u2019Italie contemporaine_, and _Notes d\u2019un Voyageur_.\n      _Premi\u00e8re Etude_, June, 1871; _Seconde Etude_, July, 1872. Paris:\n      Amyot.\n\n  243 _Premi\u00e8re Etude_, p. 3.\n\n  244 \u201cExcept the _Univers_, which has a correspondent at Rome, and keeps\n      up constant communications with that city in other ways, and, on the\n      other side, the _Journal des D\u00e9bats_, which is supplied with\n      information by the Italian government, and, as we have been assured,\n      receives a handsome subsidy for the patronage accorded, most of the\n      French papers have no other source of supplying their readers with\n      news than the conjectures, more or less unreliable, of the Havas\n      agency, a _succursale_, as to what concerns Italy, of the Stefani\n      agency at Florence. It is supposed, however, that nothing is easier\n      than to obtain information about a country at our very doors.\u201d\u2014M.\n      Ed. Dulaurier, member of the Institute, \u201cImpressions et Souvenirs de\n      Rome,\u201d in the _Gazette du Languedoc_ for Sept. 19. I take the\n      liberty of recommending to M. Dulaurier, and all who wish to know\n      the state of affairs in Italy, the valuable _Correspondance de\n      Gen\u00e8ve_. The _Journal_ of Florence, recently combined with the\n      _Cattolica_ of Rome, affords instructive reading. Besides\n      information peculiar to itself, this paper reproduces in each number\n      interesting extracts from various Italian journals.\n\n  245 \u201cThe French, under Napoleon I., introduced the idea of\n      centralization into Italy and the code of the Revolution which the\n      restored princes had the want of foresight to retain. The old\n      municipalities were destroyed, and never recovered their former\n      independence even in the States of the Church. Piedmont, of all the\n      states of the Peninsula, was the longest under the poisonous\n      influence of foreign ideas. Hence it became the centre of the\n      Revolution.\u201d\u2014_Quel est l\u2019Avenir de l\u2019Europe?_ pages 40\u201041. Geneva:\n      Grosset, 1871. The author of this remarkable work is of the school\n      of the Count de Maistre, and worthy of his master.\n\n  246 _Premi\u00e8re Etude_, pp. 6, 12, 13, 15; _Seconde Etude_, pp. 4, 10, 11.\n\n  247 _Premi\u00e8re Etude_, p. 10.\n\n  248 _Journal d\u2019un Diplomate en Italie._\u2014See the _Etudes_ for July, 1872.\n\n  249 _Journal d\u2019un Diplomate en Italie_, pp. 305, 306.\n\n  250 _Journal d\u2019un Diplomate en Italie_, pp. 116, 117.\n\n  251 _Les Diplomates Fran\u00e7ais sous Napol\u00e9on III._, by B. d\u2019Agreval.\n      Paris: Dentu. 1872. A work we recommend to all publicists who wish\n      to add to their knowledge.\n\n  252 _Premi\u00e8re Etude_, p. 10.\n\n  253 _Premi\u00e8re Etude_, pp. 5, 10, 11; _Seconde Etude_, p. 4.\n\n  254 _Premi\u00e8re Etude_, p. 7.\n\n  255 The minister has laid before the Parliament the account of the\n      expense of opening the breach in the walls of Rome. This crime cost\n      nearly forty\u2010eight millions.\n\n  256 _Premi\u00e8re Etude_, p. 11; _Seconde Etude_, p. 12.\n\n  257 Cf. _Premi\u00e8re Etude_, p. 10.\n\n  258 See a forcible and eloquent article in the _Civilt\u00e0 Cattolica_ on\n      the _Caresses de la Providence_. S\u00e9r. viii. vol. v., No. 519, Feb.,\n      1872.\n\n  259 (_Premi\u00e8re Etude_, pp. 7, 8, 27; _Seconde Etude_, pp. 11, 12.) \u201cThe\n      invaders take the stand of masters, but the people have not joined\n      them. They remain isolated in their midst in the position of a\n      military and administrative colony, about as favorably regarded and\n      received as the Prussians in those departments of our country where\n      they are still encamped. The Romans, it cannot be denied, love their\n      Pope.\u201d\u2014M. Ed. Dulaurier, _loc. cit._\n\n  260 _Union_, Nov. 26.\n\n  261 \u201cWe continue to be regarded at Berlin with the most favorable\n      dispositions, as the demonstrations of which our princes were the\n      object prove.\u201d\u2014_Speech of M. Visconti\u2010Venosta_ in the Chamber of\n      Deputies, Nov. 27, 1872.\n\n  262 _Seconde Etude_, p. 13.\n\n  263 _Address_, April 28, 1872.\n\n  264 _Correspondance Diplomatique_ in the year 1815.\n\n  265 _Premi\u00e8re Etude_, p. 17; _Seconde Etude_, pp. 4, 14, 15, 16, 17.\n\n  266 _Premi\u00e8re Etude_, pp. 25, 26; _Seconde Etude_, pp. 15, 16, 26.\n\n  267 See, in the _Etudes_ for Oct., 1871, the article by Fr. Ch. Clair,\n      who, in an address to the government of M. Thiers, carries on a\n      vigorous argument _ad hominem_ respecting the \u201cnecessary liberties\u201d\n      of the Pope.\n\n  268 P. Toulement, _La Providence et les Ch\u00e0timents de la France_, ch.\n      xvii.\n\n  269 _Premi\u00e8re Etude_, pp. 24, 25, 26: _Seconde Etude_, pp. 17, 22, 34.\n\n  270 _Journal d\u2019un Diplomate en Italie_, pp. 17, 18.\n\n  271 This alludes to the indication of superhuman power by the budding\n      horns which Michael Angelo has represented upon the head of Moses,\n      adopting the Jewish symbol of strength so frequent in Scripture.\n\n  272 Ecclus. xlviii. II.\n\n  273 So soon accepted!\n\n  274 \u201cI, the undersigned, parish priest of the most holy Constantinian\n      Basilica of the Twelve Apostles of Rome, certify that in Register\n      XII. of the dead, letter N, page 283, is to be found the deed of\n      which the following is the copy, word for word.\n\n      \u201cThe twenty\u2010second of December, eighteen hundred and sixty\u2010six,\n      Mademoiselle Claire\u2010Fran\u00e7oise\u2010Am\u00e9lie Lautard, of Marseilles,\n      daughter of M. Jean Baptiste Lautard, a most pious virgin, while\n      offering last Sunday her life to God for the Holy Father, Rome, and\n      the church, was seized on the spot by illness, and having received\n      most piously the sacraments of the church, in the full possession of\n      her faculties, in prayer, and surrounded by several priests and\n      virgins, gave up her soul to Jesus Christ, her spouse, with the\n      greatest serenity, Wednesday the 19th, at half\u2010past nine in the\n      morning, in the house Rue Ripresa\u2010dei\u2010Barberi 175, at the age of\n      fifty\u2010nine years. The following day, the 20th, her body was carried,\n      after the completuum, accompanied by a great number of religious, to\n      this basilica, and was here exposed during the morning after the\n      manner of nobles, the office of the dead and a solemn Mass being\n      performed; in the afternoon it was conveyed to the Church of Santa\n      Maria in Ara C\u0153li, and there interred in the tomb of the Sisters of\n      St. Joseph of the Apparition.\n\n      \u201cGiven at Rome,\u201d etc.\n\n  275 This mistake is awing to a wrong meaning given to a word in the Book\n      of Joshua in the Septuagint; where the word _tsorim_ is translated\n      _knife of stone_, when it also means _a sharp knife_; _tsor_ only\n      means _stone_ in the sense of _rock_ or _block_.\n\n  276 Simonin, _La Vie Souterraine_.\n\n  277 Ancient name of the Prussians.\u2014Trans.\n\n  278 S. Jerome\u2019s _Epist._ 44, 45.\n\n  279 _Hist. of Decline and Fall of Rom. Emp._, vol. iv. ch. ix. p. 262,\n      1st ed.\n\n  280 _Germania_, i. 5.\n\n  281 \u201cThe Study of Sociology,\u201d by H. Spencer, in the May No. of _The\n      Contemporary Review_, 1872.\n\n  282 See Mrs. Hope\u2019s _Conversion of the Teutonic Race_, ch. i.\n\n  283 _Conv. of Teut. Race_, p. 20.\n\n  284 Apollin., _Paneg. Major_.\n\n  285 _Germania_, iii.\n\n  286 Suet., _in Oct._ xxiii.\n\n  287 I. 61.\n\n  288 Plutarch, _Vita Marii_.\n\n  289 S. Jer. _adv. Jovin._ ii.","title":"The Catholic World, Vol. 16, October 1872-March 1873","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":508304}